THE ARCHBISHOP BLESSES THE ENGINE, AND WE HELP HIM.—DELIGHTFUL LOJA.—A FUNNY DINNER.—STARLIGHT, TWILIGHT, MORNING.
THE ARCHBISHOP BLESSES THE ENGINE, AND WE HELP HIM.—DELIGHTFUL LOJA.—A FUNNY DINNER.—STARLIGHT, TWILIGHT, MORNING.
WE “had heard, but not believed,” that the line of railway between Granada and Malaga, as far as Loja, was to be opened on or about the day we proposed leaving; and we determined that, if the train really ran, we would be among its first passengers. But oh! the dreary difficulty of learning anything from anybody about anything in Spain! We ran hither and thither, we despatched messenger after messenger, but in vain; ““No sé,” I know nothing—was the invariable answer received in each case, and the nearer the time approached, the greater seemed the uncertainty. But had it not been officially announced, and were we not bound to believe an official announcement in official Spain, however at fault individual information might be? So wequietly allowed all doubts and disbeliefs to clear from our minds, and declared our intention of proceeding to Loja by the first train, trusting to miracles that the train would run. There is nothing like trusting to miracles in Spain. You are promised that such and such a thing shall be done; you speculate anxiously, it may be, but of necessity, curiously, as to the how and the when; you wait, and wait, and wait, and without any apparent intervention, the thing grows up like the prophet’s gourd.
So it was in this case. Nobody took any trouble about the train; no one seemed responsible for the starting of the train; no one but ourselves wanted to start by the train, and yet, after all, the train went. It was like the old nursery story—water wouldn’t quench fire, fire wouldn’t burn stick, stick wouldn’t beat pig, pig wouldn’t get over the stile, and on a sudden water began to quench fire, fire began to burn stick, stick began to beat pig, etc.
The train was to start for Loja at twelve o’clock precisely, but, of course, we were driven to the station a good hour and a half in advance. Whata laughable scene it was! All the wags of Granada had come out to see the train start, quite believing, I am sure, that it would not start that day. The Andalusian is light-hearted, ready-witted, and prone to say smart things. Here was a fine occasion of quibs and puns, and it was not neglected. The train was treated like a charlatan or tumbler who has promised to perform a certain trick, and at the eleventh hour would fain call off. Every one and every thing connected with it came in for a share of raillery, the priests who were to consecrate it, the guards who were to drive it, the stokers who were to keep it going, the passengers who were going by it, and the crowd who came to see it.
The very beasts of burden seemed to be in league against that unfortunate train. We had driven down to the station in an omnibus drawn by two handsome mules, that had been docile as possible on former occasions, but, like all true-born Granadinos, they were thorough-going conservatives, and would have nothing whatever to say to the train. So, no sooner had we got in sight of the engine and line of carriages, than they kicked, pranced, and, finally, ran right into a ditch. They werestormed at, whipped, pulled, and coaxed out somehow; but neither blows nor entreaties could induce them to move a step nearer the platform. This incident naturally offered food for merriment to the wags, who seemed divided between their admiration of the mules who wouldn’t approach the train, and of amusement at the unfortunate travellers whom they had upset. Having, after some delay, procured our tickets, we crossed over to the platform, where a little crowd was already assembled to witness the inaugural ceremony. By-and-by, two or three sacristans appeared and erected a temporary altar, trimming it with gay artificial flowers and ribbon. Then there was a pause of some minutes, at the end of which came the Archbishop of Granada, dressed in gorgeous purple vestments, accompanied by several priests. The Archbishop had a grand look, irrespective of his robes. He was an old man with beautiful features and a pure, intellectual expression. The priests would have looked coarse and commonplace anywhere, but by the side of him they looked doubly so; indeed a stronger term than either of these might have been applied to them.They had almost a vicious look. And now the candles were lighted, the Archbishop put on his mitre, the crowd fell on their knees and the ceremony began. A litany was chanted first of all, I think; then a prayer was read; and, last of all, the engine was sprinkled with holy water, and the crowd received a benediction. Everybody seemed a littledistraitexcept the good old Archbishop, which was, perhaps, natural. How could people think of anything serious at such an exciting time?
As soon as the consecration had finished the train really did start, and great was the stir and loud the cheering, as we began to move off. It was a sight to see the wall of eager faces on either side of us as we glided slowly out of Granada. There were old men and women of ninety, who held up their trembling hands and called on the Virgin in wonder; there weregaminsand children of all sizes, who stood open-mouthed at the sight; there were middle-aged peasants from the mountains, who became children, too, in their great bewilderment. If only a John Leech had been there to see and to sketch!
The cheers and shouts broke out intermittingly all the way to Loja, like the signal fires that told of the taking of Troy from Asia to Greece. At every village or station, or convenient point of sight, had collected crowds of peasants, ladies in mantillas, priests,arrieros, and all seemed disposed to welcome the new era.
