Night on the Guadalquivir—Gospel Light—Bonanza—Strand of San
Lucar—Andalusian Scenery—History of a Chest—Cosas de los Ingleses—The Two
Gypsies—The Driver—The Red Nightcap—The Steam Boat—Christian Language.
On the night of the 31st of July I departed from Seville upon my
expedition, going on board one of the steamers which ply on the
Guadalquivir between Seville and Cadiz.
It was my intention to stop at San Lucar, for the purpose of recovering
the chest of Testaments which had been placed in embargo there, until
such time as they could be removed from the kingdom of Spain. These
Testaments I intended for distribution amongst the Christians whom I
hoped to meet on the shores of Barbary. San Lucar is about fifteen
leagues distant from Seville, at the entrance of the bay of Cadiz, where
the yellow waters of the Guadalquivir unite with the brine. The steamer
shot from the little quay, or wharf, at about half-past nine, and then
arose a loud cry,—it was the voices of those on board and on shore
wishing farewell to their friends. Amongst the tumult I thought I could
distinguish the accents of some friends of my own who had accompanied me
to the bank, and I instantly raised my own voice louder than all. The
night was very dark, so much so, indeed, that as we passed along we could
scarcely distinguish the trees which cover the eastern shore of the river
until it takes its first turn. A calmazo had reigned during the day at
Seville, by which is meant, exceedingly sultry weather, unenlivened by
the slightest breeze. The night likewise was calm and sultry. As I had
frequently made the voyage of the Guadalquivir, ascending and descending
this celebrated river, I felt nothing of that restlessness and curiosity
which people experience in a strange place, whether in light or darkness,
and being acquainted with none of the other passengers, who were talking
on the deck, I thought my best plan would be to retire to the cabin and
enjoy some rest, if possible. The cabin was solitary and tolerably cool,
all its windows on either side being open for the admission of air.
Flinging myself on one of the cushioned benches, I was soon asleep, in
which state I continued for about two hours, when I was aroused by the
curious biting of a thousand bugs, which compelled me to seek the deck,
where, wrapping myself in my cloak, I again fell asleep. It was near
daybreak when I awoke; we were then about two leagues from San Lucar. I
arose and looked towards the east, watching the gradual progress of dawn,
first the dull light, then the streak, then the tinge, then the bright
flush, till at last the golden disk of that orb which giveth day emerged
from the abyss of immensity, and in a moment the whole prospect was
covered with brightness and glory. The land smiled, the waters sparkled,
the birds sang, and men arose from their resting places and rejoiced: for
it was day, and the sun was gone forth on the errand of its Creator, the
diffusion of light and gladness, and the dispelling of darkness and
sorrow.
“Behold the morning sun
Begins his glorious way;
His beams through all the nations run,
And life and light convey.
“But where the Gospel comes,
It spreads diviner light;
It calls dead sinners from their tombs,
And gives the blind their sight.”
We now stopped before Bonanza: this is properly speaking the port of San
Lucar, although it is half a league distant from the latter place. It is
called Bonanza on account of its good anchorage, and its being secured
from the boisterous winds of the ocean; its literal meaning is “fair
weather.” It consists of several large white buildings, principally
government store-houses, and is inhabited by the coast-guard, dependents
on the custom-house, and a few fishermen. A boat came off to receive
those passengers whose destination was San Lucar, and to bring on board
about half a dozen who were bound for Cadiz: I entered with the rest. A
young Spaniard of very diminutive stature addressed some questions to me
in French as to what I thought of the scenery and climate of Andalusia.
I replied that I admired both, which evidently gave him great pleasure.
The boatman now came demanding two reals for conveying me on shore. I
had no small money, and offered him a dollar to change. He said that it
was impossible. I asked him what was to be done; whereupon he replied
uncivilly that he knew not, but could not lose time, and expected to be
paid instantly. The young Spaniard, observing my embarrassment, took out
two reals and paid the fellow. I thanked him heartily for this act of
civility, for which I felt really grateful; as there are few situations
more unpleasant than to be in a crowd in want of change, whilst you are
importuned by people for payment. A loose character once told me that it
was far preferable to be without money at all, as you then knew what
course to take. I subsequently met the young Spaniard at Cadiz, and
repaid him with thanks.
