VIGO BAY AND HILLS
Iron cliffs confront you when you first behold Galicia, for the
earliest glimpse of North-West Spain, when the Biscay has been
crossed, is Cape Villano, rising, stern and rugged, north of
Finisterre. The coast looks grim and cheerless, yet it is the gate to
one of Europe's warm and most romantic regions. Every mile of it is
linked with history, and, hidden in what look like gloomy fastnesses
of the Atlantic, are sun-bathed, landlocked bays, of which the best
known are Vigo and Arosa, forming two of the finest natural harbours
in the world.
The _Ambrose_ slipped past the Cies Islands, at the seaward side of
Vigo Bay, in the darkness of an early autumn morning, and steamed
up the placid inland sea as day was breaking. In Galicia the dawn
and twilight are briefer and more splendid than in England. The
Cies Islands are some fifteen miles from Vigo, and the _Ambrose_,
steaming steadily, will do the distance in an hour. Her masthead and
side lights were burning brightly as she passed the lonely lumps of
land which jut up like ragged teeth on Galicia's seaboard; yet when
her cable rattled and her anchor dropped within a stone's-throw of
the jetty the sun was shining and the day had fully broken. Through
my porthole I had seen the flashing light on the islands, and I had
hurried up on deck to watch the sun rise in the east, beyond the
church-topped hill which forms one of the Seven Sisters. The Seven
Sisters are hills in the neighbourhood of Vigo, each being crowned
with a church and bearing a special name, such as Nuestra Señora de
Alba.
Vigo is Galicia's chief portal, and offers ready means of access to
the other parts of the province. The town affords wonderful contrasts
between the old and new worlds which jostle up against each other in
every part of North-West Spain. You are in a quaint, strange world
as soon as you have stepped ashore and are clear of the Customs and
free to roam. In the steep and narrow streets of the old town people
lead the primitive life of many generations or centuries ago. Amongst
them are men clad in brigand fashion, with sombreros, and shawls
thrown over their shoulders--shawls so showy and highly coloured
that they might well do duty as table-cloths. You may pass from such
a sight into the thoroughly modern technical school, which, founded
by private and philanthropic enterprise, is equal to any institution
of its size in any corresponding English town, and is helped by
the municipality to the extent of three thousand pounds a year. In
the afternoon the _señoritas_ may learn dressmaking and millinery
and modelling in clay; in the evening the _caballeros_ may grapple
with appropriate subjects, under competent guidance. The working
classes are educated free of charge, and the better-to-do pay ten
pesetas--equal to eight shillings--a year for mental culture.
Just outside Vigo ploughs may be seen which are as crude as those the
conquering Romans used, yet in the town there is a new flour-mill
worked by electric power, where the product of the plough is turned
into flour, and only a few men are needed to attend to the machinery.
Vigo offers many of the contradictions between the very old and the
essentially new which are to be found in Galicia.
There is not much to see in the way of public buildings; but
there is the fish market, best visited early in the morning, when
the building is crowded with women who are buying, selling, and
handling the catches which have been brought in from the bay and
the Atlantic; and the vegetable market, where also the women are
the principal attendants. These two places give evidence of the
marvellous fecundity of land and sea. There is abundance of fish
and a bewildering display of fruits and vegetables. Many of the
creatures of the sea are strange to English eyes, and not agreeable
to English palates. There is the revolting devil-fish, and the more
repulsive ink-fish; yet both, when properly cooked, are far from
unappetising, and the tourist, by way of experiment, may have the
fortitude to try them. The sword-fish makes an excellent course;
and there is a plentiful supply of oysters and other shell-fish. The
commonest fish of all, however, is the sardine. It is larger and
coarser than the sardine with which English people are familiar,
being the size of a small herring, but it makes a very good dish, and
the finest specimens, when cooked in oil or tomatoes, and packed in
tins, are delicious. In Vigo, for breakfast, you may have a dish of
big sardines, cooked to your liking, which have formed part of the
previous night's catch.
