DEER-STALKING AND "STILL-HUNTING."
On the Southern plains 428
APPENDIX.
PART I.
THE LARGE GAME OF SPAIN AND PORTUGAL,
With notes on other Spanish Mammalia 437
Red Deer 437
Fallow Deer 438
The Roebuck in Spain 439
The Spanish Ibex 440
The Chamois 441
The Bear 442
Wild Boar 443
Wolf and Fox 444-5
Spanish Lynx 446
Smaller beasts 447 _et seq._
PART II.
SPRING-MIGRANTS TO SPAIN,
With dates of arrival, etc., in Andalucia 450
PART III.
i. Spring-notes in Navarre 454
ii. Supplementary notes on birds (Southern Spain) 457
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PLATE NO. PAGE
i. Map of Spain and Portugal _Frontispiece_
An Andaluz 3
A Granadino 4
Basque peasant 5
ii. Relics of the Moors--Ruins of the Watch-tower of
Melgarejo _To face_ 6
Fair Sevillanas 8
A _choza:_ the home of the Andalucian peasant 13
iii. Pair of Civil Guards--Jerez _To face_ 14
A water-seller 18
iv. Daughters of Andalucia _To face_ 19
Dancers with castanets 20
A village _posada_ 21
"Furniture" 25
Our quarters in the Sierra 26
A straight charge (wild boar) 30
v. "That old tusker" (wild boar) _To face_ 31
A mule with trappings 32
vi. Bustards on the barrens--winter;--a first shade of
suspicion _To face_ 33
vii. Watering the cattle--summer-time _To face_ 35
Great Bustard--_echando la rueda_ 39
viii. Bustard-driving--the pack come "well in" _To face_ 40
Great Bustards--an April dawn 43
ix. " " --among the spring-corn _To face_ 48
The Bustard-shooter--triumph! 51
x. Ancient draw-well on the plains _To face_ 52
xi. Bulls on the plains _To face_ 57
xii. The morn of the Fight--Bulls in the _toril_ (Miura's
breed) _To face_ 61
xiii. The _Encierro_ _To face_ 65
A Bull-fighter 66
A Matador 68
Fishing-boat on the Guadalquivir 78
Flamingoes 74, 102 and 115
Avocets 77, 82 and 87
Stilts 70, 86 and 92
xiv. Booted Eagle _To face_ 81
xv. Pintailed Sand-Grouse _To face_ 85
Grey Plovers--summer-plumage 89
xvi. The Spanish Wild Camels--our first sight of a couple
in the marisma _To face_ 94
xvii. Wild Camels--seen through the binoculars _To face_ 98
Flamingoes on feed 104
A right-and-left at Flamingoes 106
Spanish Lynx 107
A toilet in the wilderness (Flamingoes) 109
Flamingoes and nests 111
xviii. Flamingoes on their nests _To face_ 112
Civil Guards--a sketch from life 121
Draw-well at the Zumajo, near Jerez 127
Spanish Ibex, Old Ram--Sierra de Gredos 131
---- ---- ---- Sierra Nevada 133, 135, and 170
xix. On the crags of Almanzór (Ibex) _To face_ 137
Old olive-trees near Talavera 139
xx. Ibex-hunting--a sketch in the Sierra de Gredos _To face_ 141
Our first old Ram 145
xxi. Ibex-hunting--the two old Rams at the "Cannon-Rock" _To face_ 148
The peaks of Gredos 149
xxii. Our camp on the Riscos de Valderejo _To face_ 152
Ibex-hunters of Gredos--a sketch by the camp-fire 154
Ibex, female--Riscos de Valderejo 155
---- ---- Bermeja 158
xxiii. Ibex-hunting--a sketch in the Sierra Bermeja _To face_ 161
Forest Ibex, old Ram--Bermeja 164
Trout 175, 182, and 186
Chamois 179 and 442
Spanish Imperial Eagle 190, 198, and 219
---- ---- (Spotted stage) 193
---- ---- The Eagle's swoop 262
Tawny Eagle 195
Black Vulture 201 and 202
At roost--Serpent-Eagles 204
xxiv. A Vulture's banquet _To face_ 206
Griffon Vulture and nest--Puerta de Palomas 208
Strange neighbours (Vultures and Storks) 209
xxv. "Where the carcase is" _To face_ 213
Bonelli's Eagle (adult) 217 and 383
xxvi. Ploughing with oxen _To face_ 221
Wooden ploughshare 224
xxvii. The harvest-field _To face_ 225
xxviii. Threshing corn with mares _To face_ 226
xxix. Winnowing _To face_ 228
"Waiting for death" (old olive-trees) 232
xxx. Kites and Marsh-Harriers _To face_ 242
xxxi. Sand-dunes and _Corrales_ of Doñana _To face_ 245
Hoopoes 248
A serenade (Red-leg Partridge) 251
Azure-winged Magpies 258
Eyed Lizard and Serpent-Eagle 260
Black Stork 265
xxxii. Mallards and Ferruginous Ducks--Alamillo _To face_ 268
xxxiii. White-fronted Ducks--Santolalla _To face_ 270
Buff-backed Heron 83 and 272
Marsh-Harrier--very old male 274
Summer evening--Owls and Moths 276
xxxiv. Dancers at Granada--the _Bolero_ _To face_ 289
Gypsy lad 290
Gypsy dance 292
Lämmergeyer--a first impression 295
Dance and guitar 297
Griffon Vulture (a sketch from life) 303
"Roses in Spain" 306
xxxv. Lämmergeyer--a sketch from life in the Sierra
Bermeja _To face_ 309
Our quarters at Guentar del Rio 312
Ibex-head--Sierra de Gredos 319
xxxvi. Vineyard and gateway _To face_ 325
Vines in March (Jerez) 326
xxxvii. In a Jerez Bodega _To face_ 328
xxxviii. Irrigation by the _noria_, or water-wheel _To face_ 334
A vineyard at Jerez 336
Great Bustards 337 and 340
Little Bustards--May 345
xxxix. A Spanish jungle--The Angosturas _To face_ 348
Fishing-boats 349
xl. Palacio de Doñana _To face_ 350
xli. Breakfast-time--Doñana _To face_ 352
A royal head--Doñana 354
Dead Lynx 355
Group of forest-guards 357
Pannier-pony and game 358
Spanish Red Deer--a mountain-head from Morena 360 and 430
---- a stag of thirteen points 363
xlii. Spanish wildfowlers approaching duck with _cabresto_
ponies _To face_ 365
xliii. A shot in the open (Red Deer) _To face_ 367
Wild Boar--an old tusker 368
xliv. Salavar--a sketch in a Spanish _Mancha_ _To face_ 369
xlv. Wildfowling with _cabrestos_--
---- ---- No. 1. The approach _To face_ 372
xlvi. ---- ---- No. 2. The shot _To face_ 374
xlviii. ---- ---- No. 3. The result _To face_ 381
"_Anseres son!_" 377
Greylag Geese flighting--daybreak 378
xlvii. Grey Geese and Wigeon--midday _To face_ 378
Marsh-Harrier (young) 380
xlix. "The farewell shot" _To face_ 382
Mallards 387
Grey Geese 390 and 391
l. Redshanks (101 and) _To face_ 393
Stilts 396 and 404
Little Gull and Tern 398
li. "A Hundred at a Shot--now or never!" _To face_ 400
"The Biter and the Bit" (Harrier and Teal) 401
lii. La Marismilla--a shooting morning _To face_ 405
Spanish guns 411
"The eleven-pointer" (Red Deer) 413
A fifteen-pointer (Red Deer) 414
"Dropped in his tracks" (Wild Boar) 416
Stork's nest--The Banderas, Seville 422
---- ---- on straw-stack 459
Spanish Lynx 436
Spanish Ibex--Five-year-old Rams 440
WILD SPAIN.
(ESPAÑA AGRESTE.)
CHAPTER I.
AN OLD-WORLD CORNER OF EUROPE.
ANDALUCIA AND HER MOUNTAIN-BARRIERS.
Among European countries Spain stands unique in regard to the range of
her natural and physical features. In no other land can there be found,
within a similar area, such extremes of scene and climate as
characterize the 400 by 400 miles of the Iberian Peninsula. Switzerland
has alpine regions loftier and more imposing, Russia vaster steppes, and
Norway more arctic scenery: but nowhere else in Europe do arctic and
tropic so nearly meet as in Spain. Contrast, for example, the stern
grandeur of the Sierra Nevada, wrapped in eternal snow, with the almost
tropical luxuriance of the Mediterranean shores which lie at its feet.
Nor is any European country so largely abandoned to nature: nature in
wildest primeval garb, untouched by man, untamed and glorious in
pristine savagery. The immense extent of rugged sierras which intersect
the Peninsula partly explains this; but a certain sense of insecurity
and a hatred of rural life inherent in the Spanish breast are still more
potent factors. The Spanish people, rich and poor, congregate in town or
village, and vast stretches of the "campo," as they call it, are thus
left uninhabited, _despoblados_--relinquished to natural conditions, to
the wild beasts of the field and the birds of the air. Perhaps in this
respect the semi-savage regions of the far East, the provinces of the
Balkans and of classic Olympus, most nearly approach, though they cannot
rival, the splendid abandonment of rural Spain. And as a nation, the
Spanish people vary _inter se_ in almost the same degree. It is, in
fact, that characteristic of Iberia which is reflected in the
picturesque diversity of the Iberians.
One cause which tends to explain these divergences, racial and physical,
is the exceptionally high mean elevation of the Peninsula above
sea-level. Spain is a highland plateau; a huge table-mountain,
intersected by ranges of still loftier mountains, but devoid of low-land
over a large proportion of its area, save in certain river-valleys and
in the comparatively narrow strips of land, or alluvial belts, that
adjoin the sea-board--chiefly in its southernmost province, Andalucia.
Few nations live at so great an average elevation. The cities of London,
Paris, Berlin, St. Petersburg, all the Scandinavian capitals, and even
Lisbon, stand at, or a little above, sea-level; Vienna, Moscow, and
Dresden have elevations of only a few hundred feet; but Madrid is
perched at 2,384 feet, with the snow-fields of Guadarrama overlooking
the Puerta del Sol, while a large area of Central Spain, comprising the
Castiles, Aragon and Navarre, is of even greater altitude. Thus Burgos
stands at 2,873 feet; Segovia, 2,299; Granada, 2,681; and the Escorial
at 3,686 feet.
These central table-lands, exposed to a tropical sun, become torrid,
tawny deserts in summer; in winter--owing rather to rarefied air than to
very low temperatures--they are subject to a severity of cold unknown in
our more temperate clime, and to biting blasts from the Alpujarras, the
Guadarrama, and other mountain ranges which intersect the uplands, and
on which snow lies throughout the year, contrasting strangely in the
dog-days with the pitiless heat of summer and the intensity of the azure
background.
Of different type is the mountain region of the north--the Cantabrian
Highlands bordering on Biscay, the Basque Provinces, Galicia and the
Asturias, offshoots of the Pyrenean system. There the country is almost
Scandinavian in type, with deeply rifted valleys, rapid salmon-rivers,
and rushing mountain-torrents abounding in trout; and an alpine fauna
including the chamois and bear, ptarmigan, hazel-grouse, and
capercaillie. That is a land of rock, snow, and mist-wreath, of birch
and pine-forest: abrupt and untilled, wind-swept and wet as a West
Highland moor, the very antithesis of the smiling province which most
concerns us now--Andalucia. This, more African than Africa, in spring,
autumn and winter is a paradise, the _huerta_ of Europe, low-lying and
protected by the sierras of Nevada and Morena from the deadly breath of
the central plateau; but in the four summer months an _infierno_, where
every green thing is burnt up by a fiery sun, where shade is not, and
where life is only endurable by discarding European habits and adopting
those of Moorish or Oriental races.
[Illustration: AN ANDALUZ.]
Naturally such contrasts of climate and country re-act upon the
character of the denizens--be they human or _feræ naturæ_--of a land
which includes within its boundaries nearly all the physical conditions
of Europe and Northern Africa. But it is the peculiar mental cast and
temperament of the Spanish race, as much as the physical causes alluded
to, that have developed those clean-cut differences that to-day
distinguish the various Iberian provinces. It is the self-sufficiency,
the "provincialism," and careless unthinking disposition of the
individual, as much as mountain-barriers, that have separated adjacent
provinces as effectually as broad oceans.
[Illustration: A GRANADINO.]
[Illustration: BASQUE PEASANT.]
