What a spectacle is presented by the Plaza at this moment!--one without

parallel in the modern world. The vast amphitheatre, crowded to the last

seat in every row and tier, is held for some seconds in breathless

suspense: above, the glorious azure canopy of an Andalucian summer sky:

below, on the yellow arena, rushes forth the bull, fresh from his

distant prairie, amazed yet undaunted by the unwonted sight and the

bewildering blaze of colour which surrounds him. For one brief moment

the vast mass of excited humanity sits spell-bound: the clamour of

myriads is stilled. Then the pent-up cry bursts forth in frantic volume,

for the gleaming horns have done their work, and _buen toro! buen toro!_

rings from twice ten thousand throats.

The bull-rings are mostly the property of private persons, though some

are owned by corporations, others by charitable institutions, and the

like. The bull-fights themselves, however, are always in the hands of an

_empresario_, who hires the building at a rent, supplies the bulls and

_troupe_, and takes the whole arrangements in his own hands and for his

own account.

The cost of a modern bull-fight in Andalucia ranges from £1,100 to

£1,200. Six bulls are usually killed, their value averaging £70. The

_Espada_, or Matador, receives on the day from £120 to £200, including

the services of his cuadrilla or troupe, which consists of two picadors,

three banderilleros, and a cachetero. As there are always two matadors

with their respective cuadrillas engaged, this makes in all fourteen

bull-fighters. The cost of the horses is about £120 to £200, a variable

quantity, depending so much on the temper and quality of the bulls.

Against this, there are from ten to twenty thousand seats to be let in

the ring, the prices of which vary from a peseta or two in the _Sol_ or

sunny side, up to a couple of dollars or more in the _Sombra_.[17]

The president of the corrida is usually the alcalde or mayor of the

town--sometimes the civil governor of the province, always some person

of weight and authority, though the alcalde is responsible for the

orderly conduct of the corrida, even should he delegate the

presidential chair to some one of higher authority. He is required to

examine the bulls before the fight: that is, to see that they bear the

brand of the herd advertised, and have no visible defect; then he must

inspect the horses; even the banderillas and the garrochas, the points

of which latter must be shortened as autumn approaches. Till the alcalde

appears in his tribune, the fight may not commence, and during the

spectacle he orders the incoming of each bull, the time which the

picadors shall occupy with their lances: he directs the trumpets of his

attendant heralds to sound the changes in the fight, when banderilleros

succeed picadors, and for the final scene, when the matador steps alone

upon the arena, with scarlet cloak and gleaming sword.

[Illustration: AN _ESPADA_, OR MATADOR.]

It will thus be seen that the presidential function involves a fairly

deep knowledge of all the arts and etiquette of tauromachian science.

Under intelligent direction, accidents in the ring and tumults amongst

dissatisfied multitudes are avoided--without it, the reverse.

We have now traced in brief outline the life-history of our gallant

bull; we have brought him face to face with Frascuelo and his Toledan

blade; there we must leave him. But, in concluding this chapter, may we

beg the generous reader, should he ever enter the historic circle of the

plaza, to go there with an open mind--without prejudice, and unbiassed

by the floods of invective which have ever been let loose upon the

Spanish bull-fight.

Let critics remember, if only in extenuation, what the spectacle

represents to Spain--a national festival, the love of which we have

shown to be ineradicable, ingrained in Spanish nature by centuries of

custom and tradition. Let them reflect, too, that those brutal domestic

scenes which disgrace so many a home among the poor of other lands are,

in the land of the bull-fighter, unknown. Lastly, let them remember that

upon untrained eyes there must fall flat many of the finer passes, much

of the elaborate technique and science of tauromachian art: points which

are instantly seized and appreciated by Spanish experts--and in Spain

_all_ are experts. This is lost to the casual spectator, who perceives

less difficulty in the perilous _vol-á-pié_ than in the simpler, though

more attractive, _suerte de recibir_, and a thousand other technical

details.

CHAPTER VI.

THE BÆTICAN WILDERNESS.

SPRING-NOTES OF BIRD-LIFE, NATURAL HISTORY, AND EXPLORATION IN THE

MARISMA.

PART I.--APRIL.

Andalucia may roughly be subdivided into four main regions, unequal in

extent, but of well-marked physical characters and conformation. These

are the sierras, and the rolling corn-lands, at both of which we have

already glanced. Then there are the _dehesas_--wild, uncultivated wastes

or prairies, of which more anon. Lastly, there are the _marismas_.

[Illustration]

We have in English no equivalent to the Spanish "marisma," and these

regions are so peculiar, both physically and ornithologically, as to

require a short description. Geologically, the marismas are the deltas

of great rivers, the alluvial accumulations of ages, deposited, layer

upon layer, on the sea-bottom till the myriad particles thrust back the

sea, and form level plains of dry land. The struggle between rival

elements does not terminate, but the attacks of the liquid combatant

only seem to result in still further assuring the victory of _terra

firma_, by banking up between the opposing forces an impregnable

rampart of sand. The latter, overlying the margin of the rich alluvial

mud, is thus capable, in its hollows and deeper dells, of sustaining a

luxuriant plant-life, which in turn serves to fortify and consolidate

its otherwise unstable consistency.[18]

The largest of the Spanish marismas, and those best known to the

authors, are those of the Guadalquivir. If the reader will look at a map

of Spain, there will be noticed on the Lower Guadalquivir a large tract

totally devoid of the names of villages, &c. From Lebrija on the east to

Almonte on the west, and from the Atlantic almost up to Seville itself,

the map is vacant. This huge area is, in fact, a wilderness, and in

winter the greater part a dismal waste of waters. For league after

league as one advances into that forbidding desolation, the eye rests on

nothing but water--tawny waters meeting the sky all round the horizon.

The Guadalquivir intersects the marisma, its triple channel divided from

the adjacent shallows and savannahs by low mud-banks. The water of the

marisma is fresh, or nearly so--quite drinkable--and has a uniform depth

over vast areas of one or two feet, according to the season. Here and

there slight elevations of its muddy bed form low islands, varying from

a few yards to thousands of acres in extent, covered with coarse

herbage, thistles and bog-plants, the home of countless wild-fowl and

aquatic birds. In spring the water recedes; as the hot weather sets in

it rapidly evaporates, leaving the marisma a dead level of dry mud,

scorched and cracked by the fierce summer sun. A rank herbage springs

up, and around the remaining water-holes wave beds of tall reeds and

cane-brakes.

In winter the marshy plains abound with wild-fowl, ducks, geese, and

water-birds of varied kinds; but of the winter season in the marisma,

its fowl and fowlers, we treat fully hereafter.

The spring-months abound in interest to the naturalist. Imagination can

hardly picture, nor Nature provide, a region more congenial to the

tastes of wild aquatic birds than these huge marismas, with their silent

stretches of marsh-land and savannahs, cane-brake and stagnant waters,

and their profusion of plant and insect life. Here, in spring, in an

ornithological Eden, one sees almost daily new bird-forms. During the

vernal migration the still air resounds with unknown notes, and many of

those species which at home are the rarest--hardly known save in books

or museums--are here the most conspicuous, filling the desolate

landscape with life and animation. The months of February and March

witness the withdrawal of most of the winter wild-fowl. Day after day

the clouds of Pintails and Wigeon, of Shovellers, Pochards, and Teal,

and fresh files of grey geese wing their way northwards; while their

places are simultaneously being filled by arrivals from the south. April

brings an influx of graceful forms and many sub-tropical species, for

which Andalucia forms, roughly speaking, the northern limit; while in

May is superadded a "through transit," which renders the bird-life of

that period at times almost bewildering.

But before attempting to fill in the details, it is necessary to explain

the mode of travel and the methods by which these wildernesses can be

investigated. Uninhabited and abandoned to wild-fowl and flamingoes, and

lying remote from any "base of operations," the exploration of the

marismas is an undertaking of some difficulty. They cannot, owing to

their extent, be worked from any single base; hence, thoroughly to

explore them and penetrate their lonely expanses, necessitates a

well-equipped expedition, independent of external aid, and prepared to

encamp night after night among the tamarisks or samphire on bleak islet

or barren _arenal_. Some of our earlier efforts, twenty years ago,

resulted in total failure. Setting out by way of the river, the light

launches suitable for the shallow marisma proved unequal to the voyage

up the broad Guadalquivir; while, on the other hand, the larger craft in

which that exposed estuary could be safely navigated were useless in the

shallows. One attempt was frustrated by sunstroke; on another our

Spanish crew "struck" through stress of weather, leaving us at a lonely

spot some thirty miles beyond Bonanza with no alternative but to submit,

or go on alone. We had, however, some reward for this enforced tramp in

discovering the Dunlin (_Tringa alpina_) nesting at a point over a

thousand miles south of any previous record of its breeding-range.

Finally, we chartered at San Lucar a large fishing-yawl, bound up-river,

and after a long day in that malodorous craft, beating up against wind

and stream, and with our three punts in tow, we at length succeeded in

launching them on the waters of the middle marismas.

[Illustration: FISHING BOAT ON THE GUADALQUIVIR.]

The geese and wigeon had entirely disappeared--this was early in

April--but passage-ducks still skimmed in large flights over the open

waters. These were chiefly Mallards, with Pintails and Pochards (both

species), a few Teal, Garganey, and probably other species. We also shot

Shovellers out of small "bunches," and among the deep sluices of some

abandoned salt-pans (_salinas_), where we spent the first night, three

or four Tufted Ducks, and a pair of Pochards. I killed a single Scoter

drake as late as April 13th, and was shown as a curiosity a Cormorant

which had been killed by some fishermen on the river a day or two

before.

[Illustration]

One cannot go far into the marisma without seeing that extraordinary

fowl, the Flamingo, certainly the most characteristic denizen of the

wilderness. In herds of 300 to 500, several of which are often in sight

at once, they stand like regiments, feeding in the open water, all heads

under, greedily tearing up the grasses and water-plants that grow

beneath the surface. On approaching them, which can only be done by

extreme caution, their silence is first broken by the sentries, which

commence walking away with low croaks: then the whole five hundred necks

rise at once to full stretch, every bird gaggling his loudest as they

walk obliquely away, looking back over their shoulders as though to take

stock of the extent of the danger. Shoving the punt a few yards forward,

up they all rise, and a more beautiful sight cannot be imagined than the

simultaneous spreading of their thousand crimson wings, flashing

against the sky like a gleam of rosy light. Then one descends to the

practical, and a volley of slugs cuts a lane through their phalanx.

In many respects these birds bear a strong resemblance to geese. Like

the latter, Flamingoes feed by day: and quantities of grass, etc., are

always floating about the muddy water at the spot where a herd has been

feeding. Their cry is almost indistinguishable from the gaggling of

geese, and they fly in the same chain-like formations. The irides of the

oldest individuals are very pale lemon-yellow: the bare skin between the

bill and the eye is also yellow, and the whole plumage beautifully

suffused with warm pink. In the young birds of one year (which do not

breed) this pink shade is entirely absent, and even their wings bear but

slight traces of it. The secondaries and tertiaries of these immature

birds are barred irregularly with black spots, and their legs, bills and

eyes are of a dull lead colour. In size flamingoes vary greatly: the

largest we have measured was fully six feet five inches--there are some

quite seven feet--while others (old red birds) barely reached five feet.

The further we advanced into the marisma the more abundant became the

bird-life. Besides ducks and flamingoes, troops of long-legged Stilts in

places whitened the waters, and chattering bands of Avocets swept over

the marshy islets: around these also gyrated clouds of Dunlins in full

breeding-plumage: smaller flights, composed of Kentish plovers and

Lesser Ring-dotterel mixed, with Redshanks and Peewits: the two latter

paired. One morning at daybreak, a pack of two hundred Black-tailed

Godwits pitched on an islet hard by our camp, probably tired with a long

migratory journey, for these wary birds allowed two punts to run almost

"aboard them," and received a raking broadside at thirty yards.[19] On

April 11th we obtained a single Grey Phalarope (_Phalaropus

fulicarius_), swimming like a little duck on an open _arroyo_, and the

Sanderling, Green and Common Sandpipers, were all abundant, together

with Ruffs and Reeves, though in mid-April the former still lacked the

full nuptial dress. Greenshanks and Knots we did not meet with then;

though a month later (in May) swarms of both these species, together

with Whimbrels, Grey Plovers, and Curlew-Sandpipers, all in perfect

summer plumage, poured into the marisma, to rest and recruit on their

direct transit from Africa to the Arctic.

On April 8th the Pratincoles arrived, and thenceforward their zigzag

flight and harsh croak were constantly in evidence all over the dry mud

and sand, where they feed on beetles. In 1891 we observed a "rush" of

these birds, some arriving, and others passing over high, almost out of

sight, on the 11th of April. Sometimes a score of these curious birds

would cast themselves down on the bare ground all around one, some with

expanded wings, and all lying head to wind, much as a nightjar squats on

the sand. Pratincoles resemble terns when standing, but run like

plovers, and on summer evenings, with the terns, they hawk after insects

like swallows. Their beaks have a very wide gape which is bordered with

vermilion.

[Illustration]

Another conspicuous bird-group in the marisma are the herons, of which

seven or eight species are here, more or less numerous. Besides the

Common and Purple Herons, the Buff-backed, Squacco, and Night Herons,

Egrets, Spoon-bills, and Glossy Ibis are also found, and several of one

kind or the other can generally be descried on the open marsh--the

first-named often perched on the backs of the cattle or wild-bred ponies

of the marisma, ridding them of the ticks and "warbles," or embryo

gadflies which burrow in the poor brutes' hides. The rush-girt

_arroyos_, or stagnant channels, were dotted with these most elegant

birds, some actively feeding, plunging their heads under to catch the

darting water-beetles as they dive, others resting quiescent in every

graceful pose. Here is a description of such a spot:--_April 29th._

Lying this morning in the punt, well hidden among thick tamarisks, in

the _arroyo_ del Junco Real, we had no less than twelve interesting

species within 200 yards: ducks of four kinds dipped and splashed on the

open water, viz.:--Mallards, Garganey, Marbled Duck, and one pair of

handsome, heavy-headed "Porrones" (_Erismatura leucocephala_). Sundry

Stilts, Egrets, and four Squacco Herons stalked sedately in the

shallows--one of the latter presently perching on a broken bulrush

within ten yards of the boat. A group of Avocets slept standing, each on

one leg, on a dry point; and further away, two Spoonbills were busy

sifting the soft mud with curious revolving gait. Coots and Grebes

(_Podicipes nigricollis_) kept dodging in and out among the flags and

aquatic plants, and a Marsh-Harrier, whose mate was sitting in an

adjoining cane-brake, soared in the background. This is not counting the

commoner kinds, nor several others which we afterwards observed close

by: the above were all in sight, mostly in shot, at one spot.