[Illustration: GALICIAN CHILDREN]
[Illustration: AFRAID OF THE CAMERA]
Vigo's Alameda skirts the glorious bay, and is a fine promenade along
which one may stroll and enjoy the scenery and study something of
the local life. The road is smooth and asphalted, purely modern, yet
on its perfect surface an ancient bullock-cart will come, slowly
drawn by oxen. I watched one of these vehicles going towards the
Custom-house, pursued by an enterprising Spanish child, who watched
her chance for a cheap ride. It is no hard matter, even for an
infant, to overtake a bullock-cart, and the girl clambered up and
experienced the fearful joy of a stolen passage. The driver was
somnolent, and the journey looked promising, until he was roused to
action by the raising of the Galician equivalent to the English alarm
of "Whip behind!" For a moment the infant defied him, and apparently
reflected unfavourably on the driver's origin; but a swish of his
long driving-stick made her tumble off precipitately. But her
spirit was unchecked, and, pulling herself together, she accompanied
him at a safe distance and continued her taunting criticism. I took
a snapshot of the fractious juvenile just before she regained the
asphalt, and while she was telling her compatriot what she thought of
him; but an incompetent developer spoiled the exposure, as he ruined
many others. It is a comforting reflection now--such is the mellowing
effect of time--that though he was unable to appreciate the technical
advice I gave him in English, yet he also did not realise the force
of my additional remarks when I criticised his work--indeed, when
I left he raised his hat, and in the politest and most polished
manner wished me, so I gathered, continued health and prosperity.
The Galician who has wronged you has a wondrous gift for making you
understand that you are the offender.
A noble view of the surrounding scenery is obtainable from the
Castillo del Castro, whose old fortifications are more than four
hundred feet above the level of the bay. As the castle is in the
nature of a fortress and sentries are on duty, admission is not given
to the public, but the visitor may wander about freely, and the climb
is worth the trouble for the sake of the panorama.
Vigo has a strong and enterprising municipality, and the city is
giving evidence of what can be done by earnest and united enterprise.
On the opposite side of the bay, for example, is a prosperous
community called Moyna. Eight or nine years ago the place consisted
of only a few houses; yet to-day the green hill-side is dotted with
white buildings, due to the development of the fishing industry.
Near it is a little village nestling in a hollow at the foot of the
mountains which rise from the bay in a fertile sweep; so sheltered
is the spot and so balmy is the atmosphere, so continuous and
beneficent is the sunshine, that from the water's edge to the summit
of the range, palm-trees, which are rare in Galicia, flourish and
orange-trees abound.
On every side there are majestic views, and at the head of the
bay, rising beautifully from the calm blue water, is the island of
San Simon. In ordinary times this is the lazaretto, or quarantine
station, but for fifteen years it has not been necessary for the
buildings to be used for sickness or suspected cases. San Simon is
one of Spain's three quarantine stations, the other two being at
Santander, on the Biscay coast, and at Port Mahón, in the island
of Minorca, in the Mediterranean. The little island overlooks the
inlet in which treasure-ships were sunk two centuries ago, and the
buildings upon it are being modernised and equipped with scientific
apparatus at a cost of £4000. The island is State property, but it
is administered from Vigo by the Director of Public Health, with the
co-operation of the mayor and corporation. At the end of the war in
Cuba eight thousand repatriated soldiers were treated on the island,
and it speaks well for the healthiness of the place, and the devotion
of the Sisters of Mercy and the skill of the doctors, that only
sixty died. There is a delightful avenue of boxwood-trees, spoiled,
unfortunately, by the foolishness of a former housekeeper; excellent
boating is to be had; and just by the island there are first-rate
oyster-beds and plentiful fishing. In the sand a small fish is found
which has a habit of burying itself, and at low water the women go
forth and dig the creature out of its burrow.
Nothing can be more peaceful and beautiful than the sail down Vigo
Bay at eventide, after spending a few hours on the island; for the
sun is setting in the Western Ocean and flooding Vigo Bay with
golden light, against which the seaward hills and Cies Islands stand
outlined in a solemn purple.
Treasure from galleons of Spain lies buried in Vigo Bay. The story
goes that at the beginning of the seventeenth century allied British
and Dutch ships, under Admirals Rooke and Stanhope, attacked the
famous Silver Fleet, which was lying at anchor, and captured much of
the gold and silver. Some of the vessels which were not taken were
sunk, and their precious cargoes foundered with them. For more than
two hundred years the galleons have rested at the bottom of the bay.