Though springing from a common root, _i.e._, the blend of Roman and
Phoenician blood with the aboriginal tribes of Iberia, the
vicissitudes of twelve centuries of history, with its successive foreign
invasions and occupations, have materially modified the racial
characteristics of the Spanish people. The Latin element still
predominates, both in type and tongue: but Semitic, Aryan, and even
Turanian strains are all present. The Spanish nation of to-day is
composed rather of a congeries of heterogeneous peoples and provinces,
once separate kingdoms, and still incapable of coherence or of fusion
into a concrete whole, than of sections of a single race. Compare the
sturdy and industrious, albeit somewhat phlegmatic, Galician, the happy
despised bondsman, the hewer of wood and drawer of water of the
Peninsula, with the gay and careless Andaluz who spurns and derides him:
or the fiery temperament of aristocratic Castile and Navarre with the
commercial instincts of Catalonia and the north-east. Probably the most
perfect example of natural nobility is afforded by the peasant
proprietor of pastoral Leon; then there is a pelt-clad, root-grubbing
_homo sylvestris_ peculiar to Estremenian wilds, who awaits attention of
ethnologists. There are the Basques of Biscay--Tartar-sprung or
Turanian, Finnic or surviving aborigines, let philologists decide; at
any rate, a race by themselves, distinct in dress and habit, in laws and
language, from all the rest. Reserved, but courteous and reliable, the
Basques are dangerously ready for their much-prized _fueros_ to plunge
their country in civil war.[1] The differences which to-day distinguish
these allied races are as deep and defined as those which stand between
themselves and the foreigner of alien blood. But we are rambling, and
must remember that in this chapter we only propose to deal with
ANDALUCIA.
Often and well as in bygone days this sunny province has been described,
yet the modern life and nineteenth-century conditions of rural Andalucia
are now comparatively unknown--have fallen into oblivion amid the more
ambitious and eventful careers of other countries. And, indeed, there is
needed the genius of a Cervantes or a Ford adequately to depict or
portray the quaint and picturesque _ensemble_ of this old-world corner
of Europe, so distinct from all the rest, and unchanged since the days
of Don Quixote. Spain, the land of anomaly and paradox, is a complex
theme not lightly to be understood or described by aliens, albeit
possessed of that first qualification, the passport to every Spanish
heart--a sympathetic nature. Around the country and its people, around
everything Spanish, there hangs, in our eyes, a grace and an infinite
charm; but it is a subtle charm, hardly to be described or defined in
words of ours.
The very inertia, the mediæval conditions thinly veneered, which
characterize modern Andalucia in an era of insensate haste and
self-assertion, prove to some a solace and a fascination. There are not
wanting minds which, amidst different environments, can enjoy and admire
such primitive simplicity--stagnation, if you will--and find therein a
grateful and refreshing change. In Southern Spain life is dreamed away
in sunshine and in an atmosphere forgetful of the present, but redolent
of the past. The modern Andaluz is content _de s'écouter vivre_, while
the ancient chivalry of his race and his land's romantic history is
evidenced by crumbling castle on each towering height; by the
palace-fortresses and magnificent ecclesiastical fabrics of the middle
ages: while the abandoned aqueducts, disused highways and broken bridges
of the Roman period, attest a bygone energy.
[Illustration: Plate II. RELICS OF THE MOORS--RUINS OF THE WATCH-TOWER
OF MÉLGAREJO. Page 6.]
Andalucia is a land of vine-clad slopes and _olivares_; of boundless
prairies and corn lands where rude old-world tillage leaves undisturbed
the giant of European game-birds, the Great Bustard, pushed back by
modern cultivation from northern fields; a land of vast trackless heaths
aromatic of myrtle and mimosa, lentisk and palmetto, alternating with
park-like self-sown woods of cork-oak and chestnut, ilex and wild olive,
carpeted between in spring-time with wondrous wealth of flowers--lonely
scenes, rarely traversed save by the muleteer. For Spain is a land where
the mule and donkey still represent the chief means of transport--not
yet, nor for many a year, to be displaced by steam and rail. Through
every mountain-pass, along every glen of her sierras, across each
scrub-clad plain and torrid _dehesa_, still file long teams of laden
pack animals urged townwards by sullen muleteer: or, when returning to
his _pueblo_ among the hills, himself and beasts in happier mood, and
sitting sideways on the hind-most, he sings his songs of love and wrong,
no tune or words of modern ring, but those in which the history of his
race is told; now sinking to a dirge-like cadence, anon in high-pitched
protests of defiance--songs that ever have been sung since the Arab held
his sway over a proud but conquered people. Truly the _arriero_ is a
type of rural Spain: his monotonous chant, and the gaudy trappings of
his mule-team appearing and disappearing with every winding of the
mountain-track, bespeak the spirit of the sierra. In all these and in a
host of cognate scenes and sounds, in the grandeur of untamed nature,
and in the freedom and inborn grace of a rarely favoured people, there
springs a perennial charm to the traveller, a restful refreshing draught
of _laissez faire_, and a glimpse into a long-past epoch that can hardly
be enjoyed elsewhere in Europe. Here of old fierce fights were fought
for this rich prize in soil and climate; its fabled fertility attracting
hither in turn the legions of Rome, the Goths, and, last, the Moorish
hordes, to conquer and to hold for seven hundred years.
[Illustration: FAIR SEVILLAÑAS.]
The Province of Andalucia with its corn-plains and vineyards, orange
and olive-groves, barren wastes and lonely _marismas_, covers a stretch
of three hundred miles from east to west, and half that extent in depth;
and is bounded--save on the Atlantic front--by an unbroken circle of
sierras. Commencing at Tarifa on the south, the mountain-barrier is
carried past Gibraltar and Malaga to the Sierra Nevada, whose snow-clad
summits reach 12,000 feet; and beyond, on the east, by the Almerian
spurs. Nestling in the lap of this long southern range lies the narrow
belt of "Africa in Europe," above alluded to, where, secured from
northern winds and facing the blue Mediterranean, grow even cotton and
the sugar-cane; while the date-palm, _algarrobo_ or carob-tree, the
banana, quince, citron, lemon, and pomegranate, with other sub-tropical
plants, flourish in this Spanish Riviera. Then, from the easternmost
point of the province, the Sagres Mountains continue the rock-barrier to
the point where the Sierra Morena separates the sunny life of Andalucia
from the barrenness of La Mancha and primitive Estremadura. These grim
and almost unbroken solitudes of the Sierra Morena form the entire
northern boundary, continued by the Sierra de Aroche to the frontier of
Portugal, and thence, by a lesser chain, to the Atlantic once more. The
short coastline between Trafalgar and Huelva thus forms, as it were, the
only opening to this favoured land, secure in a mountain-setting--the
gem for which contending races fought for centuries, and from whose
southernmost rock the British flag floats over the bristling battlements
of Gibraltar.
To see Andalucia, the traveller must ride. In a wide and wild land,
where distances are great and the heat greater, where roads, rail, and
bridges exist not, the saddle is the only means of locomotion. In Spain
nothing can be done on foot: in a land of _caballeros_ even the poorest
bestrides his _borrico_. The traveller becomes an integral part of his
beast, and his resting-place, the village _posada_, is half-inn,
half-stable, where he must provide for the needs of his four-footed
friend before he thinks of his own. A ride through the wilder regions,
and especially among the sierras, involves, however, an amount of
forethought and provision that, to those unacquainted with the _cosas de
España_, would be well nigh incredible. In the open country no one
lives, and nothing can be obtained, or, at least, it is unsafe to rely
on it for anything. Thus one is obliged to carry from the town all the
necessaries of life--an elastic, indefinite expression, it is true. What
serves amply for one man may imply discomfort and misery to another:
still, there remains for all an irreducible minimum, and only those who
have tested their requirements in the field know how numerous and bulky
remains this absolutely indispensable "balance." First there is provend
for the beasts; heavy sacks of grain, straw, &c., necessitating mules to
carry them, and this, in turn, nearly doubling the quantity. Thus an
expedition of a fortnight or so signifies nothing less than the
transport of huge mule-loads of impedimenta, the most bulky of which are
for the use of the beasts themselves: though the indispensables for
their riders are considerable--bread, meat, eggs and oranges, skins of
wine, and, in most cases, tents with all the paraphernalia of
camp-outfit, cooking apparatus, and the rest.
Burdened with all this cargo, and in a rough country where each
traveller makes his own road--since no others exist--progress is slow:
through jungle, broken ground or wood, the wayfarer steers by compass,
landmark, or instinct--sometimes by the lack of the latter, as he finds
too late. Deep bits of bog and frequent lagoons must be circumvented,
and rivers forded where no "fords" exist: an operation which, owing to
the deep mud and treacherous ground bordering the sluggish southern
rivers, often involves off-loading, carrying across in detail, and
restowing on the other bank--a troublesome business, especially after
dark.
In this land of surprises, the _pays de l'imprévu_, it is the unexpected
that always occurs. Seldom does a ride through the wilder regions of
Spain pass without incident. Thus once we were carried off as prisoners
by the Civil Guard--not having with us our _cédulas de vecindad_--and
taken forty miles for the purpose of identification: or the way may be
intercepted by that fraternity whose ideas of _meum_ and _tuum_ are
somewhat mixed; or, worse still, as twice happened to us, by a fighting
bull. One _toro bravo_, having escaped in a frenzy of rage from a herd
whose pasturage had been moved fifty miles up the country, was occupying
a narrow cactus-hedged lane near his old haunts, and completely barred
the way, attacking right and left all who appeared on the scene. Warning
of the danger ahead was given us at a wayside shanty where the _ventero_
and his wife had sought refuge on the roof. Nothing remained but to
clear the way and rid the district of a dangerous brute already maddened
by a wound with small shot. Leaving the horses in safety, we proceeded
on foot to the attack, two of us strategically covering the advance
behind the shelter of the cactus; while our _cazador_, José Larrios,
boldly strode up the lane. No sooner had he appeared round a bend in the
fence than the bull was in full charge. A bullet from the "flank gun,"
luckily placed, staggered him, and a second from José, crashing on his
lowered front, at five yards, ended his career. When the authorities
sent out next morning to bring in the meat, nothing was found remaining
except the horns and the hoofs! On another occasion, when driving tandem
into the town of P----, we met, face to face, a _novillo_ or
three-year-old bull which, according to a custom of tauromachian Spain,
was being baited in the public streets. We only escaped by driving
across the shrubberies and flower-beds of the Alameda. In the former
case we received the thanks of the municipality: in the other, were
condemned to pay a fine![2]
Another ride was saddened by finding on the wayside the body of a
murdered man; his mule stood patiently by, and there we left them in the
gloom of gathering night. On all the bye-ways of Spain, and along the
bridle-paths of the sierras, one sees little memorial tablets or rude
wooden crosses, bearing silent witness to such deeds of violence,
according to Spanish custom:--
"Below there in the dusky pass
Was wrought a murder dread,
The murdered fell upon the grass,
Away the murderer fled."[3]
On more than one occasion our armed hunting-expeditions in the wilds
have been mistaken--not perhaps without reason, so far as external
appearances go--for a gang of _mala gente_; and their sudden appearance
has struck dire dismay in the breasts of peaceful peasants and
_arrieros_, with convoys of corn-laden donkeys, till reassured by the
brazen voice of Blas or Antonio--"_Olé, amigos! Aquí no hay mano negra,
ni blanca tampoco!_"--which we give in Spanish, as it is not readily
translatable at once into English and sense. On two occasions in the
Castiles has our advent to some hamlet of the sierra been hailed with
joy as that of a strolling company of acrobats! "_Mira los
Titeres!_--Here come the mountebanks!" sing out the ragged urchins of
the plaza, as our cavalcade with its tent-poles, camp-gear, and, to
them, foreign-looking baggage, filed up the narrow street.
It is, however, unnecessary here to recapitulate all the curious
incidents of travel, nor to recount the difficulties and troubles by
which the wayfarer in Spanish wilds may find himself beset--many such
incidents will be found related hereinafter. Sport and the natural
beauties of this unknown land are ample reward, and among the other
attractions of Andalucian travel may be numbered that of at least a
spice of the spirit of adventure.
This flavour of danger gives zest to many a distant ramble: of personal
molestation we have luckily had but little experience, although at times
associated in sport with _serranos_ of more than dubious repute, for the
Spaniard is loyal to his friend. At intervals the country has been
seething with agrarian discontent and sometimes with overt rebellion. On
more than one occasion the bullets have been whistling pretty freely
about the streets, and the surrounding _campiña_ was, for the time,
practically in the hands of an armed, lawless peasantry. In addition to
these exceptional but recurrent periods of turmoil and anarchist frenzy,
there exists a permanent element of lawlessness in the _contrabandistas_
from the coast, who permeate the sierras in all directions with their
mule-loads of tobacco, cottons, ribbons, threads, and a thousand odds
and ends, many of which have run the blockade of the "lines" of
Gibraltar. The propinquity--actual or imaginary--of _mala gente_, often
causes real inconvenience while camping in the sierra, such as the
necessity of seeking at times the insectiferous refuge of some village
_posada_ instead of enjoying the freedom of the open hill; or of having
to put out the fire at nightfall, which prevents the cooking of dinner,
preparing specimens, or writing up notes, &c.
LIFE IN THE SIERRAS.
[Illustration: A _CHOZA_: THE HOME OF THE ANDALUCIAN PEASANT.]