The Coots and Mallards have eggs in March, the Purple Heron early in

April: on the 9th we found the first nest, merely an armful of the long

green reeds bent down, and containing one blue egg. The other herons

nest very late--in June.

One other bird-group remains to be briefly mentioned--the _Larinæ_. In

so congenial a resort they are, of course, in force: but in early April

few gulls, beyond the British species, are noticeable[20]--of others,

anon. The Whiskered Tern (_Hydrochelidon hybrida_) came in swarms during

the first days of April, followed on the 13th by the Lesser Tern, and at

the end of the month by _H. nigra_, the Black Tern, all of which abound,

gracefully hovering over every pool or reed-choked marsh. The larger

Gull-billed Tern (_Sterna anglica_) is also common in summer in the

marisma, where we have taken the eggs of all four species.

The utter loneliness and desolation of the middle marismas are a

sensation to be remembered. Hour after hour one pushes forward across

the flooded plain, only to bring within view more and yet more vistas of

watery waste and endless horizons of tawny water. On a low islet in the

far distance stand a herd of cattle--mere points in space: but they,

too, partake of the general wildness, and splash off at a galop while

yet a mile away. Even the horses or ponies of the marisma seem to have

reverted to their original man-fearing state, and are as shy and timid

as any of the _feræ naturæ_. After long days on the monotonous marisma,

one's wearied eyes at length rejoice at a vision of trees--a dark green

pine-grove casting grateful shade on the scorching sands beneath. To

that oasis we direct our coarse: but it is a fraud, one of Nature's

cruel mockeries--a mirage. Not a tree grows on that spot, or within

leagues of it, nor has done for ages--perhaps since time began.

Upon a dreary islet we land to form a camp for the night: that is, to

arrange our upturned punts around such scanty fire as can be raised from

a few armfuls of tamarisks and dead thistles--all that our little domain

produces--assisted by a few pine-cones, brought for the purpose in the

boats. Dinner is cooked in the little block-tin camp-stove, or _sarten

prusiano_, as the Spaniards call it, which only demands a modicum of

lard and a sharp fire to reduce a rabbit or a duck to eatable state

within a few minutes. The fare which can be obtained by the gun at this

season is meagre enough: ducks or plovers are sorry food for hungry men,

though a hare, shot on a grassy savanna, is acceptable enough; nor are

the eggs of coot or peewit to be despised. Later, we experimented on

many oological varieties, especially Stilt's and Avocet's eggs. The

latter are excellent, boiling pale yellow and half opaque, like those of

plover: but the Stilt's eggs are too red in the yolk to be tempting. Our

men were not so squeamish: but then they did not even stick at the eggs

of Kites or Vultures. After all, it is safer to rely in the main on

Australian mutton, tinned ox-tongues from the Plate, or indigenous

"jamon dulce;" but the difficulties of transport in tiny _lanchas_

forbid one's being entirely independent of local fare.

The memories of our earliest experiences in the Spanish marismas, in

April, 1872, do not fade. The glorious wild-life fascinated and

exhilarated, while youthful enthusiasm ignored all drawbacks. But in

later years it is perhaps excusable if a slight doubt of the bliss of

campaigning in winter may temporarily arise when one is awakened in the

middle watches of the night by sheer penetrating cold, finds the fire

burnt out, the trusted _Españoles_ all asleep, and the tail of a big

black snake sticking out from under one's bed, or the poke of straw

which is serving the purpose.

The night of April 10th we spent at Rocío, a squalid hamlet clustered

around the chapel of Nuestra Señora del Rocío, an ancient shrine visited

yearly at the vernal festival by faithful pilgrims. We were tired of the

cold and comfortless nights _sub Jove_ in the marisma, where upturned

punts afforded scant shelter from the piercing winds of the small hours,

and where the chill exhalations of night kept one awake listening to the

chorus of frogs and flamingoes and the melancholy boom of the bittern.

It was hardly a change for the better, for a more wretched ague-stricken

spot we have seldom beheld, and in the dirty little _posada_ man and

beast were reckoned exactly equal in relation to the "accommodation"

they require. The bed provided was a dirty mat of esparto grass, six

feet by two, unrolled and laid on the bare ground: but the mosquitoes

and other insect plagues made sleep impossible, and the night was spent

in skinning the day's captures. The four-league tramp, however, through

sandy, scrub-covered plains, was a relief from the monotonous marisma,

and there were fresh birds for a change. The low, soft, double note of

the Hoopoe was ubiquitous; brilliant Bee-eaters, Rollers, and Golden

Orioles flashed like jewels in the sunshine, amidst the groves of wild

olive and alcornoque: Southern Grey Shrikes (_Lanius meridionalis_)

mumbled their harsh "wee h[=a]te" from some tree-top or tall shoot of

cistus, and Turtle-doves actually swarmed--all these birds (except the

shrikes) newly returned from African scenes. We also observed a pair of

Lesser Spotted Woodpeckers, and a single Azure-winged Magpie--the only

occurrence of the latter we had then met with in this district, though

further inland it is common near Coria del Rio, and towards Córdova it

becomes plentiful. Near Rocio, also, we obtained the Red-backed Shrike,

a species not previously recorded from Southern Spain.

Another interesting bird seen and shot this day for the first time was

the Great Spotted Cuckoo (_Coccystes glandarius_), and shortly

afterwards, while sitting at lunch during the mid-day heat, a female

Hen-Harrier, which slowly passed within very long shot, and caused me to

upset my last bottle of Bass. This was the latest date on which we

saw this strictly winter-visitant to Andalucia, none remaining to breed,

though it is plentiful enough in winter, and frequently observed while

snipe-shooting.

[Illustration: Plate XIV.

BOOTED EAGLE--Female, shot 11th April, 1872.

Page 81.]

Early next morning (April 11th) we started to explore the wooded swamps

called La Rocina de la Madre--a nasty place to work: consisting of

thousands of grassy tussocks, each surrounded by bog, in some places

moderately firm and safe, in others, apparently similar, deep and

dangerous, and everywhere swarming with leeches. In the centre of the

open marsh, surrounded by quaking-bog and a dense growth of aquatic

vegetation, rose a thick clump of low trees, whose snake-like roots were

growing out of the black and stagnant water. These trees were occupied,

some laden, with hundreds of stick-built nests, the abodes of the

southern herons some of which we have already mentioned--Egrets,

Squaccos, Buff-backs, Night-Herons, and the like: but nearly all this

group nest very late (in June), and the colony was at this season

tenantless. In subsequent years we have obtained in these wooded swamps

the eggs of all the European herons: though it is not _every_ summer

that they repair thither to breed. In very dry seasons none are to be

seen, but after a rainy spring, these heron-colonies of the marisma are

indeed a wondrous sight--an almost sufficing reward for enduring the

heat, the languor-laden miasmas, and the fury of the myriad mosquitos

and leeches which in summer infest these remote marshy regions.

Climbing across the gnarled tree-roots to the other end of the thicket,

we found a larger nest, and just as we emerged on the open, its owner, a

female Booted Eagle, passed within reach as she slowly quartered the

marsh, and fell to a charge of No. 2. This small, but compact and

handsome species, has been confounded with the Rough-legged Buzzard; but

no one who has seen _Aquila pennata_ on the wing could mistake it for

anything but an eagle. The nest proved empty, after a difficult climb up

a briar-entwined trunk: but on the following day we found another, in

the first fork of a big cork-tree, containing one white egg. Three is

the full number laid by the Booted Eagle.

In another part of the wood was a nesting colony of the Black Kite

(_Milvus migrans_), several of which soared high overhead. These birds

hardly commence domestic duties in earnest before May, but after some

trouble I succeeded in shooting a fine adult: also a pair of Purple

Herons, of which we found three nests, and a single Roller (_Coracias

garrulus_) from her nest in a broken stump, which contained one egg.

After this we were obliged to beat a retreat, for the swarming hordes of

leeches had developed so strong a taste for the bare legs of our two men

that a return to _terra firma_ became necessary.

The whole region for many a league around Rocío is one dead-flat

plain--dry scrubby brushwood or stagnant marsh and marisma. To the

northward, in the farthest distance are discernible the dim blue

outspurs of the Sierra de Aracena; but beyond its charms to naturalist

or sportsman, the district has few other attractions. After spending ten

days in the wilderness, we set our faces homewards, and were not sorry

on the third evening, after re-traversing the waste, to sight once more

the white towers and lustred domes of San Lucar de Barameda.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VII.

THE BÆTICAN WILDERNESS.

SPRING NOTES OF BIRD-LIFE AND NATURAL HISTORY IN THE MARISMA.

PART II.--MAY.

[Illustration]

On a bright May morning we set out for a fortnight's sojourn in the

western marismas. For the last few miles the route lies through broken

woodlands, all wrapt in the glory of the southern spring-time. There is

no lack of verdure here at mid-winter--not even the deciduous trees are

ever really bare: but in May the whole plant-world is fresh-clad in

brightest garb and beauty--it is worth staying a moment to examine such

prodigal luxuriance. Before us, for example, is a grove of stone-pines,

embedded to their centres amidst dark green thicket; through the massed

foliage of lentiscus and briar shoots up a forest of waving bamboos,

tall almost and straight as the pines themselves; the foreground filled

with the delicate mauve of rosemary, with giant heather and heaths of a

dozen hues, all wrestling for space, with clumps of pampas-grass and

palmetto, genista, butcher's-broom, and wild fennel. Here a mass of

_abolága_, or Spanish gorse, ablaze with golden bloom; an arbutus

blanched with waxen blossoms, or the glossy foliage of mimosa; there the

sombre tones of the ilex are relieved by the pale emerald of a wild vine

entwined upon the trunk. Even the stretches of grey gum-cistus have

become almost gaudy with their pink, white, and pale yellow flowers. The

air breathes of vernal perfumes, and the infinite chorus of spring

bird-notes--the soft refrain of Goldfinch and Serin, Nightingale,

_Hypolais polyglotta_, Orphean and other warblers, the dual note of

Hoopoe, and flute-like carol of Golden Orioles, mingled with the harsher

cries of Woodchat and Bee-eater, and on all sides the 'voice of the

Turtle was heard in the land.'

The sun was high in the heavens ere we cleared the fragrant _pinales_;

yet in the last rushy glade we rode suddenly into a herd of wild pig;

females with their half-grown young--probably the exigencies of the

season explained their being astir at so unusual an hour. Shortly

afterwards the writer almost trod on two boars, deeply slumbering in an

isolated thicket--one an old tusker, grizzly with age, and looking

almost white as he trotted away across the dunes.

Presently, through a vista of the forest, we sighted the marisma, its

muddy expanse to-day blue as the Mediterranean. An animated scene lay

before us; the wastes were thronged with bird-life. The horizon

glistened with the sheen of Flamingoes in thousands, and the intervening

space lay streaked and dotted with flights and flotillas of aquatic

fowl. The nearer foreshores, fringed with rush and sedge and dark

stretches of tamarisk, were peopled with Storks and Herons, Egrets,

Spoonbills, Stilts, Avocets, and other waders. While breakfasting under

a spreading pine, we observed commotion among our feathered

neighbours--the whole multitude had risen on wing as a single Booted

Eagle swept over the scene.

[Illustration: Plate XV.

PINTAILED SAND-GROUSE: FEMALE. (_Pterocles alchata_.)

Page 85.]

Rambling along the shore, we obtained many beautiful specimens by

stalking, including most of those above named, as well as a pair of

Marbled Ducks, a wild-cat, and other "sundries." Presently we observed

with the glass a score or so of Knots, in full red summer-plumage,

busily feeding rather far out. While creeping to them, a Marsh-Harrier

rose from some rushes close at hand; I knocked him down and found he was

lunching on a Knot. The latter we could not see again--though later in

the month they were in thousands--but made out a "bunch" of Greenshanks

feeding a little further on, one of which fell to a long shot--an

immature bird. Curiously, we found no adults here, though in March they

were numerous in some disused _salinas_ beyond Tangier, but no young

ones. The adults are distinguishable by their whiter appearance at a

distance.

Our course lay across a wide bight of the marisma, which projects into

the land. Crossing this, nearly knee-deep in mud and water in many

parts, we fell in with three packs of Sand-Grouse (_Pterocles alchata_).

They were excessively wild, flying fast and high, something like teal,

anon like plover, and uttering a chorus of harsh croaks. On the open

marsh we almost despaired of outmanoeuvring them. We stuck to them,

however, and, after many failures, obtained some beautiful specimens of

both sexes, and well worth the trouble they were; for no bird we have

ever seen rivals the Pin-tailed Sand-Grouse for delicacy of pencilling

and the harmonious contrasts of infinite colours in its plumage. In the

females especially, the spring-plumage is so variegated as to defy

description, the patterns, so to speak, being as elaborate as the tints.

Briefly, her back is finely reticulated with yellows and browns, blacks

and maroons of various shades, all relieved by clean-cut bars of pale

blue. Her head is speckled above the black line which passes through the

eye; below that, the cheeks and throat are plain buff, and the chest

clear bright chestnut, doubly margined with black and with a pale blue

band above. In the male the features of the spring-plumage are a black

throat, and a line of that colour through the eye. The pale sage-green

back is covered with large lemon spots, some of which extend to the

scapulars and tertiaries. The eye-circlets and eyelids are bright blue

in both sexes, and at all seasons: of their winter-dress and habits we

write elsewhere; but no description or sketch of ours can do adequate

justice to this gem among birds.

The name of sand-grouse is not appropriate, for they are in no sense

grouse, and are never found on sand--always on mud, and when shot their

feet and bills are generally covered therewith. There is another and

larger species, the Black-bellied Sand-Grouse (_Pterocles arenarius_),

which is not found _here_, but is very abundant in parts of the upper

marisma, towards Seville, and especially in the so-called Isla Menor,

where we have shot several when bustard-driving, and found a nest with

three long elliptic eggs on May 28th, besides seeing several others

found by our men. These birds--in Spanish _Corteza_--nest on the bare

pasturages of the upper marisma, and also on the high central plateaux

of Spain, in Castile, La Mancha, &c., a very different region. The

Pin-tailed species is known as _Ganga_, signifying a bargain, in

reference to its edible qualities.

[Illustration: STILTS--HOVERING OVERHEAD.]

After heavy rains in April, the mud and water in the marisma were

unpleasantly deep for either riding or walking--we had now abandoned the

punts; and on the low islands many thousands of eggs had been destroyed

by the rising of the water. A great variety of birds were now nesting,

Stilts and Avocets being, perhaps, the most conspicuous. We found a few

eggs of both on the mud-flats to-day (May 5th), but a few days later

they were in thousands. The Stilts make a fairly solid nest of dead

black stalks of tamarisk, &c., and lay four richly-marked eggs, all

arranged points inwards; the Avocet's eggs are larger and lighter in

colour, and these birds seldom have any nest at all, the three eggs

merely laid at random on the bare cracked mud, often an inch or two

apart. Three is the usual complement.