The journey to Loja was beautiful. We had a good view of the Sierra Nevada for the greater part of the way, and the fields of snow lying lightly on the lapis lazuli mountains had a dreamy and sweet effect.
We reached Loja in about two hours. All the town had turned out to see the train come in, and the platform was a gay scene with its tiers of brightly-dressed ladies, fanning themselves in the sun. Spanish crowds are never in a hurry to disperse, so we quietly waited half-an-hour in our cosy carriage, by the end of which time we saw a little room on the platform for ourselves, our bags, and our books.
A good-tempered, well-dressed man packed the latter on his donkey’s back, and accompanied us to the town, about three-quarters of a milefrom the station. It was a very pretty walk along the river-side, and the sky was of brilliant burning blue. Our light water-proof travelling cloaks were much too warm.
Loja is very interesting and beautiful. We should like to have remained there a month. The Parador was not a luxurious place; but if white-washed walls, brick floors nicely sanded, a wash-hand basin, and clean beds, are not enough to satisfy a weary traveller, what would be? We rested on our beds delightfully for an hour, and then descended to see if there was any possibility of getting mules and saddles for a little excursion. But there was none: so, taking a guide with us, we set out on foot. We strolled first through the narrow, crooked, Moorish-like streets to the river-side, where we found a scene quite unique in tone and colour. From the side of a lofty rock issued ten springs of crystal water, and around each were gathered peasant women, in red and yellow petticoats, busily washing their gay rags of clothing in the sunset. The brilliant hues of the sky, the gay dresses of the women, the dark rocks, the limpid river, the old Moorish fort that toweredabove all, made a picture not easily to be forgotten; but when we had climbed to the fort, and looked across the Alpuxarras flaming in the last rays of the sun, and the bright green plain below, and the river narrowing to a thread in the distance, we thought we had seen no more beautiful view in Spain. The fort is now turned into a prison, and to reach the rampart we had to pass through a low, gloomy room, full of soldiers and convicts returning from their day’s labour on the railway. Wherever there is road-making or rail-making to be done in Spain, you see lines of prisoners at work linked in twos and fours, under strong military surveillance; which seems a healthy and profitable prison system. We sat down on a broken wall overgrown with prickly cactus, and watched the sun set over mountain and plain, river and village, whilst our guide chatted with the soldiers about themselves, their neighbours, and their doings. A Spanish guide is not in the least conventional. He undertakes to conduct you to a certain place, and there his responsibility ends; he does not bore you with historical and geographical facts; he never knows anything aboutanything; he picks up a companion on the way, and, whilst smoking his tiny cigarette, talks over the affairs of the place. Our present cicerone was no exception to this rule. He had called for a friend as we came through the town, and the two young men, who were very intelligent and well-mannered, seemed to enjoy the walk as much as we did. They spoke no French, of course; but our imperfect Spanish never elicited a smile from them. The Moro-Andalusian has certainly imbibed dignity of bearing as well as other good things from the Arab.
After enjoying to the utmost the magical splendours of the sunset and the sweet mountain air that seemed to blow from all corners of the earth, we descended to the town and our parador. We were somewhat footsore, and no wonder; for the pavement of Loja is a sort of hardbake, of flints and stone.
At six o’clock we descended to dinner, and what a funny dinner it was! Thecomedor, orsalle à manger, was as big as a barn, and at the upper end sat ten commercial travellers, laughing and talking with the black-eyed, noisy mistressof the house. The cloth had been laid just anyhow, and the dishes were brought on anyhow too. We helped ourselves to plates and knives, and then to whatever came in the way. The fare was certainly bountiful. First, came soup; secondly, the favourite dish oflengua de vaca, or hot ox-tongue; thirdly, an odd mess of cabbage and broth; fourthly, pork—for the Spaniards, as Ford says, combine Bacon with Belief,—not good; fifthly, partridges, very good; lastly, raisins, figs, cakes, and coffee. But it was the behaviour of our landlady that made the dinner so entertaining. She seemed to think it incumbent upon her, being hostess, to keep her guests in a roar of laughter,ab ovo usque ad mala. She spoke so fast, and used so many proverbs, and provincial expressions, that it was very difficult to catch her meaning; but she went over the ground again for our benefit sometimes, and seemed delighted to make us laugh too. Proverb followed proverb, repartee came after repartee, story after story, till the peals of laughter became so deafening that we were glad to retire to our rooms.
Will it be believed that we had to wait till midnightfor the diligence? Fancy having to wait at Tavistock ten hours for the Launceston coach! But the truth is, that the railway company and the diligence company don’t like each other at all, and between them both unfortunate travellers have a hard time of it. We had to pay the full diligence fare from Granada to Malaga, though we only took places from Loja to Malaga, and the railway fare for the two hours journey from Granada to Loja was so high that I verily believe we paid the whole railway fare too. I name this imposition as an exceptional fact in our Spanish experiences. We had both travelled a good deal, in America, Algeria, Italy, Germany, and we were constantly saying to ourselves, when discussing the matters of bills, waiters, porterage, and all other things incidental to travellers, “They manage these things better in Spain.” I cannot too strongly condemn the unfair assertions of English travellers about Spain and the Spaniards; and I name the Grenada-Loja-Malaga Unlimited Travellers’ Discomfort Company, because the treatment we received at their hands was wholly unprecedented throughout our travels in the Peninsula.