Many efforts have been made to recover the treasure, but Vigo Bay is
deep, and so far the attempts have not succeeded. But the story is
not strictly true, nor is it correct to say that the treasure-ships
were destroyed just at the entrance of the bay. The actual place of
their ill-fortune was at the head of the bay, towards San Simon's
Island, where there is a narrow channel. Two centuries ago there
were fortifications on each side of the channel, which is called the
Strait of Rande, and the ruins may still be seen at the foot of the
hills. At that time Cadiz had the sole right to receive treasure from
Spain's foreign possessions, and to that port a fleet of galleons
laden with precious freight was bound. But there was war with England
and Holland, and the treasure-ships, which were merchantmen, and
of lighter draught than the opposing ships of war, were ordered to
seek shelter at the head of Vigo Bay; and thither they scurried,
finding refuge in the shallower water behind the entrance of Rande.
A chain was drawn across the strait as an additional protection. For
several weeks the hunted vessels lay securely at their anchorage, and
meanwhile much of the treasure was taken ashore for conveyance to
Madrid.
Fifteen hundred treasure-laden waggons, drawn by oxen, started for
the capital. There is a saying in Spain that he who handles butter
will get greasy, and by the time Madrid was reached the fifteen
hundred waggon-loads of gold and silver had dwindled to five hundred;
so that two-thirds of the precious cargoes, having escaped the
clutches of the English and Dutch, had fallen into the not less
rapacious hands of Spaniards. The missing treasure does not appear to
have been recovered, but in Vigo until quite lately walking-sticks
and other articles could be bought which had been made from wood
raised from the sunken galleons. I asked if they were still to
be purchased, and was told that the supply had run out, though I
gathered that I should have no difficulty in getting such a relic
made to order, after the style, I suppose, of momentoes of our own
_Royal George_.
The hills surrounding Vigo Bay command most glorious and extensive
views. On one of them is the Castle Mos, a summer residence of
the Marquis de la Vega de Armijo, the head of one of the noblest
families in Spain. As castles go, it is not large, but by reason of
its history and association the building is amongst the most famous
in Galicia. The late King of Spain, Alfonso XII., visited it three
times, as a record in the castle testifies, during the residence of
the late Marquis, who was Spain's Prime Minister, and died in Madrid
in 1908. He was taken from the capital to the castle, where he was
buried beneath the floor of the tiny private chapel in which he had
so often worshipped. The chapel is part of the interior. Outside,
within the walls, is a miniature theatre, in which performers and
audience were either members of the family or visitors. There is a
keep which was built six hundred years ago. It forms the oldest part
of the castle, and the walls are so enormously thick that to look
through one of the narrow windows is like gazing down a corridor. The
main room is a small armoury, beneath which is a dark apartment,
reached by a ladder from a trap-door in the floor. This basement, now
used as a wine-cellar, was formerly a dungeon, and at one time held a
bishop prisoner. The castle has been modernised inside, and in recent
years restorations have been made to the exterior; but neither within
nor without has anything been done to make it hard for the visitor to
picture accurately the former house of a grandee of Spain. The old
keep is in perfect repair, and the inner and outer walls stand as
they were when wars raged fiercely in Galicia. The muzzles of some
small old guns stick out of the embrasures, and you can raise and
lower them slightly, for their trunnions are fixed in iron rings let
into the walls, and one can realise what a slow business artillery
firing was in the days when these quaint, open-breached ordnance
were used for fighting. I was told that the guns were captured
from the English in the days of Elizabeth. The castle grounds are
beautiful and extensive, and full of charm and romance. There are
some magnificent eucalyptus-trees; fine examples of the arbutus,
whose fruit, something like strawberries, is rich and delicious;
orange-trees, from which, in glorious November sunshine, I plucked
sweet tangerines; and the botanical curiosity popularly known as the
monkey-puzzler. Chestnuts abound here, as in Galicia generally.
