JOURNEY TO RONDA CONTINUED--A WORD ON THE PASSPORT AND BILL OF
HEALTH NUISANCES, AND SPANISH CUSTOM-HOUSE OFFICERS--ROMANTIC
SCENERY--SPLENDID VIEW--BENADALID--ATAJATE--FIRST VIEW OF THE VALE
OF RONDA--A DISSERTATION ON ADVENTURES, TO MAKE UP FOR THEIR
ABSENCE--LUDICROUS INSTANCE OF THE EFFECTS OF PUTTING THE CART
BEFORE THE HORSE.
"_A quien madruga, Dios le ayuda_,"[59] is a common Spanish saying; and
though our hard beds took off much from the merit of our early rising,
it nevertheless brought its reward, by enabling us to witness a sunrise
scene of most surpassing beauty.
Partaking of a cup of chocolate,--a breakfast that every Arriero
indulges in,--a slice of bread fried in hog's lard--which is a much
better thing, and quite as wholesome, as _breakfast bacon_--we lit our
cigars, paid our bill--a little fortune to the lady of the hostel--and
bestrode our horses without more delay.
In this part of Spain passports are not included amongst the drags upon
travelling. You should be provided with one, in case of getting into
trouble of any kind; but, excepting during the prevalence of the
cholera, I never, in any of my numerous peregrinations, was even asked
to produce it. I happened at that particular period (1833) to have
undertaken the journey from Gibraltar to Madrid. The disease was raging
with fatal violence on the banks of the lower Guadalquivir, and,
spreading Eastward, had appeared in various towns and villages at the
foot of the Serranía de Ronda. At the same time, reports were rife of
its existence at Malaga, Estepona, and other places situated on the
shores of the Mediterranean. I had therefore to thread my way to
Cordoba, (where I hoped to fall in with the diligence from Seville to
the capital) through the heart of the Serranía, and was obliged in some
cases to avoid particular towns lying in the direct route,
because--though no suspicion existed of their being infected with the
dreadful disease--they chanced to be within the limits of the kingdom of
Seville, which was placed, _in toto_, under the ban of quarantine.
My passport, or, more properly speaking, my bill of health--for the
political importance of the former yielded to the sanatory consequence
of its more humble-looking adjunct--was then in great request; the
entrance to every little village being interdicted, until the
constituted authority had come forward to see that all was right. On one
of these occasions, I found a beggar officiating as inspector of health
and passports, and I must do him the justice to say, that he performed
his duty in the most honourable manner, not asking for "_una limosnita
par el amor de Dios_"[60] until he had carefully examined every part of
the lengthy document, and pronounced it to be _corriente_.[61]
On another occasion, a swineherd was decorated with the yellow cockade
and sword of office. In this instance, I thought the bill of the inn at
San Roque (which I happened to have in my pocket-book) would answer
every purpose, and save time. He examined it most gravely; turned it
over and over--for it was rather a long and a very illegible MS.--said
it was perfectly correct, (a point on which we differed most materially)
and dismissed me with a _vaya usted con Dios_.[62]
On my present tour, however, we experienced no obstructions of any sort;
for custom-house barriers, though now and then met with at the large
towns, occasion no longer delay than a turnpike in England, and are as
regularly paid; the _Aduanero_[63] holding out his hand as openly and
confidently for the bribe, as the gatekeeper does for his toll.
It is scarcely possible to imagine more romantic and, at the same time,
more varied scenery than that which presents itself between Gaucin and
Ronda. For the greater part of the first three leagues[64] (full
fourteen English miles) to Atajate, the road winds along the summit of a
low mountain chain, (I speak only as compared with the height of the
neighbouring Sierras) the western side of which slopes gracefully to the
clear and tortuous Guadiaro, whilst the eastern falls abruptly to the
dark and rapid Genal.