But the waiting at Loja was by no means disagreeable, even when night came on, for we lay on our comfortable beds, and drowsed and dreamed till midnight, when we were suddenly aroused by the diligence dashing up the street, horn blowing, bells jingling, whips cracking, driver hallooing. The noise was so sudden, and so infernal, that the very night seemed too disturbed to settle into silence again. To add to it, in rushed our hostess hurried and excited to such a pitch that you would have fancied it must be at least an earthquake that so disturbed her, crying, “La diligencia! La diligencia!” “Yes,” we said, quietly putting on our bonnets, “we heard it.”
But she did not heed our answer, and rushed about the room, snatching up our bags and bundles, knocking down coffee-cups and glasses, and still crying “La diligencia! La diligencia!” The broken crockery and the spilt coffee only increased her agitation, and she dashed out of the room as she had dashed in, leaving us no little amused and amazed at so much energy displayed upon so trifling an occasion.
We quite enjoyed the journey to Malaga. Firstcame the starlight and the weird, wild aspect of plain and sierra; then the cold grey dawn and the re-creation of the world from end to end; then the lovely flush of sunrise over the many-coloured hills, as if of altar fires raised to the Power that had created them.
WE GET TO ALGECIRAS, AND ARE MADE WRETCHED.—THE FAT SPANIARD AND THE LEAN ENGLISHMAN.—A RED-LETTER DAY AT GIBRALTAR.—THE LIGHTS.—ADIEU TO EUROPE.
WE GET TO ALGECIRAS, AND ARE MADE WRETCHED.—THE FAT SPANIARD AND THE LEAN ENGLISHMAN.—A RED-LETTER DAY AT GIBRALTAR.—THE LIGHTS.—ADIEU TO EUROPE.
ALL the old difficulties about boats recommenced at Malaga; and, much as we disliked the place, which seemed to have grown dustier and fishier since we had left it, we were obliged to remain there several days. At last we learned somehow that there was a boat, named theAdriana, doing weekly services between Malaga and Algeciras, and Malaga and Tangiers, and that, as all communication by sea between Malaga and Gibraltar had ceased on account of the cholera, on theAdrianawe must build all our hopes.
But, as luck would have it, she had left the harbour just as we had come in, so thatthere was nothing to do but await her return, and pray for fair weather. What made our very fates, as it were, hang upon theAdriana, was the information received by telegram that a boat left Gibraltar for Oran on the following Friday. It was now Monday, and, according to all accounts, theAdrianawas to return on Tuesday or Wednesday, and go to Algeciras the next day. But Tuesday passed, and Wednesday came; and people prophesied bad weather; and theAdrianadid not appear. Cervantes and his fellow-captives at Algiers hardly looked oftener for the ship that was to deliver them, than did we for theAdriana. We were always running down to the beach and straining our eyes after some imaginary sail. But none appeared; and we were dining in rather a melancholy state at the prospect of losing our boat to Oran, when the master of the hotel sent us a message that theAdrianahad arrived, and would set out for Algeciras at seven o’clock next morning.
We had splendid weather for the trip. The dawn was grey and pearly, and from its heart, like some gorgeous bird slowly soaring from a duskynest, arose the warm, brilliant, southern day. The sea was smooth as a lake; the sky of deepest, warmest blue; the mountains, of loveliest form and colour; the little sailing boats, fairy things, seen in so enchanted a scene and atmosphere! Words, indeed, fail to give any idea of this beautiful coast scenery; but it must be seen on such a day as we saw it.
One is not accustomed to think much of the beauty of Gibraltar, and the first sight of it was quite a surprise to me. The Cornish coast has no finer view than this colossal mass of limestone rock, and the colour of it, so grey and silvery, and so soft, against a light-blue sky, is something indescribable.
We had been assured again and again that we should reach Algeciras in time to get into Gibraltar that night; but, as the afternoon wore on, public opinion on board veered. The captain, who seemed quite confident about the matter at noon, shook his head gravely an hour later.
“You doubt,” I said, “whether we shall reach Algeciras in time, or whether we shall find means of getting into Gibraltar?”
“I doubt both,” he replied.
“But,” I continued, “we are going to start for Oran by the steamer that leaves Gibraltar to-morrow. It is absolutely necessary that we get into Gibraltar to-night, or the steamer may have left.”
“I don’t say that you can’t do it, Señora,” he said; “but there are difficulties. It is difficult to get into Gibraltar by sea at all, on account of the quarantine, and after four o’clock it is impossible.” He pulled out his watch. “I am afraid by the time we reach Algeciras it will be too late for that. As to riding round the bay, if we get into harbour in pretty good time, and if you can get horses, and if it is tolerably light, why you can do it, of course.”