As the sinuous, ill-defined mule-track leaves the plain and strikes the
rising ground, the signs of man's presence become rapidly scarcer; for
none, save the very poorest, live outside the boundaries of town or
village. For mile after mile the track traverses the thickets of wild
olive and lentiscus; here a whole hillside glows with the pink bloom of
rhododendron, or acres of asphodel clothe a barren patch; but not so
much as a solitary _choza_, the rude reed-built hut of a goatherd, can
be seen. Now the path merges in the bed of some winter torrent, rugged
and boulder-strewn, but shaded with bay and laurestinus, and a fringe of
magnificent oleanders; anon we flounder through deep deposits of
alluvial mud bordered by waving brakes of giant canes and briar,
presently to strike again the upward track through evergreen forests of
chestnut and cork-oak.
The silence and solitude of hours--that perfect loneliness
characteristic of highland regions--is broken at last by a human
greeting so unexpected and startling, that the rider instinctively
checks his horse, and grasps the gun which hangs in the slings by his
side. But alarm is soon allayed as a pair of Civil Guards on their
well-appointed mounts emerge from some sheltering thicket, and command
the way. The _guardias civiles_ patrol the Spanish hills in pairs by day
and night, for it is through the passes of the sierra that the inland
towns are supplied with contraband from the coast, and all travellers
are subject to the scrutiny of these sharp-eyed cavalry. Yet, despite
the vigilance of this fine corps and their coadjutors the carbineers,
the smuggler manages to live and to drive a thriving trade. Possessing a
beast of marvellous agility and tried endurance, he carries his cargo of
cottons or tobacco--the unexcised output of Málaga or Gibraltar--across
the sierras, by devious paths and break-neck passes which would appear
impracticable, save to a goat; and this, too, generally by night.
Towns are few and far between among the mountains, and the rare villages
often cluster picturesquely on the ridge of some stupendous crag like
eagles' eyries: positions chosen for their strength centuries ago, and
nothing changes in Spain. It is not considered safe for well-to-do
people to live on their possessions of cork-woods and cattle-runs, and
few of that class are ever to be seen in the sierras, while those whom
business or necessity takes from one town to another naturally choose
the route which is, as they term it, "_más acompañado_," _i.e._, most
frequented, even though it be three times as long--in Spanish phrase,
"_no hay atajo sin trabajo_." A wanderer from these _veredas_ is looked
upon with a suspicion which experience has shown is not ill-founded.
[Illustration: Plate III. PAIR OF CIVIL GUARDS--JEREZ. Page 14.]
One evidence of human presence is, however, inevitably in sight--the
blue, curling smoke of the charcoal-burners, the sign of a wasteful
process that is ruthlessly destroying the silent beauties of the sierra.
Every tree, shrub, or bush has to go to provide fuel for the universal
_puchero_. No other firing is used for kitchen purposes; no houses, save
a few of the richest, have fireplaces or cooking-apparatus other than
the charcoal _anafe_--with its triple blow-holes, through which the
smouldering embers are fanned with a grass-woven mat (_see_ cut at p.
22)--and its accompaniments, the _casuela_ and clay _olla_. The mountain
forest is his only resource: yet the careless Andaluz never dreams of
the future, or of planting trees to replace those he burns to-day.
Hence year by year the land becomes ever more treeless, barren, and
naked; whole hill-ranges which only twenty years ago were densely clad
with thickets of varied growth, the lair of boar and roe, are now
denuded and disfigured. The blackened circle, the site of a
charcoal-furnace, attests the destructive handiwork of man. If one
expostulates with the _carboneros_, or laments the destruction wrought,
their reply is always the same:--"The land will now become _tierra de
pan_," or corn-land, of which there is already more than enough for the
labour available.
In some upland valley one comes across a colony of _carboneros_ who have
settled down on some clearing under agreement with the owner to cut and
prepare for market. These woodmen are either paid so much per quintal,
or obtain the use of the land in return for clearing and reducing it
into order for corn-growing. No rent is asked for the first five years,
or if any be paid, a portion of the crop is usually the landlord's
share. During the first few years, these disafforested lands are highly
productive, the virgin soil, enriched by carbonized refuse, yielding as
much as sixty bushels to the acre. The _carboneros_ lead a lonely life,
except when their sequestered colony is enlivened by the arrival of the
_arrieros_ with their donkey-teams, to load up the produce for the
nearest towns.
Fortunately for the Spanish forests, there are two circumstances that
tend to limit their destruction. First there is the value of the
cork-oak; for, besides its bark, which is stripped and sold every seven
years, its crops of acorns fatten droves of shapely black swine during
autumn and winter, and a substance is obtained beneath the bark which is
used in curing leather. Hence the forests of noble _alcornoques_ escape
the ruthless hatchet of the _carbonero_. The other limit is the cost of
transport which restricts his operations to within a certain distance of
the towns which form his market. Beyond this radius the forests retain
their native pristine beauty: under their shade are pastured herds of
cattle, and a rude hut, built of undressed stones and thatched with
reeds, forms the lonely casa of the herdsman. By day and night he guards
his cattle or goats, often having to sleep on the hill, or under the
scant shelter of a lentisco, for which he receives about eightpence a
day, with an allowance of bread, oil, salt, and vinegar. His wife and
children of course share his lonely lot, their only touch with the outer
world being a chance visit, once or twice a year, to their native
village.
Our rough friend, clad in leather or woolly sheepskin, is a sportsman by
nature, and can "hold straight" on his favourite quarry, the rabbit,
whose habits he thoroughly understands. The walls of his hut are seldom
unadorned with an ancient fowling-piece: generally a converted
"flinter," modernized with percussion lock, and having an enormous
exterior spring for its motive power. When the long, honey-combed barrel
has been duly fed with Spanish powder from his cork-stoppered cow's
horn, the quantity settled by eye-measurement in the palm of his hand, a
wisp of palmetto leaf well rammed home, and a similar process gone
through with the shot from a leather pouch, he may be trusted to give a
good account of darting bunny or rattle-winged red-leg. Poor fellow! the
respect and love he bears for his old favourite receive a rude shock
when the power of modern combinations of wood-powder, choke-bore, and
Purdey barrels have been successfully and successively demonstrated. But
it is only after repeated proofs that his lifelong faith in the unique
powers of that old _escopeta_ begins to shake.
Then it is a study to watch that bronzed and swarthy face, after a long
and clean right-and-left, and deep is the concentrated expressiveness of
the single untranslatable word he utters. The first opportunity is taken
to have a quiet examination of the English gun and cartridges, and with
what respect he handles these latest developments of power and
precision! One cannot help fearing that upon his next miss some particle
of mistrust may, with a sportsman's facility of excuse, find the fault
in his old and trusted friend: or that his ever-ready explanation, "_las
polvoras estaban frias_," _i.e._, the powder was _cold_! will be
associated with treasonable doubts of his old Brown Bess. We hope not.
Good, honest fellow, may he ever remain content and satisfied with the
old gun, for it affords almost the only solace of his lonely life!
In this rough herdsman there beats the kindliest heart: there exist the
best feelings of hospitality as he offers you, a brother sportsman, the
shelter of his hut and a share of his humble fare, offered with the
simple unaffected ease of an equal, and the natural grace characteristic
of his class throughout the south of Spain.
Besides these humble and harmless inhabitants, the Spanish sierras have
also ever afforded a refuge for the brigand and outlaw, and many deeds
of murder and violence are associated with these wild regions. Until the
year 1889 the mountain land was dominated by two famous villains known
as Vizco el Borje and Melgarez, his lieutenant, who commanded a band of
desperadoes, the scourge and dread of the whole southern sierra, from
Gibraltar to Almería. Vizco el Borje held human life cheap: he stuck at
no murder, though he sought not bloodshed, for his tactics were to take
alive and hold to ransom. All sorts of tales are told of the courage and
generosity of this Spanish Robin Hood. Vizco el Borje robbed only from
the rich, and was profuse in the distribution of money and plunder among
the peasantry. But whatever redeeming features may have existed in this
robber chief, Melgarez, his lieutenant, is a very fiend of malice and
cruelty, revelling in bloodshed and revolting butcheries.[4]
To those unacquainted with Spain, "la tierra de vice versâ," as they
themselves call it, it must appear a mystery how this robber-band could
remain at large, practical masters of great areas, in defiance of law
and order, and of the civil and military power of Spain. But there is
less difficulty for those who can see to read between the lines, in a
land where, according to one of their own authors, every one has his
price, that protection is afforded to the outlaws by those in place and
power, on condition that they and their properties remain unmolested.[5]
In another chapter we will relate a couple of episodes which have
occurred within our personal knowledge, and which will serve to
illustrate the robbers' methods of procedure, and the condition of
personal security among the sierras of Southern Spain.
[Illustration: A WATER-CARRIER.]
[Illustration: Plate IV.
DAUGHTERS OF ANDALUCIA.
Page 19.]
A NIGHT AT A POSADA.
The wayfarer has been travelling all day across the scrub-clad wastes,
fragrant with rosemary and wild thyme, without perhaps seeing a human
being beyond a stray shepherd or a band of nomad gypsies encamped amidst
the green palmettos. Towards night he reaches some small village where
he seeks the rude _posada_. He sees his horse provided with a good feed
of barley and as much broken straw as he can eat. He is himself regaled
with one dish--probably the _olla_, or a _guiso_ (stew) of kid, either
of them, as a rule, of a rich red-brick hue from the colour of the red
pepper, or capsicum in the _chorizo_ or sausage, which is an important
(and potent) component of most Spanish dishes. The steaming _olla_ will
presently be set on a low table before the large wood-fire, and, with
the best of crisp white bread and wine, the traveller enjoys his meal in
company with any other guest that may have arrived at the time--be he
muleteer or hidalgo. What a fund of information may be picked up during
that promiscuous supper--there will be the housewife, the barber and the
Padre of the village, perhaps a goatherd come down from the mountains, a
muleteer, and a charcoal-burner or two, each ready to tell his own tale,
or enter into friendly discussion with the _Inglés_. Then, as you light
your _breva_, a note or two struck on the guitar fall on ears
predisposed to be pleased.
How well one knows those first few opening notes! No occasion to ask
that it may go on: it will all come in time, and one knows there is a
merry evening in prospect. One by one the villagers drop in, and an
ever-widening circle is formed around the open hearth; rows of children
collect, even the dogs draw around to look on. The player and the
company gradually warm up till couplet after couplet of pathetic
"_malagueñas_" follow in quick succession. These songs are generally
topical, and almost always extempore: and as most Spaniards can--or
rather are anxious to--one enjoys many verses that are very prettily as
well as wittily conceived.
[Illustration: DANCERS WITH CASTANETS.]
But the girls must dance, and find no difficulty in getting partners to
join them. The _malagueñas_ cease, and one or perhaps two couples stand
up, and a pretty sight they afford! Seldom does one see girl-faces so
full of fun and so supremely happy, as they adjust the castanets, and
one damsel steps aside to whisper something sly to a sister or friend.
And now the dance commences: observe there is no slurring or attempt to
save themselves in any movement. Each step and figure is carefully
executed, but with easy spontaneous grace and precision, both by the
girl and her partner.
Though two or more pairs may be dancing at once, each is quite
independent of the others, and only dance to themselves: nor do the
partners ever touch each other.[6] The steps are difficult and somewhat
intricate, and there is plenty of scope for individual skill, though
grace of movement and supple pliancy of limb and body are almost
universal and are strong points in dancing both the fandango and minuet.
Presently the climax of the dance approaches. The notes of the guitar
grow faster and faster: the man--a stalwart shepherd lad--leaps and
bounds around his pirouetting partner, and the steps, though still well
ordered and in time, grow so fast one can hardly follow their movements.
[Illustration: THE VILLAGE POSADA.]
Now others rise and take the places of the first dancers, and so the
evening passes: perhaps a few glasses of _aguardiente_ are handed
round--certainly much tobacco is smoked--the older folks keep time to
the music with hand-clapping, and all is good nature and merriment.
What is it that makes the recollection of such evenings so pleasant? Is
it merely the fascinating simplicity of the music and freedom of the
dance; is it the spectacle of those weird, picturesque groups,
bronze-visaged men and dark-eyed maidens, all lit up by the blaze of the
great wood-fire on the hearth and low-burning oil-lamp suspended from
the rafters? Perhaps it is only the remembrance of many happy evenings
spent among these same people since our boyhood. This we can truly say,
that when at last you turn in to sleep you feel happy and secure among a
peasantry with whom politeness and sympathy are the only passports
required to secure to you both friendship and protection if required.
Nor is there a pleasanter means of forming some acquaintance with
Spanish country life and customs than a few evenings spent thus at
farm-house or village-inn in any retired district of laughter-loving
Andalucia.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER II.
A BOAR-HUNT IN THE SIERRA.
Late one March evening we encamped on the spurs of a great Andalucian
sierra. Away in the west, beyond the rolling prairie across which we had
been riding all day, the sun was slowly sinking from view, and to the
eastward the massive pile of San Christoval reflected his gorgeous hues
in a soft rosy blush, which mantled its snow-streaked summit. Below in
the valley we could discern the little white hermitage of La Aina, once
the prison of a British subject, a Mr. Bonnell, who, captured in 1870[7]
near Gibraltar, was carried thither by _sequestradores_, and concealed
in this remote spot till the stipulated ransom had been lodged by the
Governor of Gibraltar in the consulate at Cadiz: an incident which led
to unpleasant correspondence between the British and Spanish
Governments, and which was luckily closed by the tragic deaths of all
the offenders.