[Illustration: ON THE QUAY AT VIGO]
[Illustration: FISHERMEN'S COTTAGES AT CANGAS]
Across Vigo Bay, looking like a white streak at the foot of the
hills, which are bare and bleak at the tops, but fresh and green
at their bases, lies the little fishing town of Cangas. A small
steamboat which plies regularly between the two places makes the
journey across the blue water in half an hour, and on stepping ashore
at the primitive pier you can realise what Vigo was like not many
generations ago. There is no plan in the arrangement of Cangas; the
houses are placed where they fit best, and the streets follow the
houses. Oil-lamps give illumination to the straggling thoroughfares,
yet inside the quaint dwellings there is electric light. Cangas has
its old church, whose dimensions are out of all proportion to the
size of the town to the English way of thinking, and smaller places
of worship, one on the sands, built in 1711.
The church, which is named after St. James, is dark and bleak inside.
I visited it the morning after All Souls' Day, and saw in the middle
of the floor a high structure covered with black cloth and ornamented
on four sides with skulls and cross-bones in white. Rising from
the gloom, after entering the church from the brilliant sunshine,
the reminder of the grave looked ghastly. The air was heavy with
the smell of incense, and peasants were kneeling and praying. One
old man was wiping away his tears and gazing at some object in the
semi-darkness which I could not clearly see. I walked up to it, and
saw that a bier, black-cloth-covered, with the skull and cross-bones
in white, was resting on the floor. On the bier was an open black
coffin, and at the head of the rude, oblong box were two pillows
covered with dark velvet. On the top pillow was a grinning skull; in
the coffin was a khaki-coloured coarse robe, like a friar's habit,
and from the sleeves peeped the bones that had once been arms. The
grave-clothes and the side of the bier were thick with spots of
candle-grease. A child came up as I bent over the coffin, and she
waggled the skull to and fro with hideous effect, for it seemed to
nod. She looked at me and smiled. Here was all the ghastliness of
death without its glorious hope and promise, a spectacle that was
meant to awe and overpower, yet a little girl was unaffected by the
grim reminder of her own end. Near me was a door through which the
sunshine slanted, and I walked out into the free, refreshing air, and
listened to the song of another small maid who was nursing a child.
She was one of the prettiest children I saw in Galicia, and was
singing a song which I was told was an urgent prayer to her lover to
come across the seas and rejoin her.
Most of the men of Cangas are engaged in the sardine fisheries, and
on the beach and afloat were many of their fine open craft, which are
rowed by sixteen, eighteen, or twenty oars, and can be propelled very
rapidly.
At times the fishermen will contract to sell their catch, whatever it
may be, at a certain price, in which case they are assured of some
return for their labour; at other times they will dispose of the fish
in the ordinary way, at market prices. On the north side of Vigo
Bay, as on the south, there are factories where sardines and other
fish are prepared and packed for home and foreign use. One of the
most popular and interesting sights of Vigo is the sardine factory
of Messrs. Barreras, beautifully situated at the edge of the bay,
to the east of the town. It is fascinating to watch the treatment
of the myriads of fishes from the time they are brought in from the
sea to the moment when the soldered box is ready for packing. Only
a few hours elapse, sometimes, between the catching of the fish and
the exportation of the finished product. Messrs. Barreras build their
own steam fishing-boats entirely, catch their own sardines, and carry
out the various processes of cleaning, cooking, tinning, and packing
them for home and foreign use. The sardine trade is one of the most
important of Vigo's industries, and no visitor to Galicia should fail
to inspect one of these busy factories.
Sunday is the brightest day in the week in Vigo, for then the band
plays at noon and evening in the Alameda, and the people promenade
and laugh and talk incessantly; the places of amusement are open, and
the theatre provides a satisfactory finish for the day's enjoyment.
So excellent is the climate of the town that the band performances
take place in the open air even in the winter months. For those who
do not care for the public entertainments there are two or three good
clubs. When ships of war visit Vigo the officers are made honorary
members of clubs, and find the institutions very useful for seeing
their country's newspapers.
I spent many interesting days in Vigo. Often, in the darkness of
the early morning, from the balcony outside my bedroom at the Hotel
Continental, a stone's-throw from the bay, I watched the mail-boats,
tramps, and sailing-ships come in from the sea, or the day break.