A few cabriolets were waiting near the wharf, in order to convey us to
San Lucar. I ascended one, and we proceeded slowly along the Playa or
strand. This place is famous in the ancient novels of Spain, of that
class called Picaresque, or those devoted to the adventures of notorious
scoundrels, the father of which, as also of all others of the same kind,
in whatever language, is Lazarillo de Tormes. Cervantes himself has
immortalized this strand in the most amusing of his smaller tales, La
Ilustre Fregona. In a word, the strand of San Lucar in ancient times, if
not in modern, was a rendezvous for ruffians, contrabandistas, and
vagabonds of every, description, who nested there in wooden sheds, which
have now vanished. San Lucar itself was always noted for the thievish
propensities of its inhabitants—the worst in all Andalusia. The roguish
innkeeper in _Don Quixote_ perfected his education at San Lucar. All
these recollections crowded into my mind as we proceeded along the
strand, which was beautifully gilded by the Andalusian sun. We at last
arrived nearly opposite to San Lucar, which stands at some distance from
the water side. Here a lively spectacle presented itself to us: the
shore was covered with a multitude of females either dressing or
undressing themselves, while (I speak within bounds) hundreds were in the
water sporting and playing; some were close by the beach, stretched at
their full length on the sand and pebbles, allowing the little billows to
dash over their heads and bosoms; whilst others were swimming boldly out
into the firth. There was a confused hubbub of female cries, thin
shrieks and shrill laughter; couplets likewise were being sung, on what
subject it is easy to guess, for we were in sunny Andalusia, and what can
its black-eyed daughters think, speak, or sing of but _amor_, _amor_,
which now sounded from the land and the waters. Farther on along the
beach we perceived likewise a crowd of men bathing; we passed not by
them, but turned to the left up an alley or avenue which leads to San
Lucar, and which may be a quarter of a mile long. The view from hence
was truly magnificent; before us lay the town, occupying the side and top
of a tolerably high hill, extending from east to west. It appeared to be
of considerable size, and I was subsequently informed that it contained
at least twenty thousand inhabitants. Several immense edifices and walls
towered up in a style of grandeur, which can be but feebly described by
words; but the principal object was an ancient castle towards the left.
The houses were all white, and would have shone brilliantly in the sun
had it been higher, but at this early hour they lay comparatively in
shade. The _tout ensemble_ was very Moorish and oriental, and indeed in
ancient times San Lucar was a celebrated stronghold of the Moors, and
next to Almeria, the most frequented of their commercial places in Spain.
Everything, indeed, in these parts of Andalusia, is perfectly oriental.
Behold the heavens, as cloudless and as brightly azure as those of Ind;
the fiery sun which tans the fairest cheek in a moment, and which fills
the air with flickering flame; and O, remark the scenery and the
vegetable productions. The alley up which we were moving was planted on
each side with that remarkable tree or plant, for I know not which to
call it, the giant aloe, which is called in Spanish, _pita_, and in
Moorish, _gurséan_. It rises here to a height almost as magnificent as
on the African shore. Need I say that the stem, which springs up from
the middle of the bush of green blades, which shoot out from the root on
all sides, is as high as a palm-tree; and need I say, that those blades,
which are of an immense thickness at the root, are at the tip sharper
than the point of a spear, and would inflict a terrible wound on any
animal which might inadvertently rush against them?
One of the first houses at San Lucar was the posada at which we stopped.
It confronted, with some others, the avenue up which we had come. As it
was still early, I betook myself to rest for a few hours, at the end of
which time I went out to visit Mr. Phillipi, the British vice-consul, who
was already acquainted with me by name, as I had been recommended to him
in a letter from a relation of his at Seville. Mr. Phillipi was at home
in his counting-house, and received me with much kindness and civility.