[Illustration: AVOCETS.]

A most curious picture do these singular birds present, either while

flying past or hovering overhead on quick-beating pinions, with their

absurdly long legs extending far behind like dead straws. The Avocet is

much the more sprightly and game-like of the two, with his shrill pipe

and elegant flight, now rapid and "jerky," now skimming low on the

water. But we never tire of watching the quaint actions and postures of

the Stilts, troops of which stalk sedately in the shallows close at

hand. So extremely long are the legs of this bird that, with their short

necks, they cannot reach down to the ground, nor pick anything up

therefrom. They are consequently only to be seen feeding in water about

knee-deep, for which purpose their peculiar build specially adapts

them, picking up seeds, insects and aquatic plants from the surface.[21]

We found many nests of Peewit and Redshank, those of the latter by far

the best concealed, always in some thick clump of grass or samphire.

Such familiar notes sound strangely incongruous amid the exotic

bird-medley around, and the fact of their remaining to nest so far south

is an ornithological curiosity. Birds which are at once inhabitants of

the extreme north of Europe, and yet capable of enduring the

summer-heats of the Andalucian plains, set at nought one's ideas of

geographical distribution. As already mentioned, we also found in April

the Dunlin nesting on the lower Guadalquivir, and our friend Mr. W. C.

Tait has detected the Common Sandpiper remaining to breed on the Lima

and Minho in Portugal.

There also lay scattered on the dry mud many clutches of smaller eggs

belonging to two other species, the Kentish Plover and Lesser

Ring-dotterel. The latter, less common, were only beginning to lay,

choosing the drier, gravelly ridges of the islets. The eggs of the

Kentish plover we had found as early as April 14th, and in May many were

already much incubated. Neither of these make any nest--nothing but a

few broken shells--and some eggs were deposited in a hollow scratched in

dried cattle-droppings. On these islands were also many nests of the

Spanish Short-toed lark (_Calandrella bætica_, Dresser--a species

peculiar to this region), artlessly built of dry grass, and placed in

small hollows like a dunlin's, sometimes among thistles, as often on

bare ground without covert. We found the first eggs on May 9th. On the

larger grassy islands there also breed the Calandra, Crested and

Short-toed Larks, with Ortolan, Common and Reed-buntings.

_May 8th, 1872._--A remarkable passage of waders occurred to-day: the

banks of the Guadalete swarmed with bird-life, some of the oozes crowded

with plovers, &c., as thick as they could stand. A mixed bag included

whimbrels, grey plovers, ring-dotterel, curlew-sandpiper, sand-grouse,

&c. Many of the Grey Plovers were superb specimens in perfect

black-and-white plumage, and the Curlew-Sandpipers in richest rufous

summer-dress. Unfortunately, the attractions of the Great Bustard,

several of which were also in sight, proved irresistible: but I had the

satisfaction of riding home that evening with my first bustard slung to

the _alforjas_. The next day, as is often the case, hardly a

passage-bird was to be seen, and my bag only contained a pair of Grey

Phalaropes, and a female Montagu's Harrier.

[Illustration: GREY PLOVERS--SUMMER-PLUMAGE.]

_May 9th, 1883._--The effects of dawn over the vast desolations of the

marisma were specially beautiful this morning. Before sunrise the

distant peaks of the Serrania de Ronda (seventy miles away) lay flooded

in a blood-red light, and looking quite twice their usual height. Half

an hour later the mountains sank back in a golden glow, and long before

mid-day were invisible through the quivering heat-haze and the

atmospheric fantasies of infinite space. Amid a chaotic confusion of

mirage-effects, we rode out across the level plain--at first across dry

mud-flats, partly carpeted with a dwarf scrub of marsh-plants, in places

bare and naked, the sun-scorched surface cracked into rhomboids and

parallelograms, and honeycombed with deep cattle-tracks made long ago

when the mud was moist and plastic. Then through shallow marsh and

stagnant waters, gradually deepening. Here from a rushy patch sprang

three yeld hinds from almost underfoot, and splashed off through the

shallows, their russet coats gleaming in the morning sunlight. Gradually

the water deepened: _mucha agua, mucho fango!_ groaned Felipe; but this

morning we intended to reach the very heart of the marisma: and before

ten o'clock were cooking our breakfast on a far-away islet whereon never

British foot had trod before, and which was literally covered with

Avocets' eggs, and many more.

Here, while I was busy selecting, numbering, and preparing some of the

most typical clutches, Felipe, whom I had sent to explore another islet

close by, came up with five eggs, which he said he thought must be

gull's. I saw at a glance he was right, and jumping up, espied among the

clamorous crowd of marsh-terns, avocets, stilts, pratincoles, and other

birds overhead, a single pair of strangers--small, very long-necked

gulls. These I promptly knocked down, and at once recognized as _Larus

gelastes_, one of the rarest of the South European gulls, and of whose

breeding-places and habits comparatively little was known. Only a few

days before I had received a letter from Mr. Howard Saunders especially

enjoining me to keep a strict look-out for "the beautiful pink-breasted,

Slender-billed Gull"; we therefore at once commenced a careful

investigation of all the islands in sight, never dreaming but that our

two gulls and the five eggs were duly related to each other. It was

therefore with no small surprise that shortly afterwards I found another

gull's nest containing two very different eggs (white ground, spotted

with black and brown like those of _Sterna cantiaca_), from which I

also shot a female _L. gelastes_.[22] This time, however, there was no

room for doubt: for the bird while in its death-throes actually laid a

third egg in the water--a perfectly coloured and developed specimen, the

exact counterpart of the two in the nest. Then, to make assurance doubly

sure, I found on skinning the first pair of gulls that the female

contained a fourth perfectly developed specimen of this very distinct

egg. This of course placed the identity of the eggs of _L. gelastes_

beyond doubt: it was, however, equally certain that the first five eggs

(which were dull greenish or stone-colour, faintly spotted with brown)

belonged to some other species. Accordingly I returned to the

first-named islands, and at once perceived two or three pairs of small

black-hooded gulls: these had doubtless been overlooked in the morning,

mixed up as they were among numbers of gull-billed terns and other

birds. They would not allow approach within shot, so I was obliged to

risk a long chance with wire-cartridge. The bird was "feathered," but

escaped at the moment. Two days afterwards, however, on a second visit,

I found it lying dead, and recognized it by the jet-black hood and

strong bill as _Larus melanocephalus_, another of the rarer gulls, and

presumably the owner of one of the first two nests. Those of the

slender-billed gull, it should be added, were composed of yellow flags,

the nests of _L. melanocephalus_ of black tamarisk-stalks and other dark

materials. To obtain in a single morning the nests of two of the rarest

of European breeding birds was a measure of luck that rarely falls to

the lot of an ornithologist: though the discovery, made a few hours

later, of the breeding quarters of the flamingoes, appears to carry more

ornithological kudos--_quantum valeat_.

_May 11th._--The Pratincoles are now beginning to lay--one or two eggs

in each nest: but subsequently we got them in baskets-full. Some of

these eggs when freshly-laid have a beautiful purplish gloss. Three is

their complement, and they make hardly any nest, merely a few broken

chips of shells. We also found to-day, on the marismas of Guadalete, two

nests of the Montagu's Harrier, each with five or six eggs, mere

outlines of broken twigs arranged on the bare soil, one among low scrub,

the other in the corn. The Marsh-Harrier breeds much earlier. We found

this year three nests at the end of March--much more solid structures,

built of dead flags, &c.: one was in standing corn, another on the

ground in a cane-brake, the third on the top of a dense bramble-thicket,

fifteen feet high--a very awkward place to get at. Occasionally, where

there was much water, we have found the Montagu's Harrier also nesting

in brushwood, three or four feet above the ground. In the water beneath

are strewn skulls of rabbits, vertebræ of lizards, &c.

[Illustration: IN THE MARISMA--STILTS.]

Later, again, are the Terns: the Whiskered and Black species

(_Hydrochelidon hybrida_ and _H. nigra_) breed in colonies both in the

open marisma and on the lagoons of the Coto Doñana, building their nests

far out on the lilies and floating water-weeds. All these lay three

eggs, those of the Whiskered Tern mostly greenish with black spots, a

few olive-brown. The eggs of the Black Tern are much smaller, and of a

rich liver-brown, heavily blotched with black. The larger Gull-billed

Tern (_Sterna anglica_) breeds only on the islets of the marisma. I

obtained their eggs, and those of the Lesser Tern (_S. minuta_) on my

first visit on the 23rd of May.

These islands which we have just described lay some six or eight miles

from the low shores of the marisma, and at that distance no land

whatever was in sight. The _coup d'oeil_ therefrom presented an

extraordinary scene of desolation. The only relief from the monotony of

endless wastes of water were the birds. A shrieking, clamouring crowd

hung overhead, while only a few yards away the surface was dotted with

troops of stilts sedately stalking about, knee-deep--in no other

situation do their long legs permit them to feed. Further away large

flights of smaller waders flashed--now white, now dark,--in the

sunlight. Most of these were ring-dotterels, dunlins, and

curlew-sandpiper, the two latter in full summer-plumage. A

marsh-harrier, oologically inclined, was being bullied and chased by a

score of peewits: and now and then a little string of ducks high

overhead would still remind one of winter. Beyond all these, the strange

forms of hundreds of flamingoes met one's eye in every direction--some

in groups or in dense masses, others with rigidly outstretched necks and

legs flying in short strings, or larger flights "glinting" in the

sunshine like a pink cloud. Many pairs of old red birds were observed to

be accompanied by a single white (immature) one. But the most

extraordinary effect was produced by the more distant herds, the immense

numbers of which formed an almost unbroken white horizon--a thin white

line separating sea and sky round a great part of the circle.

But this chapter is long enough, and we must reserve for another the

rest of our experiences among the flamingoes.

CHAPTER VIII.

WILD CAMELS IN EUROPE.

An incident occurred during our exploration of the marismas in the

spring of 1883 which illustrates the desolate and unknown character of

these wildernesses, and also brought to light a curious fact in natural

history. Far away on the level plain I noticed two large animals

evidently watching me. They were certainly not deer, which in spring

often wander out into the marisma, but never so far as to where I then

was. They stood too high on their legs for deer, and had a much greater

lateral width as they stood facing me--their contour, in fact, somewhat

resembled a couple of the long-stemmed, conical-topped, stone-pines,

which are so characteristic of the adjoining woodlands. But there was

something in their appearance even at the distance that prompted an

attempt to reach closer quarters--there was a distinct _game-look_ about

them. I changed my cartridge for ball, and attempted an approach with

all available caution, lying flat in the saddle and advancing obliquely

by long "tacks," besides using the _patero's_, or native duck-shooter's,

device of stopping at intervals to give the horse an appearance of

grazing. But it was no use: while still a quarter of a mile away, the

strangers simultaneously wheeled about and made off with shambling gait.

Then for the first time, when their broad-sides were exposed to view, I

saw that they were two camels, one much larger than the other.[23]

Probably no one who reads this will be more surprised than was the

writer at the apparition of the long-legged, long-necked, hump-backed

pair; but there was no room for mistake, for a camel is like nothing

else in creation.

[Illustration: Plate XVI.

THE SPANISH WILD CAMELS--OUR FIRST SIGHT OF A PAIR IN THE MARISMA.

Page 94.]

The camels appeared to have no great pace, and for some distance I

pursued them, but it was hopeless. Between us lay an _arroyo_, one of

those wide stagnant channels that in spring intersect the dry parts of

the marisma in all directions; and before getting clear of this,

splashing through some hundred yards of mud and water, the bactrians

were far away, scudding across a dead-level plain that extended to the

horizon.

I had heard on my first visit to this wilderness (in 1872) of the

existence of camels therein, and that they had lived there wild for

forty years or more, but was as incredulous as perhaps some of our

present readers may be, and as some certainly were when I first

mentioned the fact in the _Ibis_, in January, 1884, though then

corroborated by Mr. Howard Saunders, one of the joint-editors, in the

following foot-note:--"I saw a small herd of these feral camels in the

Coto de Doñana, on the 3rd of May, 1868; but, finding that my statement

as to the breeding of the crane in that neighbourhood was received with

much incredulity, I kept the apparition of the camels to myself. I

possessed the eggs of the crane to convince the sceptics, but I could

not have produced a camel." Shortly afterwards the statement was

somewhat contemptuously criticized by an anonymous writer in _The

Field_, who claimed to be himself acquainted with the marismas, and

ridiculed the idea of camels existing there in a wild state. "The

startling statement," wrote _Inhlwati_, "as to the existence of wild

camels in the neighbourhood of Seville or Lebrija has taken me and my

friends who know that country well by utter surprise; and that camels

should have been roaming about there and breeding, so to speak, as

perfectly wild animals in a state of nature, seems to us utterly

incredible.

"The marismas in the summer time are covered with cattle, and of course

they are accompanied everywhere by their herdsmen; and, so to speak,

every foot of open ground is more or less under daily inspection. And,

as the camel is a grazing animal, it would naturally be found in the

more open parts of these marismas or marshes, where they could hardly

have avoided detection and, as a certain consequence, capture or death

for so long a period as you mention.

"So valuable an animal would be such a prize to the poor Spanish

peasants, that they would turn out to a man to obtain it; and there are,

besides, too many English sportsmen at Seville and Jerez to allow the

chance of so novel a chase to slip through their hands unnoticed.

"I may mention that a company is in existence for the drainage and

better utilization of these marismas of Lebrija, and I can hardly

imagine that such animals as camels could have escaped the notice of

their surveyors and staff during their detailed surveys of the district.

"I may add, that my friend, the Belgian Consul at Seville, happens to be

with me now, and quite agrees with what I have said. It would be very

interesting if you could obtain any further news about these strange

wanderers."

To this the following foot-note was appended by the Editor of _The

Field_:--"It is somewhat strange that our correspondent should ask for

further information respecting animals whose existence he regards as

'utterly incredible.' But the statement has not been made that there are

wild camels anywhere near Seville. The districts explored by Mr. Abel

Chapman are far removed from human habitation, and are not those in

which herds of domestic cattle are ever seen. The fact that Mr. Chapman

described for the first time the singular nests of the flamingo, which

exists there in colonies, that have never before been figured [see next

chapter], proves that neither _Inhlwati_ nor his friend can know the

country well, and that 'every foot of ground' cannot possibly, as he

states, 'be open to daily inspection.' The fact that the camels have

been observed on different occasions by two well-known naturalists--men

trained to the close and accurate observation of animals, who both give

their names--should have entitled their remarks to a different

reception."