In some places, the width of the mountain ridge exceeds but little that
of the road itself; enabling the traveller to embrace the two valleys at
one glance, and compare their respective beauties. The difference
between them is very remarkable; for whilst the sides of both are
clothed with the richest vegetation, yet the more gentle character of
the one has encouraged the husbandman to devote his labour principally
to the culture of corn, hemp, and the vine; whereas, the steep and
broken banks of the other, being less accessible to the plough, are
mostly planted with groves of fig, olive, chesnut, and almond trees;
though vineyards are also pretty abundant. For the same reason, though
both valleys are studded with villages, yet those along the sloping
banks of the Guadiaro are large, and distant from each other; whilst, in
the more contracted valley of the Genal, almost every isolated crag is
occupied by a group of houses, or a dilapidated fortilage, mementoes of
the Saracenic occupation; as the names, Benarrabá, Benastépar,
Algatocin, Genalguacil, Benalhauría, Benadalid, &c. sufficiently attest.
Beyond the valleys on either side, rise chains of rugged mountains; some
covered to their very peaks with dark forests of pine and ilex; others
rearing their pointed summits beyond the bounds of vegetation.
The eastern chain is that which borders the Mediterranean shore between
Estepona and Marbella; the western is the yet more lofty Sierra that
divides the waters of the Guadiaro and Guadalete; directing the former
to the Mediterranean, the latter to the Atlantic; and terminating in
the ever-memorable headland of Trafalgar.
Through the passes between the huge peaks that break the summit of this
bold range, an occasional glimpse may be caught of the low and far
distant ground about Cadiz and Chiclana; but the view that most excites
the traveller's admiration is obtained from a knoll on the road side,
about three miles from Gaucin, looking back on that place, and down the
verdant valley of the Genal.
The ruins of the old Moorish fortress occupy the right of the picture,
the cragged ridge on which it is perched jutting boldly into the valley,
and (uncheered by the sun's rays) standing out in fine relief from the
bright, vine-clad slope of the impending _Sierra del Hacho_, and yet
more distant mountains. To the left, the view is bounded by the rugged
peaks of the Sierra Cristellina, from the foot of which a dense but
variegated forest spreads entirely across the valley, wherein may here
and there be traced the snake-like course of the impatient Genal.
Further on, the valley presents a wider opening; but the little stream
still has to struggle for a passage amongst the wide spreading roots of
the retiring mountains, which, overlapping each other in rapid
succession, present, for many miles, a most singularly furrowed
country.
Calpe's fantastic peaks rear themselves above all these intermediate
ridges, marking the boundary of Europe: whilst, to the left of the
celebrated promontory, Ceuta may be seen, stretching far into the glassy
Mediterranean, and to the right, the huge Sierra Bullones, (Apes hill)
falling perpendicularly to the Straits of Gibraltar. In the extreme
distance, the African mountains rise in successive ranges, until closed
by the chain of the lower Atlas, the faint blue outline of which may be
distinctly traced in this transparent atmosphere, although at a distance
of at least one hundred miles.
It is a scene that amply repays the traveller for all the désagrémens of
his night's lodging, and one which, numerous as were my visits to
Gaucin, I always turned my back upon with regret. I do so even now, and
proceed on to Ronda, leaving the villages of Algatocin and Benalhauría,
situated on the side of the mountain, to the right of the road, and
about pistol-shot from it; and in a few miles more, descending by a
rough zig-zag track (something worse than a decayed staircase) towards
the little town of Benidalid; which, with its picturesque castle, stands
also somewhat off the road, and immediately under a lofty tor of
decomposed rock, distinguished by the name of the _Peñon de los
Frailes_,[65] and seems doomed, some day or other, to have the holy
mound upon its shoulders.
The next and last village on the road is Atajate, distant about ten
miles from Ronda. It is nestled in a narrow pass, overhung on one side
by the mountain chain along which the road has hitherto been conducted,
(and which here begins to rise considerably above it) and on the other,
by a conical crag, whose summit is occupied by the picturesque ruins of
a Moorish fortress.
In former ages, the houses of the hardy mountaineers, clustered round
the base of the little fastness, must have been secure from all attack;
and even now the pass, which here cuts the direct communication between
Gibraltar and Ronda, (and consequently Madrid) might be held against a
very superior force.
Immediately after passing Atajate, the character of the scenery
undergoes a complete change. The mountains become more rugged and arid,
rising in huge masses some thousand feet above the road, and are tossed
about in curious confusion. Patches of corn and flax are yet here and
there to be seen, and the valley beneath is still clothed with cork and
ilex; but the vineyards, olive grounds, and chesnut groves, have
altogether disappeared, and the villages are far apart, and distant from
the road.