These miscreants had also formed a plan for an attack upon a private
house at Utrera; but their intentions having become known (through
treachery) to the Civil Guards, the latter surrounded the house, and
drove the robbers into the _patio_, where a simultaneous volley
terminated the careers of the whole crew. For advancing the ransom,
£6,000 (which, after various adventures, involving more bloodshed, fell
finally into the hands of a fresh robber-gang), the then Governor of
Gibraltar was freely "hauled over the coals" in the House of Commons at
the time.
Wild tales of similar bearing beguiled the dark hours in the gloom of
the forest where our big fire burned cheerily. Despite a fine, warm,
winter climate, the Andalucian atmosphere is chilly enough after
sundown, and we were glad to draw up close around the blazing logs,
where a savoury _olla_ was cooking: and afterwards, while enjoying our
cigarettes and that delicious "natural" wine of Spain which the British
public, like a spoilt child, first cries for and then abuses.
Towards nine o'clock the moon rose, and we continued our journey along
the dark defiles of the sierra, pushing a way through evergreen thicket,
or silent forest, where the startling cries of the eagle-owl outraged
the stillness of night. As far as one could see by the dim moonlight,
our course alternated for a long distance between a boulder-strewn
ravine and a glacis of smooth sloping rock, steep as a roof, and more
suited to the nocturnal gambols of cats than for horsemen. But the
Andalucian _jaca_ is hardly less sure of foot, and in due course we
emerged into a more level valley, where, after riding some miles beneath
huge cork-oaks and ilex, we heard at length the distant challenge of our
friend Gaspár's big mastiff, and soon the long ride was over, and we
entered the portals of the _rancho_ which for the succeeding week was to
be our home.
Here we were confronted by a nuisance in the non-arrival of the
commissariat. The pack-mules, despatched two days in advance, had not
turned up. It transpired that the men, loitering away the daylight, as
is the custom in Andalucia (and elsewhere), had lost the way in the
darkness, almost immediately after leaving the last vestiges of a track,
and had bivouaced among the scrub awaiting the break of day. Our
resources for the night were thus limited to the scanty contents of the
_alforjas_ (saddle-bags). We had, however, each provided ourselves with
a big sackful of chaff at the last outpost of the corn-lands--chaff, or
rather broken straw, being the staple food of the Spanish horse; and
these now formed our beds, though their softness decreased nightly by
reason of the constant inroads on their substance made by our
Rosinantes. Otherwise the naked stone-paved room was absolutely innocent
of either furniture or food; yet we were happy enough, as, rolled in our
_mantas_, we lay down to sleep on those long pokes.
[Illustration: "FURNITURE."]
Early in the morning the mountaineers began to assemble in the courtyard
of the rancho. Light of build as a rule, sinewy, and bronzed to a copper
hue, looking as if their very blood was parched and dried up by tobacco
and the fierce southern sun, and with _narajas_ stuck in their scarlet
waistbands, these wild men might each have served as a melodramatic
desperado. Three brothers of our host had ridden up from a distant farm;
there was old Christoval, the ready-witted squatter on the adjoining
rancho, a cheery old fellow, carrying fun and laughter wherever he went;
last came the Padre from the nearest hill-village (Paterna), whose
sporting instinct had made light work of the long and early ride across
the sierra to join our _batida_. Alonzo, the herdsman, who added to his
pastoral knowledge an intimate acquaintance with the wild beasts of his
native mountains, was placed in command of the beaters, a motley,
picturesque group with their leathern accoutrements and scarlet _fajas_.
Of dogs, we had four _podencos_, tall, stiff-built, wiry-haired
"terrier-greyhounds," fleet of foot, trained to find and harass the
boar, to force him to break covert, but yet so wary at feint and retreat
as to avoid the sweep of his tusks. Then there was huge "_Moro_," Don
Gaspár's half-mastiff, half-bloodhound, whose staunchness was tested of
old, and others of lesser note.
[Illustration: OUR QUARTERS IN THE SIERRA.]
Around our quarters were cultivated clearings of a few acres, fenced
with the usual aloe and cactus: otherwise the landscape was one panorama
of forest and evergreen brushwood, extending far up the mountain-sides,
and towards the barren stony summits. These sierras of Jerez are of no
great height relatively--perhaps 3,000 to 4,000 feet--and many of them
bear unmistakable evidence of their long struggles with glacial ice in
bygone ages--each tall slope consisting of a regular series of vertical
bastions, or buttresses, alternating with deep glens in singular
uniformity. Their conformation recalled the distant valleys of
Spitsbergen, where we have seen the power of ice in actual operation,
and carving out those grim Arctic hills after a precisely similar
pattern. Here, however, dense jungle had for ages replaced the snow, and
the wild boar now occupied strongholds where, _possibly_, the reindeer
had once ranged in search of scanty lichen. For the season (March) the
greenness of all foliage was remarkable; the oaks alone remained naked,
and even from their leafless boughs hung luxuriant festoons of ivy and
parasitic plants.
The upper end of our valley was shut in by the towering, transverse mass
of the Sierra de las Cabras, which terminates hard by, in a fine abrupt
gorge or chasm called the Boca de la Foz. It was to the deep-jungled
corries which furrow the sides of this chasm that Alonzo had that
morning traced to their _camas_ some six or eight pig, including a
couple of boar of the largest size, and this was to be the scene of our
first day's operations.
A pitiable episode occurred while we were surveying our surroundings,
and preparing for a start. From close behind, suddenly resounded a peal
of strange inhuman laughter, followed by incoherent words; and through
the iron bars of a narrow window we discerned the emaciated figure of a
man, wild and unkempt of aspect, and whose eagle-like claws grasped the
barriers of his cell--a poor lunatic. No connected replies could we
get--nothing but vacuous laughter and gibbering chatter: now he was at
the theatre and quoted magic jargon; now supplicating the mercy of a
judge; then singing a stanza of some old song, to break off as suddenly
into a fierce denunciation of one of _us_ as the cause of all his
troubles. Poor wretch! He had once been a successful lawyer and
advocate, but having developed signs of madness, which increased with
years, the once popular Carlos B---- was now reduced to the wretched
durance of this iron-girt cell; his only share and view of God's earth
just so much of sombre everlasting sierra as the narrow opening
permitted. We were told it was hopeless to make any effort to ameliorate
his lot--his case was too desperate. What hidden wrongs and outrage
exist in a land where no judicial intervention is permitted between the
"rights" of families and their insane relations (or those whom they may
consider such), is only too much open to suspicion.
The day was still young when we mounted and set out for the point where
Alonzo's report had led us to hope for success. The first covert tried
was a strong jungle flanking the main gorge; but this, and a second
_batida_, proved blank, only a few foxes appearing, and a wild cat was
shot. Two roe-deer were reported to have broken back, and several
mongoose, or ichneumon, were also observed during these drives, but were
always permitted to pass. The Spanish ichneumon (_Herpestes
widdringtoni_), being peculiar to the Peninsula, deserves a passing
remark; it is a strange, grizzly-grey beast, shaggy as a badger, but
more slim in build, with the brightest of bright black eyes, and a very
long bushy tail. Owing to his habit of eating snakes and other reptiles
(in preference, it would seem, to rabbits, &c.), the ichneumon stinks
beyond other beasts of prey. A large black ichneumon happened to be the
first game that fell to the writer's rifle in Spain, and was carefully
stowed in the mule-panniers--never to be seen again; for no sooner were
our backs turned, than the men discreetly pitched out the malodorous
trophy.
As we approached our third beat--the main _manchas_, or thickets of the
Boca de la Foz, the "rootings" and recent sign of pig became frequent,
and we advanced to our allotted positions in silence, leaving the horses
picketed far in the rear.
The line of guns occupied the ridge of a natural amphitheatre, which
dipped sharply away beneath us, the centre choked with strong thorny
jungle. On the left towered a range of limestone crags, the right flank
being hemmed in by huge uptilted rocks, like ruined towers, and white as
marble. One of us occupied the centre, the other guarded a pass among
these pinnacle rocks on the right. While waiting at our posts we could
descry the beaters, mere dots, winding along the glen, 1,500 feet below.
The mountain scenery was superb; but no sound broke the stillness save
the distant tinkle of a goat-bell; nor was there a sign of life except
that feathered recluse, the blue rock-thrush, (in Spanish
"_solitario_,") and far overhead floated great tawny vultures. Ten
minutes of profound silence, and then the distant shouts and cries of
the beaters in the depths beneath told us the fray had begun.
The heart of the jungle--all lentisk, or mimosa and thorn, interlaced
with briar--being impenetrable, the efforts of our men were confined to
directing the dogs, and by incessant noise to drive the game upwards.
First a tall grey fox stole stealthily past, looked me full in the face
and went on without increasing his speed; then a pair of red-legs,
unconscious of a foe, sped by like 100-yard "sprinters"--a marvellous
speed of foot have these birds on the roughest ground, and well are
Spanish by-ways named _caminos de perdices_! Then the crash of
hound-music proclaimed that the nobler quarry was at home. This boar
proved to be one of those grizzly monsters of which we were specially in
search; his lair a chaotic jumble of boulders islanded amid deepest
thicket. Here he held his ground, declining to recognize in his noisy
aggressors a superior force; and, though "Moro" and the boar-hounds
speedily reinforced the skirmishers of the pack, the old tusker showed
no sign of abandoning his stronghold. For minutes, that seemed like
hours, the conflict raged stationary; the sonorous baying of the
boar-hounds, the "yapping" of the smaller dogs, and shouts of the
mountaineers, blended with the howl of an incautious _podenco_ as he
received his death-rip--all these formed a chorus of sounds which
carried sufficient excitement to the sentinel guns above. Such and
kindred moments are worth months of ordinary life.
The actual scene of war lay some half-mile below, hence no immediate
issue was probable or expected; then came a crashing of the brushwood on
my front, and a three-parts-grown boar dashed straight for the narrow
pass where the writer barred the way. The suddenness of the encounter
was disconcerting, and the first shot was a miss, the bullet, all but
grazing his back and splashing on the grey rock beyond, and time barely
remained to jump aside to avoid collision. The left barrel told with
better effect: a stumble as he received it, followed by a frantic grunt
as an ounce of lead penetrated his vitals, and the beast plunged
headlong among the brushwood, his life-blood dyeing the weather-blanched
rocks and dark green palmettos. There for a moment he lay, kicking and
groaning; but ere the cold steel could administer a quietus, he regained
his legs and dashed straight back. Whether that charge was prompted by
revenge, or was merely an effort to regain the thickets he had just
left, matters not; for a third bullet, at two yards' distance, laid him
lifeless.
[Illustration: A STRAIGHT CHARGE.]
[Illustration: Plate V.
THAT OLD TUSKER.
Page 31.]
During this interlude, though it had only occupied a few moments, the
main combat below was approaching its climax. The old boar had at length
left his hold, and after sundry sullen stands and promiscuous skirmishes
with the hounds, he took to flight. Showing first on the centre, he was
covered for some seconds by a ·450 express; but not breaking covert,
no shot could be fired, and when he at last appeared in view, he was
trotting up the stony slopes on the extreme left. Here a rifle-shot at
long range broke a fore-leg below the shoulder. This was the turning
point: the wounded boar, no longer able to face the hill, wheeled and
retreated to the thickets below, scattering the dogs and passing through
the beaters at marvellous speed, considering his disabled condition. And
now commenced the hue and cry and the real hard work for those who meant
to see the end and earn the spoils of war. Soon "Moro's" deep voice told
he had the tusker at bay, down in the defile, far below. What followed
in that hurly-burly--that mad scramble through brake and thicket, down
crag and scree--is impossible to tell. Each man only knows what he did
himself--or did not do. We can answer for three; one of these seated
himself on a rock and lit a cigarette; the others, ten minutes later,
arrived on the final scene--one minus his nether garments and sundry
patches of skin, but in time to take part in the death of as grand a
boar as ever roamed the Spanish sierras.
First to arrive was Gaspár himself, familiar with every by-way and
goat-track on the hills, and nervous for the safety of his hound; but
only a few seconds before the denuded _Inglés_. In a pool of the
rock-strewn brook, the beast stood at bay, "Moro's" teeth clenched in
one ear and two _podencos_ attacking in flank and rear. Gaspár elected
to finish the business with the knife, fixed bayonet-wise, but the horn
haft slipped from the muzzle, and a moment later two simultaneous
bullets had closed the affair.
One by one the scattered guns turned up: some, who had taken a
circuitous course, arriving before others whose ardour had led them to
follow direct--so dense was the brushwood and rugged the sierra. A
picturesque group stood assembled around the blood-dyed pool with its
wild environment and bold mountain background; but rejoicings were
tempered by the loss of two of our _podencos_, one having been killed
outright, the other found in a hopelessly wounded condition at the
point of the first conflict.