A constant charm about the watching was the impossibility of
foreseeing what would happen. One morning I saw a Russian cruiser
squadron, grey and silent, steam up to its anchorage, and frequently
afterwards, at eight o'clock, I heard the strains of the Russian
National Anthem as the ensigns were hoisted. The familiar music, used
sometimes in England as a hymn tune, mingled with the shore noises of
bullock-carts and timber-shifting and the cries of men and women.
While the Russian squadron was in Vigo Bay a seaman was killed by
the explosion of some acetylene on board his ship. On the following
afternoon he was buried with all the solemn rites of his Church. At
the head of the procession walked a sailor carrying a basket, from
which he scattered flowers on the roadway; following him were Russian
priests in their white silk vestments, chaplains from the squadron,
and brass eikons were borne aloft; the bandsmen from the squadron
played a funeral march, and alternating with their music was the
playing of a solemn dirge by the band of the 37th Regiment of the
Line of Spain; there was the firing party, with fixed bayonets, the
admiral and the officers from the ships and the ships' companies,
and the white coffin in the white funeral car, drawn by four horses,
and surmounted by a figure of the Virgin. It was all very touching
and impressive--another of the unexpected sights of this corner of
Spain which is so old and yet so very new.
Vigo is the port from which most of the emigrants who leave Galicia
sail, and at which they land on returning to their native country.
Crowds of them may be seen frequently, with their baggage and
household belongings, waiting on the quay for their ship to enter
the bay, or going off in barges or tenders to get on board. The
emigrants, mostly young men, are bound for South America, where some
of them do very well, and come back to Galicia with capital enough to
buy land and settle as comfortable farmers.
A most enjoyable journey can be made from Vigo to Redondela, eight
miles away. In situation the town is considered one of the finest in
Spain, and it would be hard to picture anything more beautiful and
striking than its aspect at night, as seen from either of the tall
railway viaducts. The larger of these is 118 feet high and 348 yards
long. The electric lamps give the place the look of an enchanted
city. You can glance down the shore to Vigo itself, outlined by
lamps, high on the hill-side, whilst Redondela nestles in a dike
scores of feet below you as you rumble over the viaduct, thankful
for once that the speed of the train is so slow. Redondela is on the
road from Vigo to Mondariz. Pretty women, portly priests, and tales
of war and treasure have been long associated with the lively town.
Also within easy reach of Vigo is Puenteareas, a small town which
is celebrated mostly for its very fine old bridge. During a brief
halt at this place in the evening I entered the church in the public
square just as service was beginning, and was surprised to find the
interior almost crowded with worshippers, mostly women. After the
manner of the country, they carried all sorts of articles with them.
Vigo has an enterprising and resourceful daily press, and Galicia has
its interests well represented by an admirable illustrated monthly
magazine. This is the _Vida Gallega_, which gives to the matters of
the province that attention which at home is bestowed upon current
events by the London and provincial weeklies. One morning, leaving
early for Orense, I observed a man at the first stopping-place alight
and promenade the platform with copies of the _Faro de Vigo_, and
at each station, during a period of five hours, he jumped down and
disposed of his numbers. The train corresponded to our own newspaper
specials, and the method of distribution, crude though it may be, is
the beginning of a system which in time may equal ours. The journals
were eagerly bought, the purchasers opening them at once on the
platform, and either standing to read the news or absorbing the
contents of the columns as they walked away. The journey from Vigo
to Orense occupied five hours; and there was the same time spent on
the return, which the newsvendor made. He started at six, and arrived
at Vigo late at night. That, I was told, was his daily task; yet he
seemed perfectly cheerful and contented.
Vigo fascinated Borrow, who described it as a small, compact place,
surrounded with low walls, with narrow, steep, and winding streets,
and a rather extensive faubourg stretching along the shore of the
bay. Vigo, he added, seemed to be crowded, and resounded with
noise and merriment. In that respect there is little difference
between the town then and now; but in other directions there have
been vast changes. It can no longer be said that Vigo has only a
wretched _posada_ to offer to travellers, for it has the up-to-date
and thoroughly equipped Hotel Continental, facing the bay, an
establishment from whose balconies you may watch the sun rise
gorgeously above the hills, and see it set in a blaze of colour
behind the Cies Islands.
[Illustration: SANTIAGO, FROM THE ALAMEDA]
[Illustration: SANTIAGO DE COMPOSTELA]