We have inserted the above extracts in full partly because they are a

good example of the reckless way some people are prone to rush into

print, and who, because they may have some acquaintance with a subject,

think they are thereby entitled to speak as with complete knowledge. The

marismas of Lebrija are, as a matter of fact, many miles away on the

other side of the Guadalquivir.

No doubt it is a "startling statement" that wild camels are roaming at

large in Europe, or anywhere else--it would hardly seem more incredible

if a herd of hippopotami were reported in the Upper Thames. The camel

has never within historic times been known to exist in a wild state: it

has always been the servant of man, a beast of burden and

domesticity.[24] More than this, a certain physical disability or cause

has been alleged to exist, which, if correct, would render their

permanent continuance, in a natural state, an impossibility. Nor could

any region be well conceived so ill-adapted--indeed repulsive--to the

known habits and requirements of an animal always associated with arid

sandy deserts, as the Spanish marismas, which, always marshy, are

subject to actual inundation during six months out of the twelve.

The discussion had, at any rate, the merit of evoking the following

additional information respecting the Spanish camels, their introduction

and habits. First I will quote a letter from my co-author, dated from

the Coto Doñana, March 1st. "Dear Chapman,--Your letter has reached me

here, where we are shooting deer for the last time this season. I am

glad I happened to be on the spot, having an opportunity of asking the

_guardas_ and others for the facts respecting the camels, which I hope

will be sufficient to convince the sceptics of their existence here and

of the truth of your observation, which I am surprised to hear has been

called in question.

"The camels were brought here first from the Canary Isles by Domingo

Castellanos, _Administrador_ to the Marques de Villa Franca, in 1829,

he intending to make use of them in the Coto for transporting timber,

charcoal, &c. The descendants of this Domingo, the two brothers Barrera

of Almonte, now own the fifty or sixty animals which make the marisma

lying between the Coto proper and the Guadalquivir their feeding-ground.

They seldom appear on the wooded parts, remaining winter and summer in

the marisma, moving with the greatest ease in winter through the mud and

water, from one island to another, occasionally coming to the woods to

pasture on the tops of the young pines.

"You know, from your flamingo experiences, how vast a waste is comprised

between the borders of the Coto and the river (Guadalquivir) which

accounts for the camels being seldom seen except by herdsmen and others

(Mr. Abel Chapman, to wit) whose business may take them out into the

watery wilderness. Manuel Ruiz, _conocedor_ of the Villa-Vilviestre

herd,[25] now tells me that at about three-quarters of a league from the

Cerro-Trigo he saw yesterday three females with their young, which he

judged to be about twenty days old.

"I can send you any further particulars required, and if the unbelievers

will not swallow your camel, we must do what Mr. Saunders did with the

doubted specimen [of the crane's egg], and bring before them a

Spanish-born camel, hump and all. Nothing is easier. Sport pretty good

so far--five stags, four pigs, two lynxes."

We are also kindly privileged to quote the following statement of Lord

Lilford's personal observation of the wild camels:--"I was not aware

till I saw Saunders' note at the end of your paper and read the

subsequent correspondence in _The Field_, that any one doubted the

existence of camels in a virtually wild state in the marisma. I once saw

four or five of them together at a vast distance, and, in 1872, came

across their 'spoor' several times when exploring the marismas of the

Coto. Their existence is perfectly well known to many people at San

Lucar, and, no doubt, also at Jerez. I heard of them first in

1856.... What Mr. Buck says of the habits of the camel is, as far as I

can remember, pretty much what I heard from several of the _guardas_ of

the Coto in 1872.... My son reminds me of what I had quite forgotten,

viz., that he and our doctor saw some camels in the marisma somewhere on

the proper right of the western branch of the Guadalquivir last May

(1888), when I was confined to my ship by an attack of gout in the right

hand."

[Illustration: Plate XVII.

WILD CAMELS--THROUGH THE BINOCULARS

Page 98.]

Lastly, we quote the following from a "Catalogue of the Mammalia of

Andalucia," by Don Antonio Machado y Nuñez, published at Seville in

1869:--"The first camels, which were introduced with the object of

breeding them, came from the Canary Islands, and in a few years became a

herd of about eighty. In 1833, a few years after introduction, they were

used as beasts of burden and transport in the province of Cadiz,

employed in the carriage of materials used in making the high road from

Port St. Mary to San Lucar de Barrameda (more than thirty years ago),

and also in conveyances to Arcos, Jerez, Chichlana, and other towns. But

some untoward accidents on the roads through horses being frightened at

the sight of such strange animals,[26] and the necessity of separating

them from horses in the yards, combined with other matters easy to

remedy, caused them to fall into disuse as beasts of burden and

carriage, and thus the economy and advantages obtained by their

introduction were lost. They were then used for agricultural purposes,

and some lands which Don Rafael de Barrera holds are at this time (1869)

cultivated by the aid of camels, which are used for ploughing and other

agricultural work."

At the present time the descendants of these camels live and nourish in

the marismas in a wholly wild state, and since the sequestration of the

Messrs. Barrera are practically ownerless.

We have fallen in with them on several subsequent occasions. On January

6th, 1888, we descried a herd of nineteen, of various sizes, all

dreamily ruminating, knee-deep in the marisma, each form reflected in

the still water beneath. Our whole shooting-party (including seven or

eight Englishmen) enjoyed the sight, the herd remaining in view during

the half-hour we spent at lunch on the edge of the marisma. With

powerful field-glasses we brought the camels close up, and watched them

putting their heads down as though grazing on the grasses beneath the

surface. Presently they moved on to a rushy islet some three miles from

the shore: hard by stood a rosy troop of flamingoes, and the intervening

waters were dotted with numberless fleets of ducks and geese. It was a

unique spectacle, one that could hardly be matched outside this

out-of-the-world corner of Europe.

In 1890, and again several times in the spring of 1891, we fell in with

camels. On March 5th we rode within 500 yards of eight, two of which

were about the size of sheep. In appearance they are very shaggy beasts,

and vary much in colour, some being of a light tawny hue, while others

are very dark brown, but all seem _grey_ about the neck.

On one of these occasions a curious incident occurred. It was in

December, 1890--an intensely cold and dry season, almost unprecedented

in Spain for the severity of the frost--when, in mid-marisma, leagues

from water or covert, and specially on the look-out for camels, a keen

eye detected in the far distance a roving fox. All dismounted, and

letting the horses graze, hid behind them and awaited his approach.

Then, with only a single _podenco_, or hunting-dog, _Frascuelo_ by name,

and after a straight-away chase of five or six miles at top-speed over a

sun-dried plain, bare and level as a billiard-table, we fairly rode bold

Reynard down, and killed him.

As evidence of the "staying powers" of the camel, our friend Antonio

Trujillo tells us that some years ago he came on one stuck in a bog. For

six days he was unable to reach the spot, and daily watched the poor

beast helplessly floundering. On the seventh day he found it possible to

assist the camel to escape. All around within reach of the poor

creature's mouth, he found that the very earth was eaten away. Yet when

helped to regain firm ground, the camel walked quietly away, apparently

but little the worse, and was soon browsing heartily on the tops of some

young pine-trees.

It is, perhaps, worth adding, in reference to the antipathy shown by

horses towards camels, that when during the night bands of the latter

have occasionally strayed from the marismas to the vicinity of our

shooting-lodge of Doñana, at once a commotion has broken out in the

stables, though placed in an enclosed square. All at once the horses

have begun shrieking, kicking, and displaying every sign of fear, which

could only be explained by their detecting the effluvia of some passing

camels.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER IX.

AMONG THE FLAMINGOES.

NOTES ON THEIR HAUNTS AND HABITS, AND THE DISCOVERY OF THEIR

"INCUNABULA."

[Illustration]

Though Flamingoes are found in many of the countries bordering on the

Mediterranean, and their rosy battalions are familiar to Eastern

travellers through Egypt and the Suez Canal, yet their mode of nesting,

and especially the manner in which birds of so singular a form could

dispose of their extremely long legs while incubating, has remained an

unsettled question. Till within the last decade, in default of more

recent observations, sundry ancient fables have passed current. Dampier

described the nests of flamingoes seen by him two hundred years ago--in

September, 1683--on one of the Cape de Verde Islands, as being high

conical mounds of mud upon which the female sat astride ("Voyages," i.,

pp. 70, 71); and for two centuries this cavalier position has been

accepted as history, no further observations having been made, though

flamingoes have nested irregularly in various parts of Europe--even in

France (in the marshy Camargue, the delta of the Rhone), and in Southern

Spain.

In the latter country several efforts have been made by naturalists to

obtain more precise knowledge of the breeding habits of the flamingo,

especially by Lord Lilford and Mr. Howard Saunders, but, from various

causes, without definite results. "The heat on those plains in June,

when the flamingoes are said to nest," wrote the latter, "is something

tropical, and it is no joke to wander for days over a district as large

as our 'Eastern Counties,' on the _chance_ of stumbling upon a colony of

flamingoes somewhere or other." The element of chance, however, is a

potent factor, and it eventually fell to the writer's lot to discover

that for which other and better naturalists had sought in vain. The

following is a narrative of our explorations in the marisma in the

spring of 1883:--

The first encounter with flamingoes that year had a somewhat ludicrous

result: after riding all day across the wastes, we had arrived towards

sunset within sight of our quarters for the night, when a herd of these

birds was observed feeding in a reed-girt creek. They seemed unusually

favourably placed for a stalk--for these wary fowl seldom approach

within shot of the slightest covert; but on reaching the outermost

rushes, the pack was seen to be at a hopeless range, and rose

immediately on my appearance. To my surprise, a "treble A"

wire-cartridge nevertheless dropped four--three falling direct to the

shot, and a fourth "towering" and falling dead a little further out. One

tall fellow was only winged, and seeing that he was walking right away

from me, and getting into deeper water, Felipe took my horse and rode

round to cut him out. Meanwhile the short twilight was over, and

darkness overtook us some distance out in the dreary marisma. In the

gloom I mistook the bearings, and only, after splashing about for a time

that seemed eternal, managed to reach the shore, laden with three huge

birds, wet through, hungry, and hopelessly lost. For a mile or two I

struggled on through thorn and tangled brushwood, till at last, coming

suddenly upon a herd of sleeping beasts--bulls, for all I could tell--I

gave it up, and decided to weather out the night in the jungle, with the

sand for a couch, and a flamingo for a pillow. Great was the relief,

about midnight, to hear a distant shot; I responded with a fusillade,

and shortly afterwards B----, with Felipe, and Trujillo's mighty frame

loomed through the darkness, and the duress was at an end.

[Illustration: FLAMINGOES ON FEED.]

During the month of April we searched the marisma systematically for the

breeding-places of the flamingoes: but though we explored a large area,

riding many leagues in all directions from our base through mud and

water, varying from a few inches to three or even four feet in depth,

yet we could see, at this season, no sign of nests. Flamingoes there

were in plenty, together with ducks, divers, waders, and many kinds of

aquatic birds already described: but the water was still too deep--the

mud-flats and new-born islets not sufficiently dried for purposes of

nidification, and as far as we could see the only species which had

actually commenced to lay were the purple herons, coots, Kentish

plovers, peewits, and some others.

Of the flamingoes themselves we secured several more lovely specimens;

during two mornings devoted to shooting them, we bagged eight, six

adults in rich rosy plumage, and two immature. Flamingoes are always shy

and watchful birds, and their great height gives them a commanding view

of threatening dangers: but there are degrees in intensity of wildness,

and despite the unquestionable difficulty of flamingo-shooting, we would

certainly not place these long-necked birds in the first rank among

impracticable wild-fowl. Wild geese, for example, many of the

duck-tribe, and nearly all the larger raptores far exceed them in

incessant vigilance and downright astuteness. Flamingoes, however, will

not, as a rule, permit of approach by the ordinary Spanish method of the

stalking-horse, or _cabresto_: while the treacherous pony is still two

gunshots away, the warning croak of the sentries is given, and at once

the whole herd start to walk away, opening out their ranks as they move

off. The method we found most effective to secure them was by partially

surrounding a herd with a line of mounted men, who rode far out beyond

them and then drove them over our two guns, each concealed behind his

horse and crouching knee-deep in water. Of all the dirty work that

wild-fowling in its many forms necessitates, this flamingo-driving takes

the palm. It is mud-larking pure and simple, man, horse, and gun alike

encased in a clinging argillaceous covering like the street-Arab

amphibians below London Bridge.

It is a fine sight to see a big flight of flamingoes, say five hundred,

coming well in to the gun--_entrando bien á la escopeta!_ The whole sky

is streaked with columns of strange forms, and the still air resounds

with the babel of discordant croaks and cries. How wondrously they

marshal those long uniform files, bird behind bird without break or

confusion, and how precisely do those thousand black wing-points beat in

rapid regular unison! Flamingoes are not "hard" birds: their feathers

being loose and open, and the extremely long necks a specially

vulnerable part, they may be brought down from a considerable height

even with small shot. One evening, while collecting specimens of small

birds on the open marsh, the writer killed a pretty right-and-left at

flamingoes with No 6. Happening to see them on the wing a long way off,

I lay down flat among the low samphire-scrub and presently had them

(five) right overhead. Both these birds fell stone-dead. On another

occasion, many years before, at the Veta Lengua, our four barrels, each

loaded with nine treble-nesting slugs, brought down three fine

flamingoes from a herd rising at upwards of 180 measured paces. But

having obtained specimens, we did not further molest these singular

birds.

[Illustration: A RIGHT-AND-LEFT AT FLAMINGOES.]

Flamingoes were not the sole attraction: the desolate region around

abounded with wild life, furred and feathered, and many a pleasant

bye-day was put in among the "vermin." One morning we rode out to some

distant thickets where a neighbouring herdsman--half peasant, half

poacher--complained that a family of lynxes were working havoc among his

kids. Our friend, a man of square iron-knit frame, with the eyes and

claws of an eagle, rode before us, no less than eleven wire-haired

_podencos_ (hunting-dogs) made fast to his saddle-bow by cords of

twisted esparto. The first thicket tried held a lynx, which, disturbed

by the _podencos_, bolted at speed right between us and rolled over

with a dose of "treble A" about her lugs. From this one small _mancha_

the dogs put out, besides the lynx, several partridge and rabbits, a

Montagu's harrier, and a pair of mallards! This lynx was a female, a

full-grown and handsome example of _Felis pardina_, much infested (as

are most of the scrub-haunting animals) with ticks, especially about the

head: but it was not much more than half the size of an enormous male

which we subsequently found. Unluckily, half our pack were then wasting

their energies on a big boar, which, after trotting close up to where

the writer stood, turned back with a valedictory grunt and disappeared.