The boar proved a magnificent brute, one of the true grey-brindled
type--_de los Castellanos_, weighing over 300 lbs. The wild-boars of the
sierras run larger than those of the plains, some being _said_ to reach
400 lbs. Beneath the outer grizzly bristles lies a reddish woolly fur.
We were soon mounted and steering for another _mancha_, where, late in
the afternoon, two sows and a small boar were found and driven forward
through the line of guns. One fell to a fine shot from our host's
brother, the others escaping scathless. Night was already upon us ere
the party re-assembled, and we rode off amidst the shadows of the
forest-glades, to fight the battles of the day again and again round the
cheery blaze in the courtyard of our mountain-home.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Plate VI.
BUSTARDS ON THE BARRENS--WINTER. "A First Shade of Suspicion."
Page 33.]
CHAPTER III.
THE GREAT BUSTARD.
A characteristic and withal a truly noble and ornamental object is the
Great Bustard, on those vast stretches of silent corn-lands which form
his home. Among the things of sport are few more attractive scenes than
a band of bustards at rest. Bring your field-glass to bear on that
gathering which you see yonder, basking in the sunshine, in full
enjoyment of their siesta. There are four-or five-and-twenty of them,
and how immense they look against the background of sprouting corn that
covers the landscape: well may a stranger mistake them for deer or
goats. Most of the birds are sitting turkey-fashion, their heads sunk
among the feathers: others stand in drowsy yet half-suspicious
attitudes, their broad backs resplendent with those mottled hues of true
game-colour, their lavender necks and well-poised heads contrasting with
the snowy whiteness of their lower plumage. The bustards are dotted in
groups over an acre or two of the gently sloping ground, the highest
part of which is occupied by a single big _barbudo_, a bearded veteran,
the sentinel of the party. From his elevated position he estimates what
degree of danger each living thing that moves on the open region around
may threaten to his companions and himself. Mounted men cause him less
concern than those on foot: a horseman slowly directing a circuitous
course may even approach to within a couple of hundred yards of him
before he takes alarm. It was the head and neck of this sentry that
first appeared to our distant view, and disclosed the whereabouts of the
game. He, too, has seen us, and is even now considering whether there is
sufficient cause for putting his convoy in motion. If we disappear
below the level of his range he will settle the point negatively;
setting us down as only some of those agricultural nuisances which so
often cause him alarm, but which his experience has shown to be
generally harmless--for attempts on his life are few and far between.
Another charming spectacle it is in the summer-time to watch a pack of
bustards about sunset, all busy with their evening feed among the
grasshoppers on a thistle-covered plain. They are working against time,
for it will soon be too dark for them to catch such lively prey. With
quick, darting step they run to and fro, picking up one grasshopper
after another with unerring aim, and so intent on their feed that the
best chance of the day is then offered to their pursuer, when greed, for
the moment, supplants caution, and vigilance is relaxed. But even now a
man on foot stands no chance of coming near them; his approach is
observed from afar, all heads are up above the thistles, all eyes intent
on the intruder: a moment or two of doubt, two quick steps and a spring,
and the strong wings of every bird in the band flap in slowly-rising
motion. The tardiness and apparent difficulty in rising from the ground
which these birds exhibit is well expressed in their Spanish name
_Avetarda_,[8] and is recognized in their scientific cognomen of _Otis
tarda_. Once on the wing, the whole pack is off, with wide swinging
flight, to the highest ground in the neighbourhood.
[Illustration: Plate VII.
WATERING THE CATTLE--SUMMER TIME.
Page 35.]
During the greater part of the year the bustards are far too wary to be
obtained by the farm-hands and shepherds who see them every day; and so
accustomed are the peasants to the sight of these noble birds that
little or no notice is taken of them. Their haunts and habits not being
studied, their pursuit is regarded as impracticable. There is, however,
one period of the year when the Great Bustard falls an easy prey to the
clumsiest of gunners. During the long Andalucian summer a torrid sun has
drunk up every brook and stream that crosses the cultivated lands:
the chinky, cracked mud, which in winter formed the bed of shallow lakes
and lagoons, now yields no drop of moisture for bird or beast. The
larger rivers still carry their waters from sierra to sea, but a more
adaptive genius than that of the Spanish people is required to utilize
these for purposes of irrigation. All water required for the cattle is
drawn up from wells: the old-world lever with its bucket at one end and
counterpoise at the other, has to provide for the needs of all. These
wells are distributed all over the plains. As the herdsmen put the
primitive contrivance into operation and swing up bucket after bucketful
of cool water, the cattle crowd around, impatient to receive it as it
rushes along the stone troughing. The thirsty animals drink their fill,
splashing and wasting as much as they consume, so that a puddle is
always formed about these _bebideros_. The moisture only extends a few
yards, gradually diminishing till the trickling streamlet is lost in the
famishing soil.
These moist places are a fatal trap to the bustard. Before dawn one of
the farm-people will conceal himself so as to command at short range all
points of the miniature swamp. A slight hollow is dug for the purpose,
having clods arranged around, between which the gun can be levelled with
murderous accuracy. As day begins to dawn, the bustard will take a
flight in the direction of the well, alighting at a point some few
hundred yards distant. They satisfy themselves that no enemy is about,
and then, with cautious, stately step, make for their morning draught.
One big bird steps on ahead of the rest: as he cautiously draws near, he
stops now and again to assure himself that all is right, and that his
companions are coming too--these are not in a compact body, but
following at intervals of a few yards. The leader has reached the spot
where he drank yesterday; now he finds he must go a little nearer to the
well, as the streamlet has been diverted; another bird follows close;
both lower their heads to drink; the gunner has them in line--at twenty
paces there is no escape: the trigger is pressed, and two magnificent
bustards are done to death. Should the man be provided with a second
barrel (which is not usual), a third victim may be added to his
morning's spoils.
Large numbers of bustards are destroyed thus every summer. It is deadly
work, and certain. Were the haunts of the birds more studied, bustards
might be annihilated on these treacherous lines.
Another primitive mode of capturing the Great Bustard is also practised
in winter. The increased value of game during the colder months induces
the bird-catchers, who supply the markets with myriads of ground-larks,
linnets and buntings, occasionally to direct their skill towards the
capture of the _avetardas_. They employ the same means as for the taking
of the small fry--the _cencerro_, or cattle-bell, and dark lantern. As
most cattle carry the _cencerro_ around their necks, the sound of the
bells at close quarters by night causes no alarm to the ground birds.
The birdcatcher, with his bright candle gleaming before its reflector
and the cattle-bell jingling at his wrist, prowls nightly over the
stubbles and wastes in search of roosting birds. Any number of
bewildered victims can thus be gathered, for larks and such-like birds
fall into a helpless state of panic when once focussed in the bright
rays of the lantern.
When the bustard is the object of pursuit, two men are required, one of
whom carries a gun. The pack of bustard will be carefully watched during
the afternoon, and not lost sight of when night comes until their
sleeping-quarters are ascertained. When quite dark, the tinkling of the
_cencerro_ will be heard, and a ray of light will surround the devoted
bustards, charming or frightening them--whichever it may be--into still
life. As the familiar sound of the cattle-bell becomes louder and
nearer, the ray of light brighter and brighter, and the surrounding
darkness more intense, the bustards are too charmed, or too dazed, to
fly. Then comes the report, and a charge of heavy shot works havoc among
them. As bands of bustards are numerous, this poaching plan might be
carried out night after night: but, luckily, the bustards will not stand
the same experience twice. On a second attempt being made, they are off
as soon as the light is seen approaching. Hence the use of the
_cencerro_ is precarious, at least as regards the bustards.
Except for the two clumsy artifices above described, the bustards are
left practically unmolested; their wildness and the open nature of their
haunts defy all the strategy of native fowlers. Their eggs are deposited
on the ground when it is covered with the green April corn: incubation
and the rearing of the young takes place amid the security of vast
silent stretches of waving corn. The young bustards grow with the wheat,
and ere it is cut are able to take care of themselves. It is just after
harvest that the game is most numerous and conspicuous. The stubbles are
then bare, and even the fallows which during spring bear heavy swathes
of weeds, have now lost all their covert. The summer sun has pulverized
and consumed all vegetation, and, but for a few chance patches of
thistles, charlock or _aramagos_, there is nothing that can screen the
birds from view.
A more legitimate method of outwitting the Great Bustard is practised at
this--the summer--period. After harvest, when the country is being
cleared of crops, or when all are cut and in sheaf, the bustards become
accustomed daily to see the bullock-carts (_carros_) passing with
creaking wheel, on all sides, carrying off the sheaves from the stubbles
to the _era_, or levelled ground where the grain is trodden out,
Spanish-fashion, by teams of mares. The loan of a _carro_, with its pair
of bullocks and a man to guide them, having been obtained from one of
the corn-farms, the cart is rigged up with _esteras_--that is, an
esparto matting is stretched round the poles which, fixed on the sides,
serve to hold the load of sheaves in position. A few sacks of straw
thrown upon the floor of the cart serve to save one, in some small
degree, from the merciless jolting of this primitive conveyance on rough
ground. One, two, or even three guns can find room in the _carro_, the
driver lying forward, near enough to direct the bullocks and urge them
on by means of a goad, which he works through a hole in the _esteras_.
At a distance this moving battery looks a good deal like a load of
straw. The search for bustard now begins, and well do we remember the
terrible suffocating heat we have endured, shut up in this thing for
hours in the blazing days of July and August. Bustards being found, the
bullocks are cleverly directed, gradually circling inwards, the goad
during the final moments freely applied. When the cart is stopped,
instantly the birds rise. Previous to finding game, each man has made
for himself a hole in the _estera_, through which he has been practising
the handling of his gun. So far as practice goes, his arrangements
appear perfect enough; but somehow, when the cart stops, the birds rise,
and the moment for action has arrived, the game seems always to fly in a
direction you cannot command, or where the narrow slit will not allow
you to cover them. Hence we have adopted the plan of sliding off behind
just as the cart was pulling up, thus firing the two barrels with much
greater freedom. We have enjoyed excellent sport by this means, and
succeeded in bringing many bustards to bag during the day. And after a
long summer-day shut up in this rude contrivance, creaking and jolting
across stubble and fallow, a deep cool draught of _gazpacho_ at the farm
is indeed delicious to parched throats and tongues.
Another system by which the Great Bustard can be brought to bag is by
driving, and right royal sport it affords at certain seasons. The most
favourable period is the early spring--especially the month of March.
The male birds are then in their most perfect plumage and condition,
with the gorgeous chestnut ruff fully developed, and in the early
mornings they present an imposing spectacle, as with lowered neck,
trailing wings, and expanded tail, they strut round and round in stately
circles--"_echando la rueda_"--before an admiring harem, somewhat after
the fashion of the blackcock; though whether the bustard is polygamous
is a question we discuss in another chapter. At this season (March) the
corn is sufficiently grown to afford covert for the gunners, but not to
conceal these great birds when feeding, _i.e._, about girth-deep.
[Illustration: GREAT BUSTARD--"ECHANDO LA RUEDA."]
The system of the _ojéo_ or bustard-drive is as follows:--The scene of
operations must be reached as soon after daybreak as possible, which
necessitates an early start and a long matutinal ride; for bustards feed
morning and evening, and during the midday hours lie down for a siesta
among the corn or rough herbage, when it is mere chance work finding
them on so vast an area. Hence an early start is necessary. When likely
corn-lands are reached, _one_ man advances to reconnoitre: having
descried a band of bustards and taken a comprehensive view of the
surrounding country, he must at once decide on his line of action. The
bustards are perhaps a mile away: the leader must therefore have a "good
eye for a country"--much, in fact, depends on his rapid intuition of the
lie of the land and local circumstances, his knowledge of the habits and
flights of the birds, and his ability to utilize the _smallest_ natural
advantages of ground or cover--_small_ indeed these are sure to be,
invisible to untrained eye. The first great object is to bring the guns,
unseen, as near the game as possible. If any miscalculation occurs, and
the advancing sportsmen expose themselves for a moment, then, very
literally, "the game is up" and the pack escapes unharmed. When the
birds are found settled on a hillside, it is sometimes not difficult to
place the guns on the reverse slope, and so near the summit that the
sportsman, stretched full length on the earth, has the birds within shot
almost before their danger is exposed. But it must be noted that the
sight of the bustard is extraordinarily keen, and the slightest unusual
object on the monotonous plain is sure to be detected. As a rule, if the
gunner can see the bustards, they too will have seen him and will swerve
from their course before approaching within range.
But, generally speaking (except during the spring-shooting), there is
hardly a vestige of anything like covert for the gunner: sometimes by
lucky chance, a dry watercourse may be available, or a solitary clump of
palmettos--even a few dead thistles may prove invaluable. These two
circumstances explain the numerous disappointments that attend
bustard-driving on the corn-plains.
Time being allowed to place the guns, two or three men start to ride
round the bustards at considerable distance, gradually approaching them
from a direction which will incline their flight towards the hidden
guns. Through long practice these men become very expert; more than once
we have seen a pack of the most stiff-necked undrivable bustards turned
in mid-flight by a judicious gallop--executed at the very nick of
time--and directed right towards the guns; and we have also known birds
so delicately treated that instead of rising before the slowly-advancing
horsemen, they have quietly walked away and startled the sportsman by
striding over a ridge within a few yards of his prostrate form.