I told him the motive of my visit to San Lucar, and requested his
assistance towards obtaining the books from the custom-house, in order to
transport them out of the country, as I was very well acquainted with the
difficulties which every one has to encounter in Spain, who has any
business to transact with the government authorities. He assured me that
he should be most happy to assist me, and accordingly despatched with me
to the custom-house his head clerk, a person well known and much
respected at San Lucar.
It may be as well here at once to give the history of these books, which
might otherwise tend to embarrass the narrative. They consisted of a
chest of Testaments in Spanish, and a small box of Saint Luke’s Gospel in
the Gitano or language of the Spanish Gypsies. I obtained them from the
custom-house at San Lucar, with a pass for that of Cadiz. At Cadiz I was
occupied two days, and also a person whom I employed, in going through
all the formalities, and in procuring the necessary papers. The expense
was great, as money was demanded at every step I had to take, though I
was simply complying in this instance with the orders of the Spanish
government in removing prohibited books from Spain. The farce did not
end until my arrival at Gibraltar, where I paid the Spanish consul a
dollar for certifying on the back of the pass, which I had to return to
Cadiz, that the books were arrived at the former place. It is true that
he never saw the books nor inquired about them, but he received the
money, for which he alone seemed to be anxious.
Whilst at the custom-house of San Lucar I was asked one or two questions
respecting the books contained in the chests: this afforded me some
opportunity of speaking of the New Testaments and the Bible Society.
What I said excited attention, and presently all the officers and
dependents of the house, great and small, were gathered around me, from
the governor to the porter. As it was necessary to open the boxes to
inspect their contents, we all proceeded to the courtyard, where, holding
a Testament in my hand, I recommended my discourse. I scarcely know what
I said; for I was much agitated, and hurried away by my feelings, when I
bethought me of the manner in which the word of God was persecuted in
this unhappy kingdom. My words evidently made impression, and to my
astonishment every person present pressed me for a copy. I sold several
within the walls of the custom-house. The object, however, of most
attention was the Gypsy Gospel, which was minutely examined amidst smiles
and exclamations of surprise; an individual every now and then crying,
“_Cosas de los Ingleses_.” A bystander asked me whether I could speak
the Gitano language. I replied that I could not only speak it, but write
it, and instantly made a speech of about five minutes in the Gypsy
tongue, which I had no sooner concluded than all clapped their hands and
simultaneously shouted, “_Cosas de Ingalaterra_,” “_Cosas de los
Ingleses_.” I disposed of several copies of the Gypsy Gospel likewise,
and having now settled the business which had brought me to the
custom-house, I saluted my new friends and departed with my books.
I now revisited Mr. Phillipi, who, upon learning that it was my intention
to proceed to Cadiz next morning by the steamer, which would touch at
Bonanza at four o’clock, despatched the chests and my little luggage to
the latter place, where he likewise advised me to sleep, in order that I
might be in readiness to embark at that early hour. He then introduced
me to his family, his wife an English woman, and his daughter an amiable
and beautiful girl of about eighteen years of age, whom I had previously
seen at Seville; three or four other ladies from Seville were likewise
there on a visit, and for the purpose of sea-bathing. After a few words
in English between the lady of the house and myself, we all commenced
chatting in Spanish, which seemed to be the only language understood or
cared for by the rest of the company; indeed, who would be so
unreasonable as to expect Spanish females to speak any language but their
own, which, flexible and harmonious as it is, (far more so I think than
any other,) seemed at times quite inadequate to express the wild sallies
of their luxuriant imagination. Two hours fled rapidly away in
discourse, interrupted occasionally by music and song, when I bade
farewell to this delightful society, and strolled out to view the town.