The rest of the pack had meanwhile driven the lynx to the outside of the

thicket, where we had already viewed him and regarded his fate as

sealed; when, with sudden fury, the big cat turned on his foes, and

scattering the _podencos_ with some tremendous fore-arm blows, made good

his escape to the fastnesses of the Algaida de la Pez.

[Illustration: SPANISH LYNX.]

Some years afterwards the writer killed a magnificent male lynx, one of

the largest and most beautifully marked we have ever seen, at this

_mancha_--probably the same beast.

These scrub-clad plains abounded with tall grey foxes (_Vulpes

melanogaster_) and mongoose (_Herpestes widdringtoni_), with genets,

badgers, and wild-cats, of all of which we shot specimens. Three

wild-cats we bagged by moonlight, from screens placed to command an open

glade where rabbits are wont to pursue nocturnal gambols. Waiting in

ambush beneath the star-strewn heavens, in the silent brilliance of the

southern night, no sound save the churring of nightjars, or the whistle

of stone-curlew, broke the stillness: bats and small owls flicker in

uncertain flight against the dark sky, and across the glade rabbits

glide like phantoms: presently a larger shadow announces their deadly

enemy, the _Gato montés_. Two of these wild-cats were males, large and

powerful brutes, weighing 9½ and 10¼ lbs. respectively, and tinged with

warm chestnut colours beneath. The big lynx we could not weigh, being

beyond the limit of the spring-balance. He probably reached near half a

hundredweight. But we must return to our flamingoes.

During the month of April, as already mentioned, all efforts to discover

their breeding-places proved futile. It was clearly too early in the

season, and the writer now lost nearly a week through a smart attack of

ague, brought on by constant splashing about in comparatively cold water

with a fierce sun always beating down on one's head. In May, however, we

had better luck. Further to the eastward flamingoes had always been most

numerous, and once or twice we observed signs, early in May, that looked

like the first rude beginnings of architecture. We have already

described the archipelago of islets that lay far towards the eastern

shore, and on which we had found the rare gulls, and such a variety of

waders and other aquatic birds breeding (p. 93), together with the

immense numbers of flamingoes that lined the horizon. We must now return

to those bird-islets, to the scene where we broke off at the end of

Chapter VII on the afternoon of the 9th of May.

[Illustration: A TOILET IN THE WILDERNESS.]

As there stated, the immense aggregations of flamingoes in those middle

marismas, surrounded the horizon in an almost unbroken line. But, on

examining the different herds narrowly with the binocular, there was an

obvious dissimilarity in the appearance of certain groups. One or two in

particular seemed so much denser than the others: the narrow white line

appeared at least three times as thick, and in the centre looked as if

the birds were literally piled upon each other. Felipe suggested that

these birds must be at their _pajeréra_, or breeding-place, and after a

long wet ride we found this was so. The water was very deep, the bottom

clinging mud: at intervals, for a hundred yards or so, the laboured

plunging of the mule was exchanged for an easier, gliding motion--he was

swimming. The change was a welcome relief to man and beast: the

sensation of sitting a swimming animal is not unpleasant, but it will

give some idea of the labours undergone in these aquatic rides in the

marismas in May, 1883, if we add that a fine mule, a powerful beast

worth £60, succumbed to the effects of the fortnight's work.

On a nearer approach, the cause of the peculiar appearance of the herd

from a distance became clearly discernible. Many of the birds were

sitting down on a low mud-island. Some were standing upon it: and others

again were standing in the water. Thus the different elevations of their

bodies formed what had appeared a triple or quadruple line.

On reaching the spot we found a perfect mass of nests. The low, flat,

mud plateau was crowded with them as thickly as its space permitted.

These nests had little or no height above the flat surface of mud--some

were raised an inch or two, a few might be five or six inches in height;

but the majority were merely circular bulwarks of mud barely raised

above the general level, and having the impression of the bird's legs

distinctly marked upon them. The general aspect of the plateau was not

unlike a large table covered with plates. In the centre was a deep hole

full of muddy water, which, from the gouged appearance of its sides,

appeared to be used as a reservoir for nest-making materials.

Scattered all round this main colony were numerous single nests, rising

out of the water and evidently built up from the bottom. Here and there

two or three of these were joined together--"semi-detached," so to

speak: these separate nests stood six or eight inches above water-level,

and as the depth was rather over a foot, the total height of the nests

would be some two feet or thereabouts, and their width across the hollow

top some fifteen inches. None of these nests as yet contained any eggs,

and though I returned to the _pajaréra_ on the latest day I was in its

neighbourhood (May 11th) they still remained empty. On both occasions

many hundreds of flamingoes were sitting on the nests, and on the 11th

we had a good view of them at close quarters. Linked arm-in-arm with

Felipe, and crouching low on the water to look as little human as

possible, we approached within some seventy yards before their sentries

showed signs of alarm: and at that distance, with the glass, observed

the sitting birds as distinctly as one need wish. The long red legs

doubled under their bodies, the knees projecting as far as, or beyond

the tail, and their graceful necks neatly curled away among their

back-feathers like a sitting swan, with the heads resting on their

breasts--all these points were unmistakable. Indeed, as regards the

disposition of their legs, it is hardly necessary to point out that in

the great majority of cases (the nests being hardly raised above the

level of the mud) no other position was possible--to sit _astride_ on a

_flat_ surface is out of the question.

[Illustration: FLAMINGOES AND NESTS.]

Still none of the crowded nests contained a single egg. How strange it

is that the flamingo, a bird which never seems happy unless half-way up

to his knees in water, should so long delay the period of incubation:

for, long before eggs could be laid and hatched in these nests and the

young reared, the full summer-heats of June and July would have set in,

the water would have entirely disappeared, and the flamingoes would be

left stranded in the midst of a scorching desert of dry, sun-baked mud.

Being unable myself to return to the marisma, I sent Felipe back there

on the 26th of May, when he obtained eggs--long, white and chalky, some

specimens extremely rough. Two is the number laid in each nest. In 1872

the writer obtained eggs taken on May 24th, which is therefore,

probably, about the average date of laying. Owing to the late period at

which incubation takes place, we have not had an opportunity of

examining the young flamingoes when newly-hatched, or of endeavouring to

solve the biological problems which appear to cluster round their

adolescent anatomy. In June and July, 1872, the writer spent some time

in the marisma, but unfortunately was not aware, at that time, of the

interest attaching to these points.

According to native accounts, very few young flamingoes are ever reared

in Spain. Though in wet seasons eggs are laid in thousands (they are

sold by boatloads in the neighbouring villages), yet few, if any, of the

young Spanish flamingoes reach maturity--possibly by reason of their

lateness in nesting, and the rapid changes in the state of the water in

the marisma.

In the spring of 1891, after an exceptionally severe winter in Spain,

and with comparatively little water in the marisma, flamingoes were

remarkably scarce, and we believe that none bred in Andalucia that year.

Since the author's description of the nesting habits of the flamingo

first appeared in the _Ibis_ (January, 1884), its accuracy has been

corroborated by independent observations made on the West Indian island

of Abaco by His Excellency (now Sir) H. H. Blake, when Governor of the

Bahamas. The value of the corroboration is enhanced by the fact that the

above-named gentleman was unaware at the time he wrote that the

long-vexed question had already, three years previously, been solved:

and his graphic description in the _Nineteenth Century_ for December,

1887, is, as regards facts, almost identical with the present writer's

account of a similar scene narrated in the _Ibis_ for January, 1884.

[Illustration: Plate XVIII.

FLAMINGOES ON THEIR NESTS.

Page 112.]

One other point before we leave the flamingo and its haunts. We have

seen it stated that the brilliant colours of the flamingo do but reflect

the brilliancy of its environment--that these bright colours have been

acquired through the æsthetic tastes of the bird and by "selective

preference"; then, proceeding to enlarge on a "fascinating theory," its

expounder goes on from particular to general, and to demonstrate that

this Darwinian principle is generally operative in ornithic coloration.

Whether birds in general have or have not æsthetic tastes in the matter

of coloration or ornament, we are not prepared to say: but to our less

imaginative minds it is a question whether there exists in nature a

shred of real evidence in support of such a hypothesis. The flamingo

truly has a brilliant plumage, but _never_ a brilliant environment. No

one who has been intimately acquainted with these birds in their haunts

could have conceived such a sentiment; for anything less brilliant than

the bleak and tawny monotony which characterizes the chosen homes of the

flamingo it would be impossible to imagine. The flamingo itself, indeed,

is the one solitary speck of pure bright colour amidst the broad leagues

of mud and muddy water which it so conspicuously ornaments. Other birds

are there, it is true, but to them the same remark applies. They, also,

are as bright, pure and conspicuously different from their environment

as are the flamingoes. What more exquisite examples of bright, spotless

beauty amidst strongly contrasted surroundings than the stilts and

avocets, the lovely southern herons, egrets and spoonbills, the gulls

and marsh-terns? These are but a handful of examples fatal to such a

theory, and they could easily be multiplied indefinitely.

That many brilliant bird-forms affect brilliant surroundings, that the

fauna of the cold and colourless north in general lacks the gorgeous

hues of certain denizens of the tropics, or, again, that many creatures

possess hues assimilated to the general tone of their destined

haunts--all these are _facts_ which we readily recognize. But are such

facts much more than coincidences? Or is it wise to deduce any binding

rules or axiom therefrom? As regards protective assimilation in colour,

that is quite a different thing: its advantages are self-evident, and

its application more or less universal throughout the animal-world, but

it is hardly to the point. Protective coloration we recognize and

understand--it is an every-day phenomenon--but æsthetic tastes in colour

we utterly reject.

The composition of the human mind is undoubtedly speculative: and to

those of deep thought, as distinguished from others the bent of whose

energies tends rather towards action, the temptation to theorize--to

venture on the dangerous regions of inference and deduction--appears

irresistible. The contemplative thinker formulates theories the apparent

beauty of which fascinate his imagination. Collateral evidence which

seems to substantiate, is, in general, not difficult to find--that of a

negative or prejudicial character is not sought. Then with a mind

unconsciously biassed in favour of a preconceived idea, it may happen

that probabilities are mistaken for facts, evidence for proof: and thus

a new hypothesis is duly launched, based on ten, fifty, or a hundred

adduced circumstances, the whole of which may be merely coincidences,

and exceptions to the rule if applied to the millions of unadduced

cases, and perhaps, even in relation to the particular examples cited,

of no direct bearing in the sense in which it is sought to apply them.

As an example of the class of theories alluded to, we have read that the

colours of the sea-gull tribe are dark above and light below in order,

on the one hand, that they may escape the searching scrutiny of the

eagle soaring above, and, on the other, avoid alarming their finny prey

beneath. If there was anything in this idea, it would, at least, be a

hard case for those sea-birds not so coloured, and it should be added

that of the birds which are so coloured several species take three or

four years to attain adult dress. How do they survive those earlier

years? But a very slight acquaintance with the subjects in life shows

that there is actually nothing in it. Lying in one's gunning-punt, the

whitest-breasted gulls, as viewed from below against the lightest of

cloud backgrounds, are seen as clearly as if the bird's colour was

actually black. Every detail of form and movement is clearly

distinguishable--the clean-cut wings and tail, legs pressed close up

under the latter, the pointed head turning from side to side as it

searches the waters. Its colour makes no difference, and is no factor at

all. Then from high above, from the heights of a sea-cliff, what man of

even moderate vision cannot distinguish with equal ease the movements of

the black-backed gull from those of the pale herring-gull and paler

tern? And both eagles and surface-swimming fish are infinitely keener of

vision than the sharpest-eyed of our kind.

These remarks are penned from no love of argument, nor inspired by

invidious motive, but simply with a view to get at _facts_ and thereby

advance the interests of science: that is, of true knowledge.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER X.

BRIGANDAGE IN SPAIN.

SKETCHES OF TWO ROBBER-TYPES.

I.--VIZCO EL BORJE.

The existence of the brigand, it would appear, is desirable in order to

cast a glamour of heroism over the adventures of travellers in foreign

lands. Many Peninsular tourists mention encounters with "brigands," and

according to some books on Spanish travel, their authors were frequently

experiencing hair-breadth escapes from these gentry, who were, of

course, bristling as to their persons with deadly weapons--as is, in

fact, nearly every harmless peasant or goatherd one may meet in the

wilds. The tendency to overcolour is, perhaps, natural to imaginative

writers; but it is a mistake to rush to the other extreme, and to deny

_in toto_ the survival of this fraternity in modern Spain.

In his "Gatherings from Spain"--one of the best books ever written--Ford

draws a picture of Spanish brigandage, actual and imaginary, and

diagnoses the whole status of these "men of the road," as it existed in

his day, with a knowledge and terseness that cannot be excelled. And

although Ford wrote fifty years ago, yet his remarks stand substantially

correct at the present day; the only change of importance being that

measure of reclamation which half a century of equal laws has succeeded

in effecting in the prowling _gitano_ or gypsy, in Ford's day a lawless

pariah, the curse of rural Spain.

Though nowadays the traveller may, and probably would, traverse Iberia

in every direction without personal molestation, yet the race of José

Maria, the Jack Sheppard of the Peninsula, whose safe-conduct was more

effective than that of his king, is not extinct, though, like other

rapacious animals, his home is now confined to mountain-fastnesses,

whence he only emerges to seize by a sudden coup some opportunity for

plunder, of which his satellites have sent him notice--for, by profuse

generosity and terrorism, the _ladron en grande_ holds the sparse

hill-peasantry in a bond of allegiance.

Putting on one side the conventional and highly-coloured notions that

pass current, the condition of _bandolerismo_, or brigandage, at the

present day may be thus defined:--There is first the noble outlaw, or

"professional" robber-king, a rare and meteoric personage, of whom anon;

and there are the sneaking petty pilferers who rob as opportunity

serves, or as their wild environment almost suggests. These voltigeurs

of the road are normally peasants, goatherds, or mere good-for-nothings;

content to confine their energies to minor larcenies, and whose poor

ambitions soar no higher than relieving solitary wayfarers of their

watches, loose cash, &c., as happened to a friend of ours while

traversing the sierras between Paterna and Alcalá. Though a fight is no

part of these footpads' tactics, yet in favourable situations a single

hidden scoundrel may command the way, and dominate a dozen travellers

who know not whether that sudden summons to halt and lay down their

loose goods and chattels proceeds from one or from a score of

assailants, concealed amid the tumbled rocks and dense underwood of a

narrow pass. And, after all, it is probably wiser, if caught in such a

trap, to lose a few dollars than to risk life.