[Illustration: Plate VIII.
BUSTARD-DRIVING--THE PACK "_COME WELL IN!_"
Page 40.]
In speaking of hills, ridges, &c., the words are used in a relative
sense. Broken ground is the exception in any district much affected by
bustard; and therefore the most must be made of the slight undulations
which these rolling plains afford. When a party of five or six guns are
well placed, it is unusual for the pack to get away without offering a
shot to one or more of the sportsmen. Strange to say, they not
infrequently escape. We know not what the cause may be--whether the
apparently slow flight--really very fast--or the huge bulk of the birds
deceives, or otherwise--yet some of the best shots at ordinary driven
game are often perplexed at their bad records against the _avetardas_.
Long shots, it is true, are the rule: longer far than one dreams of
taking at home--and such ranges require extreme forward allowance: yet
many birds at close quarters are let off.
A memorable sight is a huge _barbon_, or male bustard, when he suddenly
finds himself within range of a pair of choke-bore barrels--so near that
one can see his eye! How he ploughs through the air with redoubled
efforts of those enormous wings, and hopes by putting on the pace to
escape from danger.
It is when only _one_ man and his driver are after bustard that the
cream of this sport is enjoyed. The work then resembles deer-stalking,
for the sportsman must necessarily creep up _very close_ to his game in
order to have any fair chance of a shot. Unless he has wormed his way to
within 150 yards before the birds are raised, the odds are long against
success. Gratifying indeed is the triumph when, after many efforts, and
as many disappointments, one at length outmatches them, and secures a
heavy bag by a single right-and-left.
By way of illustration, we give, in the next chapter, descriptions of
bustard-shooting, (1) driving with a party in the ordinary way, and (2)
Stalking and driving to a single gun.
Such, roughly described, are the two chief recognized systems of
shooting the Great Bustard: _i.e._, _driving_, which can be practised at
any period of autumn, winter, or early spring, but which is most
effective in March, when the growing crops afford sufficient "blind";
and shooting from the cart, which is only available during, or just
after, harvest.
There remains, however, another method by which this game may be brought
to bag--one which we may claim to have ourselves invented and brought to
some degree of perfection--namely:
BUSTARD-SHOOTING SINGLE-HANDED.
At one period of the year (about May), just before the corn comes into
ear, and when the male bustards are banded together, they are much more
accessible, the corn being high all around them, and the guns more
easily concealed. But the objections from a farmer's point of view are
obvious, and we have rarely followed them under these conditions, though
it is a favourite period with Spanish sportsmen.
We have frequently been asked by the country people to try our hands at
their ambuscades by the wells (above described), and often caused
surprise by declining to kill bustards in this way. It was, in fact,
because we did not enjoy any of the means in vogue with the natives,
that we resolved to try what could be done single-handed; and by
sticking to it and hard work, have since accounted for many a fine
_barbon_, and enjoyed many an hour's exciting sport with others not
brought to bag, and which probably still roam over the Andalucian
_vegas_ to give fine sport another day.
On foot nothing could be done single-handed, but by the aid and
co-operation of a steady old pony, success was found to be possible. As
soon as the country is cleared of corn (about July or August), bustard
pass the mid-day hours sheltering from the sun in any patch of high
thistles or palmetto that may grow on the bare lands or stubbles. We
have also found them, during mid-summer, under olive-trees, but never in
any cover or spot where they could not command all the space for many
gunshots around. Having been disturbed in their siesta--generally about
a couple of hundred yards before the horseman reaches them--the birds
stand up, shake the dust from their feathers, and are all attention to
see that the intruder has no evil designs upon them. Ride directly
towards them and they are off at once; but if approach be made
cautiously and circuitously, the bustards, though suspicious and uneasy,
do not rise but walk slowly away, for they are reluctant to take wing
at this hot time. It is needless to add that the intense heat is also a
severe test of endurance to the bustard-shooter. By keeping one's own
figure and the pony's head as much averted as possible--advancing
sidelong, crab-fashion, so to speak, and gradually circling inwards, one
may, with patience, at length attain a deadly range,--seldom near, but
still near enough to use the heavy AAA mould-shot with fatal effect, for
the bustard, despite his bulk, is not a very hard or close-feathered
bird, and falls to a blow that the grey goose would laugh at. When the
nearest point is reached--and one learns by experience to judge by the
demeanour of the game when they will permit no nearer approach--the
opportune moment must be seized; the first barrel put in smartly on the
ground, and more deliberate aim taken with the second as they rise.
The hotter the day, the nearer one can get. Much depends on the horse:
if he does not stop _dead_ the chance is lost, as the bustards rise
directly on detecting a change in the movements of horse and man. With
practice my pony became very clever, and came to know as well as his
rider what was going on, so that after a time, we could rely on getting
three or four shots a day and seldom returned without one bustard,
frequently two or three. During one year (his best) the writer bagged
sixty-two bustards to his own gun.
We make it a rule to accept no shot at any very risky distance, finding
that, if not scared, the birds do not fly so far, and are more
accessible on a second approach. Sometimes there occur lucky spots
where, as one is slowly drawing round on them, the bustards walk over
the crest of a ridge, and disappear. This is a chance not to be
lost--slip from the saddle, run straight to the ridge, and surprise
them, as they descend the reverse slope, with a couple of barrels ere
they have time to realize the danger. Dips and hills, as before
remarked, are not frequent on the haunts of bustards, but we have
chanced on such localities more than once. Upon one occasion we bagged a
brace of the largest _barbones_ we ever saw by such a piece of good
luck.
A blazing sun is a great assistance, making the birds lazy and
disinclined to exert themselves. As an instance of this we remember
being after bustard one day in September--an intensely hot day even for
Spain, and with a fiery sun beating down on the quivering plains. Though
well protected by a thick felt helmet and wearing the lightest of light
summer clothes, the heat was almost more than one could endure. We had
unsuccessfully ridden over some thousands of acres of stubble and
waste--it was on the historic plains of Guadalete where Roderic and the
Arabs fought--when at length we were gratified by observing three
bustards walk out of a cluster of thistles. After twice circling round
them, we saw that at eighty or ninety yards' distance, they would stand
it no longer: so turning in the saddle, gave them both barrels, but
without effect, as they sailed away about a mile and settled. On a
second approach, as they rose at 200 yards, it looked as though they
were impracticable, but doubting if there were other birds in that
neighbourhood, we kept on, and followed them in this second flight,
which this time was shorter. Again they rose wild--wilder than ever, at
fully 800 yards. They came down upon a patch of the barley-stubbled
plain where we were able to mark their position to a nicety, for they
pitched close to a _sombrajo_, or sun-shade for cattle (a thatch of
palmetto spread on aloe-poles). On approaching the place, and not seeing
the bustards afoot, we concluded they were resting after their repeated
flights; but having reached almost the exact spot, we could still see
nothing of them. This was perplexing. We knew they could not have risen,
for our eyes had never left the spot where they had settled. What could
have become of them?... All at once we saw them, squatting flat within
thirty yards of us, each bird pressed close down with his neck stretched
along the ground. All trouble was now rewarded. It was not a chance to
be risked by shooting from the saddle: and as we slid to the ground, gun
cocked, and facing the birds, we felt it was the best double rise at big
bustards that ever man had. As we touched the ground, they rose: one
fell dead at forty yards, a second, wheeling back, showed too much of
his white breast to be let off; the third flew far beyond view, and the
only regret, for a moment, was that there were no treble-barrelled
breech-loaders. Half an hour later we fell in with a band of young
bustards, which allowed us to approach near enough to drop one; so that
evening the old pony had a good load to carry home.
[Illustration: GREAT BUSTARDS--AN APRIL DAWN.]
CHAPTER IV.
BIG DAYS WITH BUSTARD.
I.--JEDILLA.
The two following examples of fortunate days will serve to illustrate
the system of bustard-shooting as practised on the corn-lands of
Southern Spain, and convey some idea of the haunts and habits of this
noble game-bird, in a region where they still remain abundant.
The rendezvous was at the Cortijo de Jedilla, a farm lying some twelve
miles away, and the hour fixed was nine o'clock on an April morning.
This, along a road that resembled the remains of an earthquake,
necessitated an early start. For near three hours we rattled and jolted
along in the roomy brake, that lurched at times like a cross-channel
steamer, to the merry-jingling bells of a four-in-hand mule-team.
At the hour appointed our ponies and people stood around the
broad-arched entrance of the cortijo, all under the direction of old
Blas, the keen-eyed mountaineer, equally at home on rugged sierra, or
bestriding bare-backed his restive colt, and intimately acquainted with
every inch of the wide country around. Blas had left home long before
daybreak on that lovely spring morning, and after covering the four
leagues across the plains at a hand-gallop, had already--like swift
Camilla--scoured all the cultivated lands around the cortijo, in search
of the big birds while yet they were busy seeking their matutinal feed.
He received us with the gratifying intelligence that he had marked _tres
bandadas_--three packs of bustard. In a few minutes we were mounted, the
guns slung in the _fundas_, and away.
Blas led the file of horsemen towards the nearest band. We were a party
of four, with a contingent of six mounted hands under Blas' directions
in the ticklish work of driving. Presently the bustards are descried,
their lavender heads and lighter necks visible, through the glasses,
above the _biznagas_ (visnaya of Linnæus) on a hillside some 1,000 yards
away.
Their position, on a hill of so gentle a slope as to command all the
plain around, was most difficult to surround; however, as a forlorn
hope, and rather with the object of moving them to more favourable
ground, we rode slowly past them on the north, at about 300 yards, the
birds perking their heads and taking the most lively interest in the
string of horsemen. When the nature of the land afforded a cover from
the birds' view, we rode round to the southern side, but always at too
great a distance to promise anything like a fair chance of getting the
birds over us.[9] Our four guns, however, now spread out along the
slope, covering among them some quarter-mile of possible flight. The
men, riding round to the northern side again, opened out in line, and
slowly came in towards the common centre. At first the pack came
straight for the guns; but the leader, flying higher than the rest,
caught sight of a foe--of No. 1 gun lying full length on the
soil--swerved, and took with him the whole pack, out of shot on the
extreme right. The latter fact our inexperienced friend in that quarter
did not comprehend, for he let drive a couple of quick and useless
barrels. Worse than useless! for, as we watched the splendid birds
streaming away into space across the valleys of spring corn, we knew
that our chance at that _bandada_ was gone--at least for the day.
The second band required a good deal of finding: although Blas was
confident he had correctly localized them, we could descry no bustards
anywhere in that neighbourhood. At length one of our scouts brought us
good news; the birds had walked more than a mile from where Blas had
seen them in the early morning. We now waited for him to reconnoitre,
and he soon reported that they were basking in the sun amidst a sea of
shooting barley--a fact we shortly verified with our field-glasses. Not
only were they so favourably placed for a stalk that we would be able to
"horseshoe" the four guns behind them at almost certain distance, but
the drivers (by a long detour) would also get well in at the front of
their position unseen. The two centre guns were placed in the valley at
the foot of the green slope, while the two flanking guns were enabled,
by the favouring ground, to creep well up the hillside--a disposition
which would leave the birds wholly enclosed at their first flight. The
central posts had also the advantage of a rank growth of weeds along the
hollow, which effectually concealed them from view. It was a short
affair. The writer (left flank) soon heard the whirr of heavy wings: the
game passed between him and the opposite flanking gun, out of shot of
either, but "entering" beautifully to the centre. Both guns rose to
watch the tableau. Straight as a line passed forward the huge
_barbones_--some five-and-twenty of them, the resplendent plumage of
rich orange and contrasting black and white set off against the green
background; their great swollen necks appeared almost disproportionately
heavy, even for those broad pinions and (seemingly) leisurely flight.
But bustards, like all heavy game, travel vastly quicker than appears to
be the case, as the sequel proved.
[Illustration: Plate IX.
GREAT BUSTARDS AMONG THE SPRING CORN.
Page 48.]
Now they are on the very fringe of the darker green of the hollow; our
centre guns have them at their mercy. Don't they see them? Yes; two
figures rise from the rank weeds, and flashing barrels enfilade the
flock. One, two, three, four reports ring out; but ... not a bird comes
down, the frightened monsters spread asunder, winging a quicker flight
in all directions. One huge _barbudo_ behind the rest wheels back and
almost gives us a chance as he takes the hill in reverse; but he sees
the danger and passes to the right, swerving in his course too near our
_vis-à-vis_, and before we hear the report we can see the ponderous mass
of 30lbs. of bustard collapse. He is struck well forward, in head and
neck, and pitches heavily earthwards, splitting his broad chest as it
rebounds from the unyielding soil. We had--and that by sheer chance--a
single head to show for this carefully-planned drive.
Our young friends in the valley were sad indeed, but over such things
let us draw the veil. The drivers, too, had witnessed their failure. It
may be safer rather to leave their feelings to the sympathetic reader to
imagine than to describe. Old Blas declared they had "llenado el ojo de
carne"--that the huge bulk of the birds had concealed from over-anxious
eyes the rapidity of their flight. After lunch what had appeared a
catastrophe became a jest.