There was nothing to do but wait; but the Captain’s prognostics proved true. We did not reach Algeciras in time to get into Gibraltar—supposing there had been boats to take us, which there were not; and as to the latter part of his speech, that was also true; for there was no obstacle in the way of riding round the bay that night, except that there were no horses; and ifthere had been horses, there was no time; and if there had been time, there was no light.
There is only one inn at Algeciras, and hither flocked all the unhappy passengers by theAdriana, clamouring for horses, mules, boats, guides, anything so long as they could get into Gibraltar that night.
It was a cry of “A horse, a horse, a kingdom for a horse!” you would have fancied that everybody’s life hung upon getting into Gibraltar. I think some gentlemen did get horses, but they were exceptions; and the little inn was so crowded as to present the appearance of a camp. Beds were made upex improvisoall over the house, and we had to content ourselves with a hole of a room, boasting neither window nor chimney, nor chair, nor table, nor, indeed, any furniture but two beds, and fleas innumerable.
Before retiring to this cell for the night, however, we had a very good dinner, seasoned with some racy gossip of Gibraltar life. We were too tired to dine at thetable d’hôte(if you are wise, avoidtable d’hôteswhen possible), and preferred to eat the crumbs that fell from other travellers’tables afterwards. These were served to us in a pleasant littlecomedor, looking towards beautiful, inhospitable Gibraltar, with its thousand lights shining like tiers of stars above the dark blue bay. The waiter, who called himself an Englishman, though on what grounds I cannot precisely determine—perhaps because he was born in sound of Gibraltar gun-fire—served the dinner, and then sat down to see us eat. He was so young, so evidently overworked, and so unconventional as a waiter, that we took this familiarity as a matter of course, and listened to what he had to say.
“You seem to be the only waiter in the place,” we said; “how do you manage to attend upon everybody?”
He sighed a very long sigh.
“Yes, it’s awful work,” he said, in his queer Gibraltar English, “since the Quarantine regulation keeps everybody out of Gib. I am ready to drop of fatigue now, and this has been going on for weeks. We don’t get to bed till midnight, and we are up at four or five o’clock in the morning, and sleep just anywhere. The Quarantine is worse than the cholera, ten times.”
“You are English?” I asked, a little cautiously.
“The Lord be praised, I am! Oh! the Spaniards are a bad set, I assure you; and don’t we pitch into ’em when we get a chance! It was not very long ago that we had a regular fight, six Englishmen against six Spaniards, all of us young men, and the Spaniards came off very shabbily. We killed one outright.”
“How shocking! but do you mean to say that the police don’t interfere?”
“That’s as it happens. The English have no business here in Algeciras, you know, and if the Spanish gendarmes disturbed themselves whenever knives are drawn, they’d have an uneasy time of it.”
He went on to tell us some more stories about the state of society in Algeciras, which we tookcum grano salis, having no personal experience of it.
“Shall I not take mine ease at mine inn?” was not applicable to the unfortunate people whom unhospitable Gib. had driven into Algeciras. We dined pretty well because we were not dainty; butso stringent were the Quarantine regulations, that such refreshing luxuries as lemonade, vegetables, and fresh fruits could not be had for love or money. Whatever we asked for, and we only asked for very simple things, “was at Gibraltar;” indeed, everything was at Gibraltar—except the fleas.
We went to bed early, having ordered horses and Spanish saddles at six o’clock next morning; but the fleas would let us have no sleep. There was no armour against them but Spanish patience. Glad indeed were we when morning came, and, after a hasty toilet and a cup of horrible coffee, we descended to the street, being informed that the horses were ready. The wordreadydoes not however bear its English signification in Spain. If you have ordered a horse in England and you are told it is ready, you know that you have only to put on hat and gloves and mount. In Spain, it suffices for an animal to exist, or for a thing to be known to be somewhere, and they are both ready. We had made, perhaps, an unwise bargain, but the only one that seemed possible to make, in ordering horses of two proprietors, two of a very big Spaniard and one of a very small Englishman.Of course this led to all sorts of complications, but I must tell my story from the beginning. In the first place, on being told that the horses were ready, and not finding them on the spot, we sent a man to look after the lad who had gone to look after the little boy who had gone to look after the horses that the Spaniard and Englishman had promised to send, but didn’t. When the man had come back to say that the lad told him that the little boy told him that the men told him they were coming, we resigned ourselves for a little while, and, by-and-by, the men and the horses did indeed come. But then ensued an altercation as fierce as any detailed by Homer. It was like the fable of the big boy with the little coat, and the little boy with the big coat. The Englishman’s horse was small, but he had only a large saddle, and the Spaniard had only a small saddle for a very large horse. There was what is popularly called a “row,” and the inhabitants of Algeciras turned out like a swarm of bees to see and hear and take part in it. This commotion lasted nearly an hour, and not till two hours from the time of our descent into the street did we set off.