Very different is the character of the noble robber-chief, or _ladron en

grande_. In this man who leads the lawless, and, by force of predominant

will, controls and commands a cut-throat gang, but ill-disposed either

to subjection or discipline, there are qualities that, rightly directed,

might attain any object sought--qualities of moral force, courage, and

an iron will, that one cannot but admire. Men of this calibre appear but

at intervals; for "nature is chary in the production of such specimens

of dangerous grandeur." Such a man was José Maria; and of late years a

fine example has been afforded by the notorious outlaw, Vizco el Borje,

of whose methods of procedure the following incident, as narrated to us

almost in the words of its principal victim, will serve to give a good

idea.

At the little mountain-village of Zahrita it is the custom to celebrate

the annual festival of its patron saint, San Antonio, by an amateur

bull-fight, a performance at which the smartest of the young bloods of

the village take the principal parts. For many years it had been the

habit of the owner of the neighbouring pasturages to provide the bulls

for this annual function free of charge; and on the eve of the festival

the son of the well-to-do proprietor, Don Pedro de M----, was, with his

steward Diego, and a herdsman, engaged in selecting some of the most

fiery and active young bulls. Both were dismounted, and, rein in hand,

were walking round the herd, when they were suddenly arrested by a sharp

summons to halt and surrender. Then, turning round, they found

themselves face to face with the muzzles of three levelled guns bearing

upon them--the three mounted men having stolen up behind and taken them

unawares. Resistance under such circumstances was out of the question.

The guns of both Pedro and his servant hung in their saddle-slings, but

any movement in that direction would have brought instant fire upon

them. Before they had well recovered from their surprise, one of the

brigands coolly dismounted and took possession of both their guns, the

other pair meanwhile each keeping his man well "covered." The unlucky

Pedro was now completely at the mercy of his aggressors. At the order of

one of these, evidently the chief, the prisoners remounted and followed

his lead, the others closing in behind, and precluding all chance of

escape, except at the risk--or certainty--of being shot down. The guide

took a line leading towards the higher sierra, and avoiding the

frequented track. Arrived in a densely close thicket, the cavalcade

halted, and one man was sent forward to reconnoitre. A shrill whistle

was heard in that direction, and presently nine other horsemen rode in.

The captives were now ordered to dismount, their eyes were closely

bandaged, and they were informed that their lives depended on implicit

obedience to orders, and that it was better for them to see nothing and

to hear less--the latter an almost unnecessary injunction, since hardly

a word had been spoken. For hours the captives were led forward, their

horses stumbling along a rocky ascent, and they presently knew, by the

absence of brushwood, that they had reached the higher regions of the

sierra; then a halt was ordered, they were assisted to dismount, and led

on foot along a passage whose echoing sounds told them it was

subterranean. Here, in an extensive cavern, probably the long-abandoned

workings of a Roman mine, his eyes were unbandaged, and Pedro found

himself in the presence of his three original assailants. The only

furniture in the cave consisted of a few empty boxes; on one of these

glimmered a flickering wick in a saucerful of oil. The robber-leader

drew up another box for a seat, and producing writing materials, ordered

Pedro to write to his dictation as follows:--"My dear father, I am in

the power of sequestradores, who make good plans and bind fast. It is

madness to put Government on their track--they will escape and you will

lose your son. Your secrecy and money at once free me. You can send the

silver by Diego, our steward, who bears you this. Let him appear on the

mountain-road between Grazalema and El Bosque, riding a white donkey,

and bringing ten thousand dollars." ... At this point the prisoner, who

had so far written as directed, stopped short, and point-blank refused

to demand such a sum--declaring he would not take from his brothers any

part of their patrimony, and that the only sum he would accept of his

father was such as might fall to him as one of a numerous family. The

fairness of this, and the undaunted attitude of Pedro, seemed to please

the brigand, who declared, with a shake of his hand, that whatever

bargain was struck should be honourably adhered to. The sum of 6,000

dollars was then inserted, the missive signed and sealed, and Diego, who

had remained blindfold, was led to a point in the sierra which was

familiar to him, his eyes unbandaged, and told to make the best of his

way with the note to Jerez. This, as the dawn was just breaking, he had

no difficulty in doing before night.

After Diego's departure, the chief invited his captive to sup with him

and join in a _borracha_ (skin) of wine, under whose influence the

bandit became more genial, and related certain facts concerning his

personal history. He had formerly been an officer of _carabineros_, but

being dismissed for some, as he held, trifling fault, all means of

subsistence were denied to him, and losing caste step by step, there had

gradually developed in his breast an intense hatred of all social

arrangements, which had finally led to his present state of outlawry.

First he had been a smuggler, but, as the Spanish proverb runs,--

"De contrabandista á ladron

No hay mas que un escalon."

(From a smuggler to a thief

The step is short, the time is brief!)

Little by little his revolt against law and order led him into further

excesses and more outrageous acts of crime. The daring courage and

character of the man had attracted rogues of lesser calibre to his side,

and now Vizco el Borje was the acknowledged chief of the party of

plunder and anarchy.

The following night another party of robbers arrived: the captive was

again blindfolded, and the dark journey resumed. For three days and

nights the same course was pursued--the brigands each morning at dawn

going to ground in a fresh earth. An amusing incident occurred during

one of these nocturnal marches. The cavalcade was suddenly brought to a

stop, and the words passed down the line--_Civiles, civiles!_ The

prisoner now hoped that his deliverance was at hand; the chief ordered

his band to close up their ranks--the prisoner being removed some yards

to the rear--and to prepare to fire. During the panic, and amidst the

clicking of locks, Pedro took the opportunity of slightly raising his

bandage. The robbers were halted on a narrow ledge of the

mountain-side--a sheer rock-wall behind and a precipitous slope below

making any lateral movement impossible. A direct retreat was of course

available, but this did not commend itself to the chief, who, under the

shadow of the cliff, had the approaching horsemen at a disadvantage. The

clatter of hoofs sounded nearer and nearer, and as the first beast

appeared on the ledge it was evident there had been a false alarm. The

heavily-laden transport of a gang of smugglers advanced along the narrow

track, and as they slowly filed past the robber-troop, the only words

that passed were _Buenas noches!_ and the reply _Vayan ustedes con

Dios!_ Good night, and God go with you!

[Illustration: CIVIL GUARDS.]

On the second night Vizco had left his captive, saying he had other

work in hand: but, a day or two afterwards, Pedro received a message

from him, stating that, owing to the vigilance of the authorities, no

opportunity had offered itself of meeting Diego and the white donkey at

the appointed tryst: and instructing him again to write to his father,

with fresh directions to forward half the stipulated ransom to

Grazalema, where means would be found of receiving it--the other half to

be borne by the white donkey to a freshly-appointed spot among the

hills. Overjoyed at receiving this second assurance that his son still

lived, the father, though an old man, set off at once, with six hundred

pounds in cash, on the long ride to Grazalema. Then for two days he hung

about its precipitous streets in an agony of suspense almost

unendurable. No one spoke to him till the third morning, when a man

leading a pony laden with the rough woollen cloth which is made in

Grazalema and forms the staple industry of the little town, accosted him

as he passed with the words--"Follow me." The pony was stopped before a

small shop wherein some of the same woollen cloths were exposed for

sale: and passing through into the small back-room, the old father found

a man seated whose appearance was that of a cloth-pedlar--men who with

their sturdy ponies carry on a trade or barter of these coarse woollens

throughout the sierras.

After the customary Andalucian exchange of civilities, the pedlar,

looking the old man straight in the face, said, "Have you the three

thousand dollars? You know this?" and he produced Pedro's pencil-case.

The money was at the posada, and soon the old man, ripping up the

stuffing of his saddle, returned to the pedlar's shop with that sum. The

money was counted out, and Vizco el Borje, springing on top of that

honest-looking freight of coarse cloth, was soon clear of the streets of

Grazalema and steering his pony to some well-known mountain-lair.

While these events were occurring in Grazalema poor Diego was wearying

of his long-delayed assignation. For three days he and his white donkey

hung about the remote spot which had been indicated: and at last, on the

third evening, as he was entering the village of Benocaz, a goatherd

said, "At the well beyond the village you will find a woman in black who

will direct you to those you seek." He passed along the line of white

_casitas_ which form the only street of Benocaz, and by the old Moorish

draw-well beyond sat a woman in black. As directed by the goatherd, he

addressed her, "_Que hora es?_" and the reply, "_Las doce_," was what he

had been told to expect. The woman at once struck over into the hills

till she reached a well-worn track and directed Diego to follow this

till accosted by a shepherd. He did as he was bidden and after two

hours' rough riding over the dark hill, heard the same words, "_Que hora

es?_" "_Las doce_," he replied, and was piloted by this new guide to a

cavern, in which, to his intense joy, he found his young master, alive

and well. The money was at once paid over, and though at first the

brigands refused to release their captive on the ground that only half

the stipulated sum had been brought, yet suspense did not last long, for

during the night a messenger from Vizco arrived, announcing the due

payment of the other half, and instructing the robbers at once to set

free their prisoners, and to place them on a road which they would know.

And on the following evening, after a captivity of fifteen days, Pedro

rode once more into the city of Jerez.

Since the above was written Vizco el Borje has died--died as a

robber-chieftain should die, by the rifle-ball. Several times, towards

the end, his life was only saved by his magnificent pluck and resource.

But at last, while campaigning in the Sierra Morena, not far from

Córdova, his whereabouts became known to the authorities--presumably

through treachery--and after a series of desperate deeds of bravery, the

bold brigand was finally surrounded, all retreat cut off, and Vizco el

Borje fell with five bullets in his body.

We now give a brief history of a robber of the other type--and,

incidentally, of the vagaries of judicial justice in Spain.

II.--AGUA-DULCE.

Agua-Dulce lacked the character of the noble brigand; but was so

successful in a long course of perpetual petty robberies, and in

invariably escaping justice when caught, that he had become a terror to

the neighbourhood of Jerez. To the simple folk whose duties took them to

the sequestered farmsteads or along the lonely _veredas_, or

bridle-tracks, leading towards the sierras, there appeared to be

something "uncanny" about this _raterillo_. Agua-Dulce was one of those

men who acquire much fame without having done anything to justify it. As

a robber, he was of the meaner sort, fertile in resource in planning his

small crimes, and relying more on effrontery than bravery to avoid

capture. His victims were almost exclusively poor charcoal-burners, or

_arrieros_ returning from the town with their hard-earned gains--three

or four to twenty dollars, received for weeks of toilsome labour--the

very class whom Vizco el Borje subsidized, and by judicious generosity

made subservient to his more exalted schemes. Thus the very men who,

_nolens volens_, became allies and satellites of Vizco, were

Agua-Dulce's habitual victims and bitterest enemies.

It is from the lips of Antonio Sanchez, formerly of the Municipal Guard

of Jerez de la Frontera, and now retired on pension, that we have the

following account of the career and death of the miscreant known as

Agua-Dulce. Sanchez was, moreover, the man who slew him.

Agua-Dulce was suspected of having various accomplices: his favourite

defence was to prove an _alibi_, and his success in throwing the

authorities off the scent by this means pointed to combinations which

were not visible on the surface. At the hour when the particular robbery

with which he was charged had been committed, Agua-Dulce showed that he

was in the town and had saluted this or that functionary. And these

latter were always ready to support his defence as witnesses. Among

other unacknowledged alliances, Agua-Dulce was reputed to enjoy the

protection of a certain magistrate of influential position in Seville,

who was stated to be on terms of intimacy with his sister, a woman of

remarkable beauty.

The following occurrence, which refers to, perhaps, the only robbery of

magnitude carried out by Agua-Dulce, was cited by Sanchez in proof of

the above report. A sum representing nearly six hundred pounds, all,

curiously enough, in the smallest gold coin, had been taken from Don

Juan Malvido of Jerez. A few days later, Agua-Dulce was discovered in a

wine-shop of the Calle Cruz Vieja, dividing with two other men a large

quantity of these same small gold coins. He was arrested and imprisoned.

The judge at that time was one Alvarez, who was, however, absent from

his post on account of illness; the interim authority being Don Juan

Cerron, a man of upright and intrepid principle, who believed that now

sufficient evidence was forthcoming to bring home to the villain his

crime, and secure at length the condign punishment he had so often

deserved. When the prisoner was asked to explain how he became possessed

of so much small gold, he replied it was the proceeds of a certain

business he had just effected in Seville. For the purpose of

ascertaining the truth of this, the judge commissioned an inquiry (_puso

un exhorto_) to be made at Seville. The reply was a demand for the

prisoner's presence in that city--doubtless to learn from Agua-Dulce's

lips how the _exhorto_ could be answered favourably to his cause!

The Jerez deputy-judge roundly refused to allow this. Then it was that

the invalid judge was ordered--no matter what the state of his

health--to return at once to his post. Though seriously ill, he complied

with the request, and next morning from the Magisterial chair ruled that

Agua-Dulce should be sent to Seville. A few days later the reply to the

_exhorto_ arrived--in terms entirely favourable to the prisoner, and no

doubt inspired by him. No charge could now be sustained. The papers were

sealed up, and Agua-Dulce once more set at liberty, the small gold

coins, which every one was morally certain had proceeded from the

Malvido robbery, being returned to him.

For some years after this Agua-Dulce continued his course of petty

robbery and outrage without especial incident, but with increasing

audacity and immunity. Of a lady named Varela he had demanded three

thousand dollars under threat of destroying the valuable stock of mares

upon her farm of Vicos. Of Don Antonio Diaz, of Paterna, he had

requisitioned a thousand dollars under similar terms: and a large number

of donkeys belonging to Don José Calero, also of Paterna, who had

refused his extortions, were found with their throats cut. Lastly, from

a farm-steward at Romanina he had taken a small sum of money, his gun,

and cartridge-belt. The authorities in this last (minor) case had clear

evidence against Agua-Dulce and were keenly on his track.

The crimes of the miscreant (all these having occurred within a few

days) were thus assuming alarming proportions, and two amongst the

Municipal Guard of Jerez swore they would put an end to him. On the 23rd

of May these two, Antonio Sanchez and José Salado, were returning

towards Jerez after several days of fruitless search, when, passing the

ford of the Alamillo (a preserve belonging to the Duke of San Lorenzo),

a woman informed them that Agua-Dulce had been at work only an hour or

two before, and had taken all he possessed from a poor _carbonero_. This

decided them to remain in the neighbourhood, and shortly afterwards,

while riding through the coverts of El Espinar, they observed two men,

armed with guns, running between the trees.

The mounted guards gave chase, overhauled the men, and demanded their

surrender. The reply was prompt--a couple of shots: meeting the

simultaneous fire of the guards. No sooner, however, had the latter

fired than Salado fell dead from his horse, for Agua-Dulce's bullet had

gone true. Sanchez leaped from his saddle and, seeing that one robber

was done for, went for the other, whom he now recognized as Agua-Dulce.