An unsuccessful manoeuvre followed, and we had to ride afar to seek
fresh _bandadas_. After traversing leagues of corn-land--at this season
as lonely as an African desert,--we descried a considerable pack, and
again luck favoured us as to site. An _arroyo_, or stream, ran along the
valley below--one of those small rapid currents that, in winter, tear
deep and narrow gulleys, and in the summer become quite dry, save in a
few of the deeper pools or favoured corners which resist the heat and
afford nesting homes for the mallard and drinking resorts for the
bustard. Now, there was water all along, and tall reeds and canes grew
several feet in height. Could we place the guns along this ditch the
drive was secure. The question was, Would the birds allow a mounted
group to pass so near? We tried and succeeded. Witness's luck placed him
in a cane-brake, whence he could watch every movement of the bustards at
leisure. On rising, the pack bore straight to the gun on the left.
Luckily (for us), this "point-gun," in his undue anxiety, showed too
soon--before the birds had come well in. The pack swung in our
direction, right along the line, giving a chance to both centre guns
(only one of which was taken advantage of), and then bore straight for
the writer, well overhead, and not over 60 feet high--an _embarras de
richesse_.
The first and second shots, with the 12-bore, stopped a pair of what
appeared the biggest of the pack, coming in--right and left--and then,
picking up a single 4-bore, there followed the further satisfaction of
pulling down a third old male at very long range. These three superb
birds weighed 93lbs.--a notable shot, probably without parallel in
sporting annals.
Before night we found twice more, and each of the _batidas_ added a bird
to the bag, the result of the day's sport being seven noble _barbones_,
or male bustard, now in the fullest glory of their splendid spring
plumage.
Thus ended a successful day, on which Fortune had favoured us, on
several occasions, in finding the game in accessible situations. Such
good luck does not always, nor even often, await the bustard-shooter;
and even when it does, there still remains the real _crux_--the quick
intuition of the requisite strategical movements and their successful
execution.
II.--SANTO DOMINGO. AN IDYL.
The chimes of San Miguel were already ringing out the summons to
even-song. Graceful figures in dark lace and mantillas hurried across
the palm-shaded Plaza, as two Ingléses (_sus servidores de ustedes_)
rode out of the city on an April afternoon.
It was rather for a ride than with any special sporting object in view
that we set out. Yet, as is always the case in Spain, the guns were
slung behind the saddle, and we remembered that, only a few days before,
one of us had encountered a band of thirteen bustards--a dozen of which
should still be basking on the green corn-lands of Santo Domingo, within
a league of the _octroi_ boundary.
The binoculars, however, swept the swelling grounds without disclosing
any occupants more important than a group of grey cranes and a pair of
partridges indulging in vernal flirtations, careless of a kite which
hovered hard by.
[Illustration: THE BUSTARD-SHOOTER--TRIUMPH!]
Beyond the corn-land lay undulated _manchones_, or fallows, clothed with
a short growth of grass and thistles, and here on the summit of a
flat-crowned knoll, a mile away, we descried a band of eight bustards.
Hardly could a more unfavourable spot be selected. Their sentries
commanded every visible approach, and we advanced in Indian file to
reconnoitre, with the conviction that any operation must be in the
nature of a forlorn hope. But a skill and rapid perception of the least
advantage, worthy of a field-marshal, were at work, directed against the
hapless eight. Riding circuitously around the game, we had approached as
near as prudence allowed--some 300 yards, when an almost imperceptible
depression served for a few moments to screen us from their view. Hardly
had the last head sunk below the sky-line than one of the two guns
rolled out of the saddle, passing the reins to his companion, who, in
ten more yards, had reappeared to the already suspicious bustards. By
the invaluable aid of a tiny furrow, worn by the winter's rains, but
barely a foot in depth, No. 1 managed to worm a serpentine progression
to the shoulder of the hill,--a point some 100 yards up the gentle
slope, and barely twice that distance from the game,--while No. 2,
slowly encircling the birds at 200 yards radius, gradually contracting
and in full view, gained the reverse of the hill. Twice the big sentry
had given the warning to "be ready"; as often the hunter widened his
course till suspicion was allayed. Critical moments these, when success
or failure depend upon a thread: upon instant diagnosis of what is
passing in one's opponent's mind, divining, so to speak, his intentions
before he has actually perfected them, or even decided himself.
So perfect in this encounter was the strategy--so complete the
ascendency of mind over instinct--and the keenest instinct of all, that
of self-preservation--that in due time the intervening space had been
diminished, yard by yard, almost to the fatal range. Presently the still
hesitating birds are little more than one hundred yards away--the great
sentinel some five yards nearer. Now: mark well every movement of
his--there is the signal at last: his stately head is lowered--slowly
lowered some six inches while he still watches intently. Now he takes a
rapid step forward--he is going. But hardly have the huge wings unfolded
than the rider has sprung to his feet, and a couple of charges of
"treble A" crash together into that broad back and lowered neck. The
distance is great--near 100 yards--but mould-shot and cold-drawn steel
barrels have done it before, and will do it again: back to earth, which
he had barely quitted, returns the stricken monarch of the plain, blood
staining his snowy breast, and one great pinion hanging useless by his
side.
[Illustration: Plate X.
ANCIENT DRAW-WELL ON THE PLAINS.
Page 52.]
The seven survivors wing away straight towards the point where the other
gun lies hidden in the dry drain-head. Mark! Now the leading _barbon_
checks his flight as he sees the flash of barrels beneath: but it is all
too late, and down he, too, comes with a mighty crash, to earth. A
third, offering only a "stern shot," continues a laboured flight, his
pinion-feathers sticking out at sixes and sevens, and soon pitches on
the verge of a marshy hollow where storks are dotted about in search of
frogs. It was an awkward place, and necessitated moving him again:
indeed, this bird gave no small trouble to secure. The sun had already
set, and night drew on apace, ere the final shot, ringing out amidst
gathering gloom, told that he, too, had been added to the spoils of that
glorious afternoon.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER V.
TAUROMACHIA,
THE FIGHTING BULL OF SPAIN.
NOTES ON HIS HISTORY: HIS BREEDS AND REARING: AND HIS LIFE UP TO
THE "ENCIERRO,"--_i.e._, THE EVE OF HIS DEATH.
We trust the reader may not fear that he is about to suffer once more
the infliction of the oft-described Spanish bull-fight. We have no
intention so far to abuse his patience. The subject is exhausted: has
been dilated upon by almost every visitor to this country, though nearly
always with inaccuracy and imperfect knowledge.
It is customary for such writers to condemn the bull-fight[10] _in toto_
on account of its cruelty: to denounce it without reservation, as a
barbarous and brutal exhibition and nothing more. The cruelty is
undeniable, and much to be deprecated; the more so as this element
could, to a large extent, be eliminated. But, despite the fate of
sacrificed horses, there are elements in the Spanish bull-fight that the
British race are accustomed to hold in esteem--the qualities of pluck,
nerve, and coolness in face of danger. To attack in single combat, on
foot, and with no weapon but the sword, a powerful and ferocious
animal, means taking one's life in one's hand, and relying for safety
and final triumph on cool intrepid pluck, on a marvellous activity and
truth of hand, eye, and limb, and on a nerve which not the peril even of
the supreme moment can disturb.
There are doubtless balanced minds which, while in no way ignoring or
exculpating its cruelties, can yet recognize in the _toréo_ an
unrivalled exhibition of human skill, nerve, and power, and can
distinguish between the good and the bad among its heterogeneous
constituents.
The bull-fight, as a spectacle, has often been described: but no English
writers have attempted to trace its origin and history; to explain its
firm-seated hold on the affections of the Spanish people, and to show
how their keen zest for the national sport goes back to the days of
chivalry. Nor has anything been written of the agricultural, or pastoral
side of the question, and of the picturesque scenes amidst which the
earlier stages of the drama are enacted, on broad Iberian plain and
prairie: of the feats of horsemanship and "derring do" at the
_tentaderos_, or trials, and later at the _encierro_ on that hot summer
morning when the gallant _toro bravo_ is lured for ever from his native
pastures, and led by traitor kin within the fatal enclosure of the
arena.
The custom of the toréo, if not the art, is so ancient, its origin so
lost in the mists of time, that it is difficult to fix the precise
period at which bull-fighting was first practised. There is written
evidence to show that encounters between men and bulls were not
infrequent at the time of the Arab invasion in the eighth century, and
it may be accepted that it was this eastern race that gave the diversion
its first popularity.[11] It is proved beyond doubt that at the Moorish
_fêtes_ encounters with bulls were one of the chief sports, and when,
centuries later, the Arab was finally driven from Spanish soil, they
left behind them their passion for these conflicts, as they left many of
their industries and many words of their language. Wherever the expelled
Arabs may now be, it is at least certain that the bull-fight has taken
root in no other land outside of Spain.[12] During the interludes of
war, when the opposing forces of Moor and Christian made peace for a
while, the inauguration of a truce was celebrated by a bull-fight,
whereat knights of both sides rivalled each other in the tauromachian
fray. The heroic Cid, el Campeador (_obiit_, A.D. 1098) signalized the
contests of the eleventh century, himself taking the chief part. His
graceful horsemanship in the arena was as favourite a theme for song and
sonnet as even his redoubtable deeds in the field. The ever-popular
ballad of _Don Rodrigo de Bivar_ is still heard in the mountain
villages.
So frequent and of such importance had these _fiestas_ become that,
after the termination of Moorish dominion, Queen Isabel I. of Castile
prohibited them by edict in all her kingdoms: but the edict proved waste
paper. Alarmed by witnessing a _corrida_ at which human blood was shed,
her Catholic majesty made strenuous efforts to put down bull-fighting
throughout the land: but the national taste was too deeply implanted in
the breasts of a warlike and powerful nobility, whom she was too prudent
to offend. In a letter to her Father Confessor in 1493, she declares her
intention never again to witness a _corrida_, and adds:--"Y no digo
defenderlos (esto es prohibirlos) porque esto no era para mi á
solas"--which is to say, that her will, which could accomplish the
expulsion of the Moor and the Jew, was powerless to uproot the
bull-fight.
[Illustration: Plate XI.
BULLS ON THE PLAINS.
Page 57.]
The power of the papacy was alike invoked in vain. In 1567 a papal bull
issued by Pius V. prohibited all Catholic princes, under pain of
excommunication, from permitting _corridas_ in their dominions; a
similar punishment for all priests who attended them, and Christian
burial was denied to all who fell in the arena. Not even these terrible
measures availed, and succeeding Pontiffs were fain to relax the
severity of the _bulas_ of their predecessors, since each successive
prohibition was met by the magnates of the land arranging new
_corridas_. At length the time arrived when masters of theology at
Salamanca ruled that clerics of a certain rank might licitly attend
these spectacles.
Isabel's grandson, Charles I., killed with his own hand a bull in the
city of Valladolid, during the festivities held to celebrate the birth
of his eldest son, afterwards Philip II.; and, later, during the reigns
of the House of Austria, to face a bull with bravery and skill, and to
use a dexterous lance, was the pride of every Spanish noble.
It was a gay and imposing scene in those days when the _lidia_, or
tournament, took place--held in the largest open square of the town,
around which were erected the graded platforms whence _Damas_ and
_Caballeros_, in all the bravery of mediæval toilet and costume, watched
the performance.
The people were permitted only a servile share in these aristocratic
_fiestas_. The knight, mounted on fiery Arab steed, was armed only with
the _rejon_, or short sharp lance of those days, five feet in length,
and held at its extreme end. At a given signal he sallied forth to meet
the bull, which, infuriated by sight of horse and rider, dashed from his
trammels and went straight to the charge. The first blow of his horns,
if driven home, meant death: and the horseman's art lay in avoiding the
impact by a well-timed move to the left: at the same moment, by an
adroit counter-move, empaling with his lance the lower neck: and so
delivering the thrust as to clear himself and horse from the rebound of
the bull. This manoeuvre required dexterity, coolness, and strength of
arm: and when successful was graceful in the highest degree, eliciting,
as the rider curvetted away from his worsted and enraged antagonist,
the loudest applause, and dark-eyed _Damas_, with flashing glances of
pride and sympathy, would throw flowers to the valiant Paladin.
"The ladies' hearts began to melt,
Subdued by blows their lovers felt;
So Spanish heroes with their lances
At once wound bulls and ladies' fancies."
When the bull fell dead from a single thrust enthusiasm knew no bounds:
to administer this fatal stroke in masterly style was the ambition of
the flower of Spanish youth.
If dismounted, the knight, by established rule, must face the bull on
foot, sword in hand. He was allowed the assistance of his slaves or
servants, who, at the risk of their lives, "played" the brute till an
opportunity was afforded for a death-thrust from their master's sword.
It is in this phase of the fight that we trace the origin of several of
the _suertes_ which are practised in the modern Corrida de Toros.[13]
With the accession of the Bourbons to the Spanish throne came a change.
These rude encounters were little in harmony with the elegance and
effeminacy of the French court. So coldly were they regarded that, by
slow degrees, the Spanish nobility withdrew themselves from the arena.