The ride round the bay was so full of gracious, soothing beauty, that we soon forgot all the discomforts gone through before. The atmosphere of early morning is always delicious in the South; and, to-day, the pale blue bay, the green heights, the glistening white sands, the terraced city, and the grey rocks, seen through so transparent a medium, looked more like a reflexion of a beautiful scene than a scene itself.
We rode quite close to the water’s edge, and the musical plashing of the waves, and the sweetness and softness of the air, would have healed any weariness of flesh and spirit, I think. We were weary enough at starting, but had grown quite fresh and strong by the time we had reached the “Lines.”
The only drawback to this delightful ride was the garrulousness of my guide. The fat Spaniard had placed himself, with all the baggage, on his strongest horse, and led the way, looking the picture of slothful, self-indulgentnonchalance; my friend rode his second horse, comfortably mounted on a Spanish saddle; I followed on the little Englishman’s horse, a small, incapable beast,who had evidently been over-worked and ill-fed during the last few busy weeks.
There are some people, luckily very few, who inspire one with instinctive repugnance, and this little Englishman, as he called himself, was one. He was so small, freckled, and ugly, so conceited, and so envious of the big Spaniard, that he reminded one of the frog in Æsop’s fables, which tried to blow itself out to the size of the ox.
“Look at that fellow going there,” he said in his queer Gibraltar English, and pointing to his enemy; “he is the worst man in the world, and would as soon stick a knife into you as look at you. Just because I set up as horse-dealer and letter, he spites me so that he would kill me if he dared; but I’m an Englishman, and he just knows that he’d better keep his hands off me. He is as mad as a hornet because you English ladies employed me, although he hadn’t another horse in the world. When English travellers come to Algeciras, whom do you suppose they would employ, Señora, an Englishman or a Spaniard?”
“Why, I suppose they would pick the besthorses,” I replied wickedly; “that is the most important point.”
He looked at his own poor brute a little ruefully. “I’d back my horse against any in Gibraltar when he is fresh,” he said, “but he went this same journey late last night, and has been hacking at it for days.”
“Precisely,” I answered, “he can only just put one foot before the other, and if the saddle hurts him as much as it does me, the sooner I get off the better for both of us.”
“Yes, I know the saddle goes badly,” he went on in the same aggrieved tone; “but it’s all that bad man’s fault. His saddle just fits Bobby here, and this one is just twice too big. I ran home and got the very pillows from under my wife’s head, who is ill of ague, but they slip off like nothing.”
“I’m sorry you robbed your wife of her pillows,” I said; “but, pillows or no pillows, my saddle is as uneven as a gridiron, whilst the Señora yonder rides as comfortably as possible.”
“Oh! yes; that bad man is rich, you know, and can afford to have everything nice. It’s just such men as he who eat up poor young beginners like us.”
“Of course,” I answered, coolly; “the man may be bad or good, but so long as he supplies good horses and comfortable saddles, he’ll find customers—though he is a Spaniard, and were to run a knife into somebody every night.” And with this conclusion, we concluded.
We were now on English ground, and fancied ourselves in England. The change happened all on a sudden. We had been in Spain a few minutes back. Spain was not a hundred yards off, and now we were at home, among home-like faces, friendly voices, and familiar scenes; and over our heads, on the crest of the grand old rock waved the jolly “Union Jack.” There was a hunt outside the town, and we met parties of officers in scarlet, accompanied by fair-haired girls, managing their thoroughbreds as only Englishwomen can; groups of red-haired, clear-complexioned Highlanders, stood about the camps, and the infantine population of some English village seemed out at play on the grass; sturdy housewives were cooking, washing, and nursing babies in the tents; the roads were no longer break-neck bridle-tracks, but real, broad, smooth roads, hard and fit for use; the Spanishsoldier, in tight moccasins and short brown cloak, had disappeared as if by magic, giving way to the scarlet coat and the tartan.
The “Spanish lines” are, indeed, no more nor less than a handful of houses called by courtesy the town of La Linea. In Ford’s time, La Linea consisted of “a few miserable hovels, the lair of greedy officials, who live on the crumbs of Gibraltar;” at least so he writes of it in 1839, but we were assured that there is a decent inn at La Linea now, and that it is quite possible for belated travellers to sleep there. The contrast between Spain and England—two opposed countries placed in such strange juxtaposition—is most striking. You pass in five minutes from a land of sleepy, blissful lethargy to a stirring, bustling, look-alive sea-port and garrison town. I dare say Gibraltar would not be a pleasant place to live in, but after spending so many weeks among people who think nothing in the world worth hurrying about, and no one’s time of the slightest importance whatever, it was delightful to breathe the business-like, martial air of the place. You cannot help doing in Spain as the Spaniards do, and by the time youhave traversed the length and breadth of Old Castile and Andalusia, you must be of a very unimpressionable temperament indeed if you have not imbibed thegenius loci, that indescribable Oriental habit of living from morning to night without the least inclination to trouble oneself about anything under the sun.