A hand-to-hand struggle was imminent, but the bandit availed himself of

the thick lentisk-covert, and contrived to put some distance between

himself and his assailant. Both knew it was a duel to the death. Second

shots were exchanged, and this time Agua-Dulce was wounded. Sanchez

again called on him to surrender, but again the reply was a bullet,

which narrowly missed a vital spot. A second ball now struck the robber

in the side, bringing him to the ground. While Sanchez reloaded, the

wounded desperado managed again to rise to his feet and drew a pistol

from his belt: but he was just not quick enough, and ere he could aim, a

bullet from Sanchez's barrel had perforated him from chest to shoulder.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XI.

THE SPANISH IBEX.

NOTES ON ITS NATURAL HISTORY, HAUNTS, HABITS, AND DISTRIBUTION.

The ibex, or wild goat, has a wide range throughout the Alpine regions

of the old world: and wherever it is found, from Spain to the Himalayas,

takes a chief place amongst the beasts of chase. Few pictures, indeed,

does the animal-world present more perfect than an old ibex-ram,[27]

with his thick-set, game-like form, his hoary coat and flowing beard,

and those massive, widely-curving horns--no trophy more dear to the

big-game sportsman, and few so hard to secure.

The Spanish Peninsula can boast an ibex peculiar to itself, a noble

beast not to be found elsewhere than on Iberian soil. Till recently, we

shared the opinion that two forms of ibex existed in Spain--the Pyrenean

type, and the slightly divergent _Capra hispanica_ of the southern

sierras: but further experience and a comparison of heads from various

points, have convinced us that (except in the matter of size) there is

no material difference between the Spanish races of wild goats. No

difference, that is, greater than might naturally be looked for as

between isolated colonies, separated one from another during

centuries--for the ibex of Nevada or of Gredos is as effectually divided

from his kind in the Pyrenees as though wide oceans rolled between.

Differences in habits, haunts, and food are well known to produce,

during extended periods, corresponding differences in form: but so far

as we are able to judge, the only material variation between the

so-called _Capra pyrenaica_, of the north, and the _C. hispanica_, of

Southern and Central Spain, is that of size. The Pyrenean ibex is a

larger animal: but the horns are almost, though not quite, identical in

form with those from the Sierra Nevada[28]: while both differ most

materially from the well-known horns of the typical ibex, the _Capra

ibex_ of the Alps and of Central Europe.

These differences will be seen at a glance in the photographs and rough

sketches we annex. Briefly, the horns of the true ibex bend regularly

backwards and downwards in a more or less uniform, scimitar-like curve:

while those of _all_ Spanish goats, after first diverging laterally,

become re-curved both inwards and finally upwards. That is, while in the

one case the horns present a simple circular bend, in the Spanish ibex

they form almost a spiral.[29]

A minor point of difference consists in the form of the annular notches,

or rings. These in the Alpine ibex run more or less straight around,

encircling the horn in front roughly like steps in a ladder: while in

_Capra hispanica_ they run obliquely in a spiral ascent. These

annulations indicate the age of the animal--one notch to each year: but

the count must stop where the spiral ends. Beyond that, there is always

the lightly-grooved tip which does not alter.

The horns of the female ibex are weak and comparatively short--only some

six or seven inches in length, not unlike those of the chamois, but not

so sharply hooked. These do _not_ grow annually: hence there is not the

ready index of age afforded by the horns of the rams. It is, perhaps,

unnecessary to add that the horns of goats are _permanent_, and not cast

yearly as is the case with deer.

The following are the maximum dimensions of the heads of male ibex,

measured by the authors--all from the central and south-Spanish sierras.

Age. Length. Sweep. Circumference.

1. Five years 18-1/2 in. 11-1/2 in. 9-3/8 in.

2. Eight " 27-1/2 " 23 " 9 "

3. " " 28-1/4 " 19 " 8-3/4 "

4. " " 29 " 18-3/4 " 9 "

5. Aged 29 " 22-1/2 " 9-1/4 "

6. " 29-1/4 " 23-1/4 " 9-1/2 "

Through the kindness of the late Sir Victor Brooke, we are also enabled

to give the following measurements of his three best Pyrenean ibex

heads.

Length. Sweep. Circumference.

A. 26 in. 21 in. 10 in.

B. 29 " 23 " 10 "

C. 31 " 26-1/2 " 8-3/4 "

Sir Victor Brooke wrote:--"A. This was a very grand _old_ ibex: but the

points were broken and his horns rubbed smooth with age. The Pyrenean

ibex are much larger beasts than those from the southern sierras."

The natural home of the ibex may be defined as exclusively amidst the

summits of the wildest rock-mountains and most alpine spots upon

earth--subject, however, to such, apparently accidental, variations of

this general rule, as will be found hereinafter mentioned. Here their

hollowed hoofs and marvellous agility enable them to traverse, at full

speed, ice, crag, and precipice that seem absolutely impassable, and to

mount rock-walls where no visible foothold exists, throwing into

heart-breaking insignificance our puny efforts to encompass them. If a

man's heart swells with the pride of strength--if he flatters himself

that he is master of all the beasts of the field and of the arts of

field-craft, let him try a campaign with the wild-goats--verily there is

no sublunar undertaking better calculated to take the conceit out of

him. Mere figures give but a poor idea: to say that the favourite haunts

of ibex lie at altitudes of 8,000 to 10,000 feet, is hardly any real

criterion of the difficulties and hardships of their pursuit. Suffice

it here to say that the mere ascent to such heights occupies well-nigh a

whole day: even when encamped among the fringe of the snow, the

climb-out to the summits may still require two or three hours of the

hardest work.

[Illustration: SPANISH IBEX, OLD RAM--SIERRA DE GREDOS.]

Ibex are found throughout the highlands of the Peninsula, from Pyrenees

to Mediterranean, but not continuously--their haunts being distinct and

separated by intervening plains. They inhabit all the Pyrenees[30] and

are comparatively numerous on the hills round Andorra (Pyrénées

orientales). In the south their great strongholds are the Sierras Nevada

and Morena, where herds of twenty, thirty, or even fifty, may sometimes

be seen together. Besides these main southern haunts, the ibex have

several detached colonies in the hill-ranges of Andalucia and

Estremadura. Along all the elevated cordillera of Central Spain, the

ibex find a congenial home: but their chosen stronghold is in the

extensive Sierra de Gredos. This elevated point is the apex of the long

Carpeto-Vetonico range which extends from Moncayo through the Castiles

and Estremadura, forming the watershed of the Tagus and Douro; it

separates the two Castiles, and passing the frontier of Portugal, is

there known as the Serra da Estrella, which (with the Cintra hills)

extends to the Atlantic seaboard. Along all this extensive cordillera

there is no more favourite ground for the ibex than its highest peak,

the Plaza de Almanzor, 10,000 feet above sea-level. During the winter

and early spring the wild goats have a predilection for the southern

slopes towards Estremadura: but in summer and autumn large herds, often

numbering dozens, and especially the noble rams, make their home in the

environs of Almanzor and the lonely alpine lakes of Gredos.

Our personal experiences of the Spanish ibex are limited to four

points--two in the southern sierras, and two on the central cordillera:

in three of which the habits of the goats exhibited some very remarkable

variations. These, however, we describe more particularly when treating

of ibex-shooting in other chapters.

[Illustration: SPANISH IBEX, OLD RAM, SIERRA NEVADA. (Front view)]

The ibex is strictly nocturnal in its habits, passing the day at rest,

either on the snow-fields or amidst the most rugged and inaccessible

ground within its reach, and only descending to lower levels to feed

after sun-down. This habit never varies. In the more elevated

cordilleras, where, even in summer, there remain great expanses of snow

and glacier-ice, the wild goats retire at dawn to the heights, spending

the day on some bare rock or among the crevices of crags islanded in the

snow-field, and always guarded from danger of surprise by sentries, who

hold watch and ward from some commanding point. Here, except sometimes

during the hottest days of July and August, they are all but

inaccessible--it is impossible to "turn their flank," for they have,

behind them, vast breadths of snow impassable to man: while the

vigilance of their sentries simply mocks the stalker--even if their

position is not physically inexpugnable. The only systematic method

employed by native hunters, at such times, is the unsatisfactory one of

waiting, at dusk, to "cut them out" in the passes by which they are

accustomed to descend to their feeding-grounds--a bitterly cold and most

uncertain undertaking, to say nothing of its danger, for after sun-down

the soft snow freezes into a solid ice-sheet, cutting off the hunter's

retreat along the steep slope of the sierra.

The ibex of these higher sierras never descend to the level where pines,

high brushwood, or indeed any covert can grow. Their home is on the snow

and rock, and they only descend as far as that zone of moss, heath, and

stunted alpine vegetation which intervenes between the snow-line and the

highest levels of conifer or tree-growth. Their food consists of the

bloom and shoots of various alpine shrubs, grasses and flowers--the

Spanish gorse, broom, rosemary, and _piorno_, as well as certain

narcissi, mountain-berries, and the peasants' scant crops of rye-grass.

For this latter luxury they are tempted to come down rather lower: but

under no circumstances, not even in winter, are the ibex of Gredos or

Nevada found in the forests or amongst covert of any kind.

Such, in outline, are the habits of the ibex of the higher sierras. But

ibex also exist on mountain-ranges of much lesser elevations, and

_there_ their habits differ widely. Some of these lower hills are

covered with brushwood to their very crests--one has pines on its

summit, at 4,800 feet. Here the ibex cannot, of course, disdain the

shelter of the scrub, and even frequent the forests at much lower

elevations. We have hunted them in ground that looked far more suitable

for roe-deer, and have even seen the "rootings" of pig overlapping the

feeding-grounds of the goats.

[Illustration: SPANISH IBEX. OLD RAM. (Side view.)]

In such situations, the ibex form regular "lairs" amidst the fastnesses

of broom, gorse and thorny _abolága_, on the bloom of which they browse

by night, without having to descend or to shift their quarters at all.

On these lower hills the ibex owe their safety--and survival--exclusively

to the rough and intercepted nature of the ground, over-grown for miles

with forest and matted brushwood; and, in some degree, to their own

comparatively small numbers.[31]

A third very distinct habitat we have described in detail elsewhere.

Here, on an isolated mountain, detached from the adjoining sierras, and

affording neither the refuge of snow-fields nor jungle, the mother-wit

of a segregated band of ibex managed to discover a sanctuary scarcely

less secure. As elsewhere described, they simply shut the door on

pursuit by betaking themselves into the clefts and crannies of a hanging

rock-wall some three miles long and 2,000 feet high. To these eagle's

eyries no other terrestrial being could follow, nor human power dislodge

the astute _montéses_, whose beards, for all we know, were shaking with

laughter as they gazed down upon their discomfited enemies.

In this case, the ibex may almost be said to have "gone to ground"; for

they actually sought shelter, when hard pressed, in the caves and

ravines with which the face of these precipices were serried. This seems

opposed to all one's ideas of what _ought_ to be the habits of a wild

goat; but it well illustrates the pre-eminently astute nature of the

animal.

[Illustration: Plate XIX.

ON THE CRAGS OF ALMANZÓR.

Page 137.]

Were it otherwise--were it not for this reasoning sagacity in utilizing

the natural resources of each locality--in short, adapting their habits

to the necessities of the case, the existence of these isolated colonies

of ibex, on limited terrain, would be impossible. Even as it is, their

survival is, we fear, in some cases, only a question of years, for the

_tiradores_ of the sierra hunt them in season and out. The _serrano_

hunts rather for the pot than for sport, and spares neither sex nor age.

With all his sportsman-like qualities and skill in his craft, our friend

is not truly a sportsman. He is, we fear, but a butcher at heart; _meat_

is what he seeks; to him a female is only a less desirable quarry than

her lord in the ratio of her smaller weight--about one-fourth less. It

is the same with everything; with partridge, a covey at a shot, as they

run up in file to the traitor _reclamo_; with bustard, to massacre a

pair as they stoop to drink at a water-hole in the thirsty summer days;

with trout, to decimate a river by poisoning the streams, tipping in a

cart-load of quicklime, or blowing up a pool by dynamite--such are the

cherished objects of our friend, the Spanish _cazador_; and yet, despite

it all, we like him, and are never happier than during the hours we

spend in his company around the camp-fire.

In form and build, the ibex represents the very perfection of combined

power and action--if physical adaptation counts in the struggle for the

"survival of the fittest," the wild goat need hardly fear extinction.

His thickset frame, broad front, and prominent eyes, with well-poised

neck, clean quarters, and the light muscular legs set well within his

short round barrel, all bespeak qualities which admirably adapt him to

the hard, strange life assigned by nature to the wild-goat.

During the summer months, the ibex feast luxuriously on the abundant

crop of mountain-grasses, flowering shrubs and rush, which at that

season clothe the Alpine solitudes; and, later, on the various berries

and wild fruits of the hills. By autumn they are in their highest

condition--the long black beards of the old rams fully developed, and

their brown coats long, glossy, and almost uniform in colour. At this

period the rutting season takes place--in October; and the _machos_

fight furiously for the assembled harems--rearing on hind legs for a

charge, the crash of opposing horns resounds afar across the glens and

corries of the sierra. Even in spring their combative instinct survives;

we have watched, in April, a pair of veterans sparring at each other for

an hour together.

The young ibex are born in April, and soon learn to follow their

dams--graceful little creatures, like brown lambs, easily captured if

the mother is shot, but not otherwise. One is the usual number, but two

is not infrequent. It is a curious fact that the kid remains with its

dam upwards of a year--that is, till after a second family has been

born. Consequently it is usual, in spring, to see the females in

trios--the mother, her yearling daughter, called the _chivata_, and the

new-born kid, or _chivo_. Though, as just stated, there are often two

young, yet we have never seen more than one _chivata_ with each female

ibex--possibly it is only the female kids that remain so long with their

dams. In May the _chivatas_ are conspicuously smaller than the adult

females, but their horns are nearly as large.

At this season (April-May) the ibex are changing their coats; the males

have almost entirely lost their flowing beards, and in colour assume a

hoary, piebald appearance, especially on cheeks and forequarters,

contrasting with the darker portions above and behind. The muzzle is

warm cream-colour, and the lower part of the leg (below the knee)

prettily marked with black and white; on the knee, a callosity, or round

patch of bare hard skin. The horns of yearling males are larger and

heavier than those of adult females.