It was now past noon, and the heat was exceedingly fierce: I saw scarcely
a living being in the streets, the stones of which burnt my feet through
the soles of my boots. I passed through the square of the Constitution,
which presents nothing particular to the eye of the stranger, and
ascended the hill to obtain a nearer view of the castle. It is a strong
heavy edifice of stone, with round towers, and, though deserted, appears
to be still in a tolerable state of preservation. I became tired of
gazing, and was retracing my steps, when I was accosted by two Gypsies,
who by some means had heard of my arrival. We exchanged some words in
Gitano, but they appeared to be very ignorant of the dialect, and utterly
unable to maintain a conversation in it. They were clamorous for a
gabicote, or book in the Gypsy tongue. I refused it them, saying that
they could turn it to no profitable account; but finding that they could
read, I promised them each a Testament in Spanish. This offer, however,
they refused with disdain, saying that they cared for nothing written in
the language of the Busné or Gentiles. They then persisted in their
demand, to which I at last yielded, being unable to resist their
importunity; whereupon they accompanied me to the inn, and received what
they so ardently desired.
In the evening I was visited by Mr. Phillipi, who informed me that he had
ordered a cabriolet to call for me at the inn at eleven at night, for the
purpose of conveying me to Bonanza, and that a person there who kept a
small wine-house, and to whom the chests and other things had been
forwarded, would receive me for the night, though it was probable that I
should have to sleep on the floor. We then walked to the beach, where
there were a great number of bathers, all men. Amongst them were some
good swimmers; two, in particular, were out at a great distance in the
firth of the Guadalquivir, I should say at least a mile; their heads
could just be descried with the telescope. I was told that they were
friars. I wondered at what period of their lives they had acquired their
dexterity at natation. I hoped it was not at a time when, according to
their vows, they should have lived for prayer, fasting, and mortification
alone. Swimming is a noble exercise, but it certainly does not tend to
mortify either the flesh or the spirit. As it was becoming dusk, we
returned to the town, when my friend bade me a kind farewell. I then
retired to my apartment, and passed some hours in meditation.
It was night, ten o’clock;—eleven o’clock, and the cabriolet was at the
door. I got in, and we proceeded down the avenue and along the shore,
which was quite deserted. The waves sounded mournfully; everything
seemed to have changed since the morning. I even thought that the
horse’s feet sounded differently, as it trotted slowly over the moist
firm sand. The driver, however, was by no means mournful, nor inclined
to be silent long: he soon commenced asking me an infinity of questions
as to whence I came and whither I was bound. Having given him what
answers I thought most proper, I, in return, asked him whether he was not
afraid to drive along that beach, which had always borne so bad a
character, at so unseasonable an hour. Whereupon, he looked around him,
and seeing no person, he raised a shout of derision, and said that a
fellow with his whiskers feared not all the thieves that ever walked the
playa, and that no dozen men in San Lucar dare to waylay any traveller
whom they knew to be beneath his protection. He was a good specimen of
the Andalusian braggart. We soon saw a light or two shining dimly before
us; they proceeded from a few barks and small vessels stranded on the
sand close below Bonanza: amongst them I distinguished two or three dusky
figures. We were now at our journey’s end, and stopped before the door
of the place where I was to lodge for the night. The driver,
dismounting, knocked loud and long, until the door was opened by an
exceedingly stout man of about sixty years of age; he held a dim light in
his hand, and was dressed in a red nightcap and dirty striped shirt. He
admitted us, without a word, into a very large long room with a clay
floor. A species of counter stood on one side near the door; behind it
stood a barrel or two, and against the wall, on shelves, many bottles of
various sizes. The smell of liquors and wine was very powerful. I
settled with the driver and gave him a gratuity, whereupon he asked me
for something to drink to my safe journey. I told him he could call for
whatever he pleased; whereupon he demanded a glass of aguardiente, which
the master of the house, who had stationed himself behind the counter,
handed him without saying a word. The fellow drank it off at once, but
made a great many wry faces after having swallowed it, and, coughing,
said that he made no doubt it was good liquor, as it burnt his throat
terribly. He then embraced me, went out, mounted his cabriolet, and
drove off.
The old man with the red nightcap now moved slowly to the door, which he
bolted and otherwise secured; he then drew forward two benches, which he
placed together, and pointed to them as if to intimate to me that there
was my bed: he then blew out the candle and retired deeper into the
apartment, where I heard him lay himself down sighing and snorting.