Here, in Gibraltar, you feel at once subjected to the military spirit that rules it. The streets are alive with music; the sharp fife, the warlike cornet, the rolling drum; there is always a “recall” being sounded, or aréveillé, or a gun being fired. You might fancy war was going on from the constant bustling to and fro of regiments and recurrence of signals. And there is a stirring air about the streets which is quite new. The town is alive with people, all intent on business or pleasure, and if you have any business on hand, you find means of doing it quickly and satisfactorily.
The day was delicious, and at the Club-house Hotel we were met by my friend’s cousin, Colonel——, who carried us off to his pretty house outside the town, and introduced us to his wife and beautiful little fair-haired child. The house commandeda lovely view of the sea, and was surrounded by roses and geraniums in full bloom; otherwise we might have imagined ourselves in England, so thoroughly English was the tone of the household. We had a long, busy, delightful day at Gibraltar, driving about in Colonel——’s pretty English carriage; and the very name of the place will always be pleasant to me on account of the wonders of nature and art we saw there, the brilliant atmosphere that made every impression doubly vivid, above all, the graceful and hearty hospitality of our host and hostess. Gibraltar is magnificent. Sorry, indeed, were we that we could not see it better and make it the head-quarters of excursions to Ronda, Tangiers, and Tetuan. As it was, we saw something of the stupendous galleries tunnelled in the rock, something of the bastions and batteries, something of the marvellous scenery from the heights, and something of the gay, rattling, picturesque town. We saw nothing of the apes—a little colony who have the topmost crags all to themselves, and are most religiously and wholly tabooed, no one being allowed to molest or kill them—andnothing of the three hundred classes of plants, which are said to flourish on the rock. Neither did we see anything of those picturesque Ronda smugglers whom Captain Scott describes so enthusiastically in his travels published nearly thirty years ago. But we saw enough of Gibraltar to leave it with regret and to look upon our last day in Spain—for I suppose I may so call it—as one of the brightest.
At nine o’clock gun-fire we left the port in an open boat, and after an hour’s rowing reached our steamer, theSpahis. The night was glorious, and the sea as smooth as glass. Overhead shone myriads of large bright stars, and the lights of Gibraltar made a lesser, but hardly less brilliant, firmament lower down. We thought, as we looked alternately at those shining fields above and below, we had happy auspices for our onward journey.
A BRIDAL PARTY.—HORRIBLE STORIES.—A LONG DAY.—THE CAID AND THE DRIVER.—A NEW ATMOSPHERE.—TCLEMCEN.
A BRIDAL PARTY.—HORRIBLE STORIES.—A LONG DAY.—THE CAID AND THE DRIVER.—A NEW ATMOSPHERE.—TCLEMCEN.
WE had originally intended to take tickets for Oran, but finding that theSpahis, if weather permitting, stopped at a little town called Nemours, we resolved to stop there. By this plan we saved ourselves a day and a night at sea, and alighted at a point on the African coast much nearer Tclemcen than Oran. The weather favoured us. When we awoke next morning the sun shone bright and warm in a cloudless sky, and the steamer was gliding gently as a swan over the still, lake-like waters.
This sea-passage between Gibraltar and Oran is a dull one, and in our case it was especially so, as we were the only first-class passengers, exceptingan old French gentleman, anemployéof the Imperial Messagerie Company, who, with his son and daughter-in-law—a bride of a few days—was bound also to Nemours.
One great resource was a bundle of English newspapers kindly supplied to us at Gibraltar, and we pored over them from morning till the early twilight, when there was a ringing of bells and a smell of dinner, and an air of liveliness among the little company on board.
I joined thetable d’hôte, and found it very amusing. The captain had travelled all over the world, and had evidently made use of his eyes and ears everywhere, and the bridal party were by no means dull. After dinner the father-in-law ordered champagne, and the officers were invited in to drink the health of the little bride. She, poor child, was a little overcome, what with her new honour as Madame, sea-sickness, and the prospect of exile at Nemours; but all the rest were merry enough, and when we retired to our cabin we heard their talk and laughter till late in the night. There was not much time to sleep, for about three o’clock we were told to dress ourselvesin readiness for the boat, and an hour later we went on deck. It was cold and fine. The sea was perfectly calm, but we heard it breaking on the shore with an angry, threatening sound, and we saw in the dim, grey light, what a rocky coast it was, and what a barrier there was, against which the smoothest sea could not break silently. Nemours is, indeed, no harbour, but a mererade, and only approachable in the calmest weather, and by small boats. A hard pull our good boatmen had of it ere we could reach the landing-place, and the poor bride shivered in her thin summer dress.
“I was married in such a hurry,” she had said to me, “that mamma had no time to prepare anything, and all my clothes are to be sent after me;” but it seemed to me that a good warm shawl for the sea-journey would not have required much preparation. However, we wrapped her up in spare rugs and great-coats, and I think she took no harm.