Though it is the custom of the hill-shepherds during summer to drive out

their herds of goats to pasture on the higher ranges of the sierra,

where they must sometimes come in contact with their wild congeners, yet

no inter-breeding takes place; nor can the race of wild ibex be reduced

to domesticity. The hunters frequently capture the young ibex--it is

sometimes given as an excuse for killing the dam--yet they rarely

survive long in captivity, and never mate with the domestic goat. In May

we could not hear of a single wild kid of the previous year's capture

that had survived the twelvemonth in any of the hill-villages of Gredos.

The form of the horns in the domestic goat is essentially different;

they are much flatter, thinner, and not a quarter as large as those of

the wild ibex. The latter can hardly have been the progenitor of the

race of goats now domesticated in Spain.

The smell of a dead ibex is specially strong and unpleasant--an old male

stinks far worse than a vulture; yet little or no trace of this remains

after cooking. Their flesh is firm and brown, fairly good eating, but

without any special flavour or individuality--that is, when subjected to

the rude cookery of the camp.

[Illustration: OLD OLIVE TREES--NEAR TALAVERA.]

CHAPTER XII.

IBEX-SHOOTING IN SPAIN.

I.--SIERRA DE GREDOS (OLD CASTILE).

Twenty-six hours on the railway--at first with the comparative luxury of

a Pullman-car: the last seven crawling across the Castilian plain,

towards the frowning ridges that look down on Talavera, whereon our Iron

Duke repulsed nearly twice his numbers of French, and turned the tide of

war: then thirty odd miles in a diligence, and finally a five-league

mountain-scramble on mules--this it costs us to reach the home of the

Castilian ibex.

Night was closing in and sleet descending in driving sheets, when at

length, round a projecting spur, we sighted our destination. The hamlet

hung on the steep slope of the sierra, whose snow-clad heights and

jagged peaks, towering away into cloud-land, gave us a fair forecast of

the labours in store. As for the village--a more picturesque,

rumble-tumble maze of quaint, shapeless hovels, all pitched down

apparently at random, with their odd chimneys, odd balconies and

projecting gables, all wood-built, it would be hard for fancy to depict,

or for artist to discover. And the natives--the light-framed, lithe

mountaineers, clad in the short _majo_ jackets, tight knee-breeches and

cloth gaiters, with smart sky-blue waist-coats, brass-buttoned, and

crimson _fajas_: the women enveloped in brilliant _mantas_ of

grass-green or scarlet, and with short petticoats that displayed rounded

limbs, bare to the knee--verily we seemed to have fallen upon some

surviving vestige of Goth or Moor, all unknown to the world, hidden away

in these recesses of the sierra.

[Illustration: Plate XX.

Page 141.

THE HOME OF THE IBEX--A SKETCH IN THE SIERRA DE GREDOS.]

Such things, however, had but a platonic interest for men weary,

drenched and travel-worn: and a terrible shock remained in store, when,

upon a low paneless barn, we deciphered, in hieroglyphic symbols, the

word _posada_. At the moment of our observing the ill-boding sign, a pig

was in the act of entering the portals.

Nothing, however, remained but to make the best of it. The cold was

intense, and in the deluge of rain and sleet outside, it was impossible

to erect our tent, even had a level site existed. We had with us,

however, on this campaign, a genius, and with magic skill Vicente

transformed the uncouth den: order replaced chaos: our bedsteads were

erected, basins, towels, soap, even chairs and a table appeared as by

legerdemain: while a savoury _olla_ with two brace of quarter-pound

trout from the burn below, and a stoup of good red wine, stood before

us.

We soon had the local hunters collected around us, all old

friends--Magdaléno, the crack shot of the sierra, Claudio, Juanito, and

little Ramon: but their reports were not encouraging.[32] The snow on

the heights was still impassable: Almanzor and the Lagunas de Gredos

were inaccessible, and these regions formed, we knew, the _madre_--the

true home of the ibex. The system of the _ojéo_, or mountain-drive, was

only practicable as yet (May) on three or four limited areas of the

sierra: but there also remained open to us the resource of stalking the

ibex. Of this sport we will speak later; but we decided at first to

adopt the plan of _montería_, or big beats.

The first day's _batida_ embraced a huge natural amphitheatre of rock,

seven or eight miles in circuit, as roughly depicted opposite. Our men

had left before dawn to gain the furthest flank, and we followed soon

after, to climb out to the peaks directly above. At first we ascended on

little shaggy mules, without saddle, stirrups, or bridle--only a single

cord to the nose-halter and a padded roller to sit on. The upward route

was as follows: one day will serve to describe all. On the lower slopes

(8,000 to 4,000 feet), rough pine forest, gradually opening out, and

giving place to a zone of brushwood and coarse vegetation: above,

another zone, of esparto and wiry grass interspersed with patches of a

peculiar gorse and rosemary scrub, and the _piorno_, a tough green

shrub, whose bleached limbs closely resemble human skeletons. Here and

there one could imagine that the rugged slope had been, at no remote

period, the scene of a bloody battle.[33] Above this level, plant-life

rapidly grows scarcer and more alpine--the bleaberry and gentian,

stunted heaths and _piornos_, with beds of purple saxifrage, white and

violet crocuses, and a yellow narcissus, the two last right up to the

snow.

The riding here grew worse and worse: the little mules scrambled like

cats over the naked rocks, but at last even they could no further go,

and were left, picketed in rock-stalls, on some hanging shelf. Now came

a terrible scramble on foot--hardly a step but needed to be made good by

hand-hold also, and then we reached the lower snows. Treacherous ground

this, here frozen into miniature glaciers, there soft and "rotten," or,

worst of all, hollowed beneath, precipitating one in a moment upon cruel

rocks below. Here several minor accidents, and one of a more serious

nature occurred: but after all we prefer the snow to the penultimate

zone above--the region of naked rock-matrix (in Spanish _canchos

corridos_), where smooth slippery faces of granite left no hold either

for the snow, or for feet, though clad in hempen-soled _alparagatas_;

and every crevice filled level with frozen striæ of snow. Mass above

mass towered these monoliths of living granite, veined and streaked with

the narrow snow-lines: and beyond them, stretching away for leagues,

came the snow-fields of Gredos, imposing in the majesty of a

contemporary glacial epoch, and the silence of everlasting ice.

We had high hopes of success in this first _batida_, for the ground

covered was of great extent, traversed by many ravines and corries, and

had not been disturbed since the preceding autumn. Yet it proved blank:

only a single ibex (male) was enclosed, and it escaped on the right, to

snow-fields beyond our reach.

This operation had lasted four hours, during which the cold had been

intense, a bitter blast blowing with hurricane-force through the

rock-passes where we held guard, as through a funnel. At intervals the

wind came laden with fine snow or jagged crystalline icicles which

ricochetted from the rocks like things of life. At one period--the

climax of the storm--if a hundred ibex or wolves had filed past the

writer's post, his fingers were too benumbed by exposure to have handled

the rifle. The ascent had also occupied four hours--the apparent

altitude (by aneroid) being nearly 8,000 feet--and the return to the

spot fixed for our camp would require two more. Hence no time remained

for further operations that day, and we returned, sad and empty-handed,

to camp.

Two blank days followed, and on the third a hurricane of wind, rain, and

driving mist forbade all hope of sport. The first beat next morning was

again blank, no ibex being seen; but a second, though covering a much

smaller area, enclosed a band of eleven. These, when first viewed, were

coming in directly towards the guns, and held this course till lost to

sight in an intervening ravine. Shortly afterwards the upper flank of

the beaters crested the further ridge, and at once, we saw, they opened

out their line, extending upwards towards the snow. These men had

already seen that the goats, true to their natural instincts, were

seeking to gain the higher ground: and a marvellous sight ensued--to

watch, through the binoculars, these hardy mountaineers fairly racing

with the fleet-footed ibex, and striving, by sheer speed and strength of

limb and lung, to head their flight, and cut off their retreat to the

snow-sanctuaries above.

At first one could not believe that biped, however specially organized,

could possibly cope, in simple activity, with the wild-goats on their

native rocks. Yet, when the game emerged from the gorge, it became

evident that the flank-movement had, at least to some extent, succeeded:

for the now-alarmed animals, though still tending upwards, had abandoned

the idea of direct escape in that direction, and were now ascending the

rocks in a slanting course which pointed very little beyond our own

positions. The writer, who occupied the upper post, at the foot of some

terrific _canchos_, which, in cold blood, had seemed insuperable, now,

in the excitement of the chase, found means--_nescio quos_--to surmount

the obstacle and gain a "pass" beyond, by which, it seemed likely, the

game might seek escape. More nimble still, our friend Magdaléno had ere

this, with winged feet, reached a yet greater height: and here, as the

ibex, scudding upwards with surprising speed, passed in straggling file,

his single ball struck fair a lordly ram, and threw back the rest in

dismay. Quickly followed from below the double crack of an "express":

but these bullets, fired at 200 yards, produced no perceptible effect.

Turned from their first point, the ibex, now separate and scattered,

when next they appeared, were heading, some for the snow-fields direct,

others for the lower passes: in one of which a five-year-old male

offered a chance, at eighty yards, to the ambushed "Paradox"--a chance

that was not declined, though only attained at the end of a severe

scramble of 200 yards across the rocks. The hollow-fronted ball struck

on the ribs, and traversing the vitals, "mushroomed" itself against the

shoulder-blade. Presently, from the heights above, rang out three or

four reports in quick succession--the upward-bound contingent of ibex

were running the gauntlet of our driving-line. A male and two females

offered long or random shots to the mountaineers. One of the latter was

reported hit--though the pair were followed by a _chivo_, or kid, only

ten days old!--but no tangible result was secured by this fusillade.

[Illustration: OUR FIRST OLD RAM--SIERRA DE GREDOS.]

Meanwhile the stricken _macho_ had descended to the depths of the glen,

where he was presently descried by our scouts stretched on the shelf of

a jutting crag, a mile below. How human eye managed to detect so small

an object amidst so vast a chaos of broken ground, rocks, screes, and

scrub-clad patches, passes understanding: but soon a long "wing" thrown

out, turned the flank of his position, and the noble beast, aroused once

more by the rattle of a rifle-ball on the rocks, made a final effort to

escape, which was terminated by a "Paradox" bullet at twenty yards'

distance. This, our first old ibex-ram, carried a handsome, massive

head; but its symmetry was marred by one of the points being broken.

The undamaged horn measured rather over twenty-eight inches.

So passed the days with varying incident, which it boots not to recount

in detail; sometimes we saw game, more often the reverse. One element

alone remained permanent and changeless--the daily labour was extreme.

Strength and physical powers were taxed--aye, strained, almost to the

breaking point, and in these contests of lung and limb the wild-goat

necessarily held the advantage.

One morning, wind and weather being favourable, it was proposed to

double-bank our beaters--that is, to drive two separate valleys at once

towards a single dividing spur.[34] The ascent to-day followed the ridge

of a deep _garganta_, or rock-abyss, embedded among pines, on one of

which was superimposed a pile of branches and sticks--the home of a pair

of Black Vultures (_Vultur monachus_). It was almost a solitary

tree--one of the few that survived above the pine-zone, finding

root-hold in a crevice of the hanging rock: a flat-topped,

wind-tormented tree, its spreading branches distorted by the weight of

winter's snows. Hard by the nest sat one of these colossal birds, not

200 yards away, though to have reached the spot, across the gorge, might

have occupied an hour. An "express" bullet was sent whistling past his

monkish cranium; slowly the great wings unfolded, and the vulture

flapped heavily down the ravine.

Vultures are comparatively scarce in this part of Spain--far more so

than in Andalucia. We only noticed one small colony in the Sierra de

Gredos; and of its six or eight pairs, our beaters, who passed close

below their eyries, declared that two were of the black species. The

Black Vulture is not known to nest either gregariously or on rocks: yet

we have twice in Andalucia noticed them _apparently_ doing both these

things--associated with Griffons--but without, on either occasion,

reducing the observation to proof. The above statement, however, tends

to confirm the fact. Bird-life, as in most mountain-regions, was not

abundant here. Buzzards soared over the pines, and the song of our

common thrushes and blackbirds rang through the woods as at home. Higher

up were ring-ousels and redstarts, wheatears (_Saricola aurita_ and _S.

stapazina_), black chats (_Dromoloea leucura_), skylarks and

titlarks--all these breeding. Besides these, we also observed the

Egyptian Vulture, the Alpine pipit (_Anthus spipoletta_), and Alpine

accentor (_Accentor collaris_), both common, the blue thrush,

rock-thrush, nuthatch, and Dartford warbler: and on May 10th, at 5,500

feet, after a stormy night, picked up, in a disabled state, a pretty

little bluethroat (_Cyanecula wolfi_, Brehm) of the _unspotted_ variety,

with entirely blue gorget. This little wanderer had doubtless perished

by the severities of weather encountered in crossing this lofty range on

his passage to the north. During an afternoon's trouting in a hill-burn

on May 13th, the following additional species were observed (altitude

5,000 feet)--ortolans, cirl-and corn-buntings, stonechats, wagtails,

crag-martins, and sandpiper.

Ravens and choughs tenanted the crags, and the red-legs were met with

very high up. Both in this sierra, in Nevada, and other alpine ranges,

we have kept a strict look-out for ptarmigan, but not a sign of them

have we met with. They are unknown to the _cazadores_ of the sierras,

and it appears certain that none exist in Spain, save in the Pyrenees.

On some precipitous rocks adjoining one of our posts to-day was an eyry

of some large bird of prey--either a lammergeyer or some eagle, whose

young brood kept up a plaintive, chattering wail while we were there.

The spot, however, was inaccessible owing to deep snow and tremendous

_canchos_ which intervened. One day, close to the snow-line, we came

across a fat, blue-grey little beastie, apparently of the dormouse tribe

(_Liron_, in Spanish), but he got to earth, or rather rock, ere we

could capture him.[35] But we must return to our ibex.

Though, as regards venison, this day's operations proved fruitless, yet

it remains memorable for the magnificent spectacle afforded of the wild

ibex on his native heights. As the beaters, looking at the distance like

mites or fleas, gradually drew in towards the peaks of "El Cumbrasco," a

herd of eight ibex were observed slowly picking an upward course towards

the _picachos del cañon_. Disturbed, apparently, by some goatherd below,

these ibex never offered any promise of a shot; yet the spectacle they

presented, while still wholly careless of danger, the easy grace of

every movement and spring-like step as they bounded from rock to rock,

was one of those rare views of wild life one seldom enjoys and never

forgets.

The ibex took the snow about midway between our two lines, and on the

glacier-foot, below the "Cannon Rock," they halted as though to court

admiration--the grand wide sweep and graceful curve of the horns carried

by two old rams set off in sharply defined outline against the snowy

background.

[Illustration: Plate XXI.

Page 143.

IBEX-HUNTING--THE TWO OLD RAMS AT THE "CANNON-ROCK."]

[Illustration: THE PEAKS OF GREDOS.]