There was now no farther light than what proceeded from a small earthen
pan on the floor, filled with water and oil, on which floated a small
piece of card with a lighted wick in the middle, which simple species of
lamp is called “mariposa.” I now laid my carpet bag on the bench as a
pillow, and flung myself down. I should have been asleep instantly, but
he of the red nightcap now commenced snoring awfully, which brought to my
mind that I had not yet commended myself to my friend and Redeemer: I
therefore prayed, and then sank to repose.
I was awakened more than once during the night by cats, and I believe
rats, leaping upon my body. At the last of these interruptions I arose,
and, approaching the mariposa, looked at my watch; it was half-past three
o’clock. I opened the door and looked out; whereupon some fishermen
entered clamouring for their morning draught: the old man was soon on his
feet serving them. One of the men said to me that, if I was going by the
steamer, I had better order my things to the wharf without delay, as he
had heard the vessel coming down the river. I dispatched my luggage, and
then demanded of the red nightcap what I owed him. He replied “One
real.” These were the only two words which I heard proceed from his
mouth: he was certainly addicted to silence, and perhaps to philosophy,
neither of which are much practised in Andalusia. I now hurried to the
wharf; the steamer was not yet arrived, but I heard its thunder up the
river every moment becoming more distinct: there was mist and darkness
upon the face of the waters, and I felt awe as I listened to the approach
of the invisible monster booming through the stillness of the night. It
came at last in sight, plashed its way forward, stopped, and I was soon
on board. It was the Peninsula, the best boat on the Guadalquivir.
What a wonderful production of art is a steamboat; and yet why should we
call it wonderful, if we consider its history. More than five hundred
years have elapsed since the idea of making one first originated; but it
was not until the close of the last century that the first, worthy of the
name, made its appearance on a Scottish river.
During this long period of time, acute minds and skilful hands were
occasionally busied in attempting to remove those imperfections in the
machinery, which alone prevented a vessel being made capable of
propelling itself against wind and tide. All these attempts were
successively abandoned in despair, yet scarcely one was made which was
perfectly fruitless; each inventor leaving behind him some monument of
his labour, of which those who succeeded him took advantage, until at
last a fortunate thought or two, and a few more perfect arrangements,
were all that were wanting. The time arrived, and now, at length, the
very Atlantic is crossed by haughty steamers. Much has been said of the
utility of steam in spreading abroad civilization, and I think justly.
When the first steam vessels were seen on the Guadalquivir, about ten
years ago, the Sevillians ran to the banks of the river, crying “sorcery,
sorcery,” which idea was not a little favoured by the speculation being
an English one, and the boats, which were English built, being provided
with English engineers, as, indeed, they still are; no Spaniard having
been found capable of understanding the machinery. They soon however,
became accustomed to them, and the boats are in general crowded with
passengers. Fanatic and vain as the Sevillians still are, and bigoted as
they remain to their own customs, they know that good, in one instance at
least, can proceed from a foreign land, and that land a land of heretics;
inveterate prejudice has been shaken, and we will hope that this is the
dawn of their civilization.
Whilst passing over the bay of Cadiz, I was reclining on one of the
benches on the deck, when the captain walked by in company with another
man; they stopped a short distance from me, and I heard the captain ask
the other, in a low voice, how many languages he spoke; he replied “only
one.” “That one,” said the captain, “is of course the Christian”; by
which name the Spaniards style their own language in contradistinction to
all others. “That fellow,” continued the captain, “who is lying on the
deck, can speak Christian too, when it serves his purpose, but he speaks
others, which are by no means Christian: he can talk English, and I
myself have heard him chatter in Gitano with the Gypsies of Triana; he is
now going amongst the Moors, and when he arrives in their country, you
will hear him, should he be there, converse as fluently in their
gibberish as in Christiano, nay, better, for he is no Christian himself.
He has been several times on board my vessel already, but I do not like
him, as I consider that he carries something about with him which is not
good.”
This worthy person, on my coming aboard the boat, had shaken me by the
hand and expressed his joy at seeing me again.