We had to be carried ashore one at a time, and I thought of Gilliat, and of the sea-faring life Victor Hugo has portrayed so fantastically, when savage-looking men, their bare limbs shining likebronze in the pearly light, dashed into the water, and bore us to the strand as easily as if we were babies.
Much as we had enjoyed Spain, how glad we were to find ourselves in France again, especially in African France!—to find ourselves speaking, as it were, our native language, and not having to try at the stately Spanish phrase, to hear the friendly French voice, and see the friendly French faces around us, to know that wherever we went, we were really and truly welcome, and that we might do exactly as we liked without being thought extraordinary!
We found Nemours just like any other little French town in Algeria, very formal and neat, with a little square, a little church, and boulevards in their babyhood, and a certain indescribable air of order and importance about it. We went straight to the inn—I think it was calledl’Hôtel des Voyageurs—and, after knocking once or twice, the landlord came down, very shaggy and sleepy, but pleasant and amiable, as Frenchmen always are. He went out at once to his neighbour, the baker’s, and came back with a pan of red-hot ashes, whichwas very clever of him, for we were bitterly cold, and nothing else would so effectually have heated the room. Then he brought us out a bottle of good Bordeaux and excellent bread and Rochefort cheese; and by the time we had finished our meal, there was a clean bedroom ready for us and hot water: and what more does a weary traveller require? Thedouanedid not choose to wake up and give us our luggage till late in the morning; it was such a lazydouane; and though I went again and again, and said pretty things to the gendarmes, it was of no use. They said pretty things in return, but kept the luggage. At last thedouanechose to wake up and open its doors, and we got our portmanteaus, and were able to get at brushes and combs and clean dresses, and to sit down to breakfast clothed and in our right minds.
Then we obtained the services of an old soldier as guide, and went out to see something of Nemours. The weather was perfect, and our guide just the person to make you feel in a new world. He had something unexpected to tell us about everything; the people of Nemours, the past ofNemours, and the present aspect of French-African colonization collectively.
A bright blue sea, glistening white sands, and bold dark rocks, will make any place beautiful; but, otherwise, Nemours is uninteresting enough. It is only when you are outside the town, and breathing the air of the wild desolated hills, that you understand the romance of the place. For the history of Nemours, if written with a vigorous pen, would abound in incidents as thrilling as any conceived by the author ofMonte Christo, or ofThe Last of the Mohicans.
We passed through the town, and were just entering upon a picturesque gorge, when our guide pointed to a little farm-house that peeped sunnily from its orchards and gardens, and said,—
“Do you see a great patch of new whitewash, just above the door yonder?”
“Yes, we see it.”
“Eh, bien!I will tell you the history of that patch of new whitewash. A good colonist lived in that house, and was murdered a few weeks back by the Arabs. He went to bed as usual, first having seen that every lock was secure, and that his pistol wasloaded—for only fools go unarmed here by night or day—and at midnight woke suddenly, hearing the dogs bark and the cocks crowing. ‘The Arabs!’ he says to his wife, who wakes up too, and then he takes up his pistol and throws open the window, ready to scare the scoundrels away. But before he can do it, he is shot through his head, and his blood and brains are all over the wall, and so it had to be whitewashed as you see.”
“And the poor widow, and the guilty Arabs?”
“The widow lives there still. The poor can’t indulge in fine feelings, you see, Madame, and must stay where their bread is to be earned. The Arabs got away to Morocco—they can do it in a few hours from here—andvoilà l’histoire!”
“A sad history indeed!”
“And not the saddest I could tell you. Ah! Madame, the life of us poor colonists here on the borders of Morocco is hard enough. Only the good God knows how to understand how hard it is” (le bon Dieu sait seul comment c’est dur.)
“On account of the great insecurity, you mean?”
“Yes, Madame. We have to keep watch-dogsas fierce as tigers, to look well to our bolts and pistols before going to bed, to distrust an Arab asle diable, and, withal, we are always being burned out, robbed, assassinated; and those who burn us out, rob us, and assassinate us, as often as not get across to Morocco safe and sound.”
“But the soldiers protect you?”
“Mon Dieu, Madame! the soldiers have hard work to protect themselves! and the soldiers, you see, are not always hand and glove with the colonists. I often think we should do better in Algeria without soldiers at all. Being acolonmyself now, I speak for thecolons, of course.”
We were now in a wild and beautiful spot at some distance from the town. On either side rose green hills, sharply shutting in a little river that flowed amid tamarisk and oleander, and, here and there, shone the round white dome of some small Moorish sanctuary.
We sat down to rest a little while and enjoy the perfect solitude of the place, and sketch the nearest of the mosques or marabouts.
“Ah! that is a marabout which will never be forgotten as long as the French hold Oran. A fewyears ago there was sharp fighting in these parts, and the Arabs, who were very strong, contrived to get a few hundred of our brave fellows here by some diabolical cunning or other, and, being thousands themselves, mowed them down like so much standing corn. But this is only one story of hundreds. If blood of the bravest would make lands rich, we ought to have fine crops here, indeed, Madame.”