Then, as Gallic manners and customs prevailed and extended beyond court
circles till adulation of the French monarch became a creed, the Spanish
gentry abandoned their ancient sport.
But the hold of the national pastime on the Moro-hispanic race was too
firm-set to be swept away by alien influence, however strong: and when
thus abandoned by the patricians, by the hidalgos and grandees of Spain,
the sport of bull-fighting was taken up by the Spanish people. It was
at this period (towards the end of the eighteenth century) that the
Corridas de Toros, as now practised (with slight variations), were
established and organized. Bull-rings and paid _matadores_ took the
place of the city square and the knight. Many additions to the original
corridas were inaugurated, and the sport assumed more diversified and
even more dangerous forms.
The first professional matadors were the brothers Juan and Pedro Palomo,
followed by the celebrated names of Martinez Billon (el Africano),
Francisco Romero and his son Juan, José Delgado Candido (better known as
Pepe Hillo), who died in the Plaza of Port St. Mary on the 24th June,
1771, and, later on, Rodriguez Castellares, Geronimo Candido, son of
José (Pepe Hillo), who fell mortally wounded at Madrid, 11th May, 1802,
and many more of high tauromachian fame.[14]
Most of the Plazas de Toros, or bull-rings, of the first class, were
erected at this period--that at Madrid in 1741, at Seville, 1768, at
Aranjuez, 1796, Saragoza, 1764, Puerto Sta. Maria, 1771, Ronda, 1785,
and Jerez de la Frontera, 1798.
The master-hand who directed and perfected this reorganization, on
popular lines, of the national _fiesta_, after the Bourbon influence had
alienated the aristocracy from their ancient diversion, was PEPE HILLO:
who established the rules and etiquette and drew up the tauromachian
code of honour, written and unwritten, which, in the main, prevails at
the present day. None more fully recognize the ability and prowess of
this 'gran maestro' of old than the famous matadors who are to-day the
highest living exponents of tauromachian art--men such as Frascuelo,
Lagartijo and Mazzantini, whose names are household words from the
Bidasoa to the Mediterranean.
Andalucia has always been, and still remains, the province where the
love of the bull and all that pertains to him is most keenly cherished,
and where the modern bull-fight may to-day be seen in its highest
perfection and development. It provides both the best bull-fighters and
most valued strains of the fighting bull. It may be added that the
Andalucian nobility were the last of their order to discontinue their
historic pursuit: and when, during the darker days of this sport, the
Royal order of the Maestranza de Sevilla was created by Philip V., it
was conceded in the statutes that members of the order could hold two
corridas with the long lance annually outside the city walls. Three
gentlemen subsequently received titles of exalted nobility of this order
in respect of brilliant performances with the lance.
Though Andalucia is the stronghold both of the Toro and of the
Toreador--the scene of the popular bull-fighting opera of _Carmen_ is
appropriately laid at Seville--yet the oldest of all the Spanish herds
is pastured in the rough country around Valladolid, in Old Castile. This
caste has been in existence since the fifteenth century: from it the old
nobility selected their bulls, and it furnished the kingly contests of
Philip and Charles III. This herd is known as _El raso del Portillo_,
and, though entitled to pre-eminence in respect of antiquity, yet
several of the more modern breeders command higher prices. The
ever-increasing demand has driven the cost of a "warrantable"
five-year-old bull up to £70 or £80. To succeed in uniting the various
qualities required in an animal of this value, great judgment in
breeding and a considerable outlay are necessary.
[Illustration: Plate XII.
THE MORN OF THE FIGHT--BULLS IN THE TORIL. (Miura's Breed.)
Page 61.]
At the age of one year, the young bulls are separated from the heifers,
each animal branded on the side with the insignia of its herd, and on
the neck with its number therein, and turned out loose on the plains to
graze with its companions of similar age and sex. When the youngsters
have passed another year, their critical time has arrived, and their
first trials for mettle and fighting qualities take place. The brave are
set aside for the Plaza: the--comparatively--docile destroyed, at least
by scrupulous breeders; while from the chosen lot a further selection is
made of the sires for perpetuating the breed. From the moment the
fighting bulls are selected, they are treated with the utmost care, and
for two years more roam at liberty over the richest pasturage of the
wide unfrequented prairies. At four years old they are moved into the
_cerrados_, or enclosures--fields of great extent, surrounded by a
wooden stockade and double ditch. The _cerrado_ they never leave till
bound for the Plaza. Should pasture fail through drought or deluge, they
are fed on tares, vetch, and maize--even with wheat. Their _début_ in
public must be made in the highest possible condition. The bulls should
be, at the time, not less than five nor more than seven years old.
While thus grazing at large on the open plain, the bulls are in charge
of herdsmen over whom is the official known in Castile as _mayoral_, in
Andalucia as _conocedor_, assisted by his _ayudante_. These two spend
their lives in the saddle, each carrying the long "garrocha," or lance,
as a defensive weapon. The herdsmen go on foot, each armed with a sling,
in the use of which they are adepts.
To return to the two-year-old point in the bull's life--that is, as we
have stated, the critical stage in his existence, for then his "trial"
takes place.
It is also an important period for the owner, for upon the proportion of
good-mettled, "warrantable" beasts depends the profit and reputation of
the herd. It is customary for the owner and his friends to be present at
these _tentaderos_ or trials: and a bright and picturesque scene they
afford, thoroughly typical of untrodden Andalucia, and of the buoyant,
careless exuberance and dare-devil spirit of her people.
Nowhere can the exciting scenes of the _tentadero_ be witnessed to
greater advantage than on the wide level pastures which extend from
Seville to the Bay of Cadiz. Here, far out on the spreading "vegas,"
carpeted with rich profusion of wild flowers and pasturage, where the
canicular sun flashes yet more light and fire into the fiery veins of
the Andaluz--here occurs the first scene in the drama of the _Toréo_.
For centuries these flowery plains have been the scene of countless
_tentaderos_, where the "majos,"--young bloods,--generation after
generation, revel in feats of skill, courage, and horsemanship. Both
good riding and staying power are often called into requisition by those
taking an active part in the operations.
The night before the trials take place, the usually quiet and
sequestered Estancia (or rancho) is a scene of unwonted revelry. The
owners of the herd and many friends--all _aficionados_ of the
sport--have come up from the distant town to take part in the selection
of the morrow--as this work commences at early dawn, the night must be
spent on the spot. The rude walls of the rancho resound with boisterous
hilarity, dance and song succeed each other, to the vigorous notes of
the guitar--sleep is not to be thought of, good humour, gaiety, and no
small admixture of practical joking pass away the night, and by the
first of the daylight all are in the saddle. The two-year-old-bulls have
previously been herded upon a part of the estate which affords the best
level ground for smart manoeuvre and fast riding, and here the duty of
keeping the impetuous beasts together--no easy task--is allotted to
skilled herdsmen armed with long _garrochas_--lances of some four yards
in length, with short steel tips. As just mentioned, it is no easy work
to keep the young bulls together, for they are anxious to break away and
dart off to join their friends in the distance. When all is ready the
herdsmen allow one bull to escape across the flat open country, pursued
by two horsemen who are awaiting the moment, _garrocha_ in hand. These
men rival each other to place the first lance and to turn the bull over.
This is effected by planting a blunt-tipped _garrocha_, on the bull's
_off-flank_, near the tail, when a powerful thrust, given at full speed,
overthrows him: but obviously the feat requires a good eye, a firm seat,
and a strong arm. Immediately the bull is over, with his four feet in
the air, another horseman, who has ridden close behind, comes up. He is
armed with a more pointed lance, and is called _el tentador_. On rising,
the bull finds this man between him and his companions in the _rodéo_,
to whom he would now fain return. He immediately charges the obstacle,
receiving on his shoulder the _garrocha_ point; thrown back for a
moment, and smarting under this first check to his hitherto unthwarted
will, he returns to the charge with redoubled fury, but only to find the
horse protected as before: the pluckier spirits will make a third or a
fourth attack, but those which freely charge _twice_ are passed as fit
for the ring.
Sometimes the young bull declines to charge the _tentador_, submitting
quietly to his overthrow, and only desiring to escape. He does not get
off without a second fall; but if, after this, he still refuses to
charge, he is at once condemned--doomed to death, or at best a life of
agricultural toil. A note is taken of each selected bull (its colour,
size, and shape of horns, and general appearance); and each is entered
in the herd-book, under a particular name--such as Espartero,
Cardinillo, Linares, Flamenco, and the like. By these names they are
known, and at the end publicly described in the flaming "posters" and
advertisements of the _Corrida_ at which they are to make their final
appearance.
Nor is there anything modern in this individualizing of the champions of
the arena. In the Moorish ballads ("The Bull-Fight of Gazul"), so
happily translated by Lockhart, we find the "toro bravo" had his name in
those days:--
"Now stops the drum; close, close they come; thrice meet,
and thrice give back:
The white foam of Harpado lies on the charger's breast of black--
The white foam of the charger on Harpado's front of dun;--
Once more advance upon his lance--once more, thou fearless one!"
It often happens, when a bull is singled out from the _rodéo_, that he
does not take to his heels as expected, but charges the nearest person,
on foot or mounted, that he may see. Then look out for squalls! The
danger must be averted, when it _is_ averted, by skill and experience;
but it seldom happens that one of these trial-days passes without broken
bones or accidents of some kind or other. The men engaged in these
operations have, of course, no shelter of any kind; but the Spanish
herdsmen, when taken at disadvantage, are adepts in the use of their
jackets, with which they give "passes" to the bull, who always follows
the moving object. A smart fellow, when caught in the open, can thus
keep a bull off him for several moments, giving time for the horsemen to
come up to the rescue. Even then it is no unusual occurrence to see
horsemen, horse and bull all rolling together on the turf in one common
ruin. A bright-coloured scarf or mantle will always draw away the bull
from his prostrate foe; otherwise there would soon be an end of
_tentadores_, bull-branders, and bull-fighters too, for the matter of
that.
Each animal in the herd is put through the tests we have described, the
proportion selected varying according to the excellence and purity of
the strain: and then, for three years longer, the selected bulls
continue to lead a life of ease and abundance upon the smiling
Andalucian _vega_.[15]
Skill in handling the _garrocha_, and the ability to turn over a running
bull, are accomplishments in high esteem amongst Spanish youth. Names
now famous in politics or diplomacy (Don Luis Albereda, for example,
late Spanish Minister at St. James's, the Duke of San Lorenzo, and many
more), are still mentioned in Andalucia as past experts in the records
of this southern diversion--a fame analogous to that of our foremost
steeple-chase riders at home.[16]
The _tentadero_ at the present day affords opportunity for aristocratic
gatherings, that recall the tauromachian tournaments of old. Even the
Infantas of Spain enter into the spirit of the sport, and have been
known themselves to wield the _garrocha_ with good effect, as was, a few
months ago, the case at a brilliant _fête champêtre_ on the Sevillian
_vegas_, when the Condesa de Paris and her daughter, Princess Elena,
each overthrew a sturdy two-year-old; the Infanta Eulalia riding "_á
ancas_," or pillion-fashion, with an Andalucian nobleman, among the
merriest of a merry party.
[Illustration: Plate XIII.
THE _ENCIERRO_.
Page 65.]
At length, however, the years spent in luxurious idleness on the silent
plains must come to an end. One summer morning the brave herd find
grazing in their midst some strange animals, which appear to make
themselves extremely agreeable to the lordly champions, now in the
zenith of magnificent strength and beauty. The strangers grazing with
them are the _cabrestos_ (or _cabestros_, in correct Castilian), the
decoy-oxen sent out to fraternize for a few days with the fighting race,
preparatory to the _encierro_, or operation of conveying the latter to
the town where the corrida takes place. Each _cabestro_ has a large
cattle-bell, of the usual Spanish type, suspended round its neck, in
order to accustom the wild herd to follow the lead of these base
betrayers of the brave. Shortly the noble bulls will be lured in their
company away from their native plains, through country paths and
byeways, to the entrance of the fatal _toril_.
An animated spectacle it is on the eve of the _corrida_, when, amidst
clouds of dust and clang of bells, the tame oxen and wild bulls are
driven forward by galloping horsemen and levelled _garrochas_. The
excited populace, already intoxicated with bull-fever and the
anticipation of the coming corridas, lining the way to the Plaza,
careless if in the enthusiasm for the morrow they risk some awkward rips
to-day.
Once inside the lofty walls of the _toril_, it is easy to withdraw the
treacherous _cabestros_, and one by one to tempt the bulls each into a
small separate cell, the _chiquero_, the door of which will to-morrow
fall before his eyes. Then, rushing upon the arena, he finds himself
confronted and encircled by surging tiers of yelling humanity, while the
crash of trumpets and glare of moving colours madden his brain. Then the
gaudy horsemen, with menacing lances, recall his day of trial on the
distant plain, horsemen now doubly hateful in their brilliant glittering
tinsel. No wonder the noble brute rushes with magnificent fury to the
charge.
[Illustration: A BULL-FIGHTER.]