“The Arabs seem a very savage set here,” one of us said. “Around Algiers they are, for the most part, harmless.”
“Il y a des Arabes et des Arabes. Voilà, Madame.We are close on Morocco. The Arabs who have burned, murdered, and stolen in other places flee hither, and so we are in a sort of Botany Bay of ’em.”
Just as he spoke a wild figure came running down the mountain side, and made towards us, gesticulating, crying aloud, shaking his shaggy hair, laughing a horrible laugh. So brown he was, and so uncouth an object, that it seemed belying alike Frenchman and Arab to class him as either. Instinctively we started and drew back.
“Don’t be alarmed, ladies,” said our old soldier, with a smile; “it’s only a poor madman—he is harmless enough if not teazed.Bon soir, bon soir, Père Michie, ça va bien; tu vas te promener? C’est ça. Allons!” And the poor creature mouthed and laughed and went his way. This was the only person we met in that solitary walk. When we returned, the short, bright day was drawing to a close, and we were so tired that we were even glad to lie down and shut out the glorious colours that spread in fiery flakes across the sky, and the purple sea, that seemed like another firmament in its immovableness and depth, and the large pale stars that seemed to belong to both.
The stars were not pale when we arose next morning at three o’clock to start for Tclemcen; it was worth one’s while to rise at that hour, if only to see them, so large and brilliant and wonderful were they; and shining out of heavens, neither blue, nor purple, nor black, but indescribably beautiful. Never shall I forget that journey from Nemours to Tclemcen. The day seemed interminable. First of all, we had the long, long reign ofstars,—stars that dazzled like suns, mildly luminous, moonlike stars, and pale, primrose-coloured stars, that trembled and heralded the dawn. Then we had the dawn,—a long, grey, cold dawn that seemed a day in itself, and then the blessed sun, warming the day into perfect ripeness, as if it were a flower, and then the twilight again, with new stars.
But if the longest day of our lives, it was by no means the least pleasant. The weather, as usual (for, I think, in point of weather, travellers were never so fortunate as ourselves!), was all that could be desired, warm, breezy, and bracing, and there was recreation for heart and brain in the region through which we passed. Every feature and aspect of the country was new to us. We had never before seen anything like these undulating wastes of sand, and these interminable plateaux of stone and grass, all bathed in the mellowest, warmest, most golden light. The light was one long surprise to us. We looked up at some sheep browsing on a rocky ledge, and they seemed turned into copper images of sheep; and not the mere white woolly things they are generally figured to be. We looked from a bit of rising ground across a broad steppe ofsand and stone, and we could hardly believe that the sun was not setting, so yellow it was, and so full of misty, delicious warmth. Everything seemed transfigured, and the transfiguration was almost blinding. We were alone in the coupé of the diligence, and the only passenger in the rotunda was a stately Caïd, magnificently dressed in purple gaudoura and white bernous of softest, silkiest Algerian manufacture. But what was the magnificence of his dress to the magnificence of his complexion? To understand what an Arab complexion is, one must have seen it, as we saw it, bronzing and glowing under a southern sky. Transported to canvas or cold climates, the rich hue loses half its life and warmth and beauty.
When we alighted, the Caïd invariably alighted too, and he would smile down grandly upon us, as if we were children, and say a complacent word or two in broken French, as if he thought we were afraid of him. We were sorry enough that we could not talk with him, and tell him how far we had come to see the great works of the Moors in Spain and Tclemcen. Our driver was as picturesque as the Caïd, and almost as silent.I think he was a Breton by his style of face, which was full of character and nobility, and such as Rembrandt would have painted. He wore a fur cap, very rich in colours, and a light blue coat of quaint shape, bordered with the same sort of fur. Anything finer or more poetic than this man’s appearance, I had never seen. But, beyond the courtesy of offering us some of his wine, when we asked for water, he hardly opened his lips.
For the most part, the country was uncultivated and uninhabited. There was no foliage excepting that of stunted olive, tamarisk, and palmetto, and nothing to break the universal monotony but here and there adouar, or Arab village, consisting of a cluster of tents, hedged in by walls of wild cactus, or haulm. Whenever we passed close to such a douar, the dogs would rush out yelling and barking, the whole little brown-skinned community would come to the road-side and stare us out of sight. The younger children were generally naked, though such a brown skin seems a sort of clothing in itself, and the elder ones had nothing on but onecutty-sark, of coarse sacking or woollen stuff. The men and womenwere decently clothed, and would greet us with a grave “Salamalek!” or “Bon jour!” whilst the children, veriest imps of fun and impudence, ran after the carriage, begging for a sou as long as their breath would carry them.
We reached Tclemcen about six o’clock, and established ourselves at the Hôtel de France, a cool, pleasant, roomy house, where they gave us large rooms and Algerian fare, and gracious Algerian courtesy. We could willingly have stayed at Tclemcen for months.