On advancing some little way further, all traces of cultivation cease.
The road,--if a collection of jagged blocks of granite can be so
called,--traverses a succession of perilous ascents and descents;
sometimes being conducted along the brink of an awful precipice, at
others carried under huge masses of crumbling rock. Here and there may,
nevertheless, be traced the remains of a paved road, that, in the days
of Spain's pride, was made for the express purpose of transporting
artillery and stores to the siege of Gibraltar. It is now--so sadly is
Spain fallen!--purposely suffered to go to decay, lest it should offer
facilities for making irruptions from that same fortress!
On drawing near the head of the valley, several narrow cut-throat passes
present themselves, bringing forcibly to mind Don Quijote's speech to
his faithful squire, on reaching the Puerto Lapice, "_Aqui, hermano
Sancho, podemos meter las manos hasta los codos en esto que llaman
aventuras._"[66] But, on gaining the summit of the chain, the country
becomes more open, and the traveller again breathes freely. A few meagre
crops of corn are scattered here and there between the rocks, and the
bells of the fathers of a herd of goats are heard tinkling amongst the
gorse and palmeta that fringe the feet of the impending tors, bespeaking
the vicinity of fellow man, and giving the traveller a pleasing
consciousness of security, whilst he checks his horse to gaze on the
splendid scene before him: for here the lovely basin of Ronda first
bursts upon his view, rich as Ceres and Pomona can make it.
In the centre of the verdant plain, but crowning the summit of an
isolated rocky eminence, stands the shining city,--its patched and
crumbling walls telling of many a protracted siege and desperate
assault. Beyond, the view is bounded by a range of wooded mountains,
that forms the western barrier of the secluded basin, and up the rough
sides of which, the roads to Cadiz, Seville, and Xeres, may be traced,
winding their tedious way.
The descent to Ronda is long, and, from the badness of the road,
extremely wearying. The whole distance from Gaucin (about 25 miles)
occupied us seven hours.
I regret much that my reader should have had to accompany me over this
savage and romantic country--the reputed _head-quarters_ of
banditti--without encountering a single adventure; but the truth is,
they are by no means so plentiful as people have generally been led to
believe. I may speak with some confidence on this point; since,
independently of my long residence in the immediate vicinity of this
wild tract--during which every well authenticated case of outrage and
robbery came to my knowledge--I have by personal experience been able to
form a pretty correct estimate of the amount of danger incurred by the
traveller. I have traversed the country, however, in all directions, and
at all seasons; in all characters, and in all dresses. I have gone on
foot, on horseback, _en calesa_, (where the roads admitted of my so
doing) alone, attended by a single servant, in parties of four, six, and
eight:--as a sportsman, _en militaire_, as a peasant, as a _Majo_: and
yet I never "met with an adventure."
It is true, I have had many very narrow escapes--that is to say, judging
from the information I invariably received--for never did I leave a
_venta_, that I was not mysteriously told the road I was about to take
was the most dangerous in the whole Serranía; that I should be sure to
encounter _mala gente_; and that it was but a few days before, a
robbery--perhaps murder--had taken place, on that very road, attended
with most heart-rending and appalling circumstances! But a little
cross-questioning soon convinced me that my informant knew nothing of
the who, the when, and the where, to which his tale referred; and the
story was always reduced to a shrug of the shoulders and a _se
dice_.[67]
The plain truth is, that almost every one the traveller comes in contact
with is, in some way or other, interested in spreading these reports to
create alarm. The _Ventero_[68] has a natural disinclination to part
with a good customer, and hopes either to persuade his guest to hire
additional horses and guides, or to detain him whilst he seeks for
further information. The guide finds it his interest to alarm his
employer, if only _pour faire valoir ses services_ in piloting him clear
of these reported Scyllas and Charybdises. The Contrabandista tries to
frighten the stranger, that he may learn which road he is travelling and
what is his business; the Arriero simply for his amusement.
The peasant alone has no purpose to serve in deceiving the traveller,
neither has he any intention of so doing; for he himself implicitly
believes all the stories he hears, and repeats them with the usual notes
and addenda of a second edition. He never stirs out of a circle of a
league and a half from his dwelling--that is, beyond the range of his
herd of goats, or the nearest market town--and he hears these tales
repeated night after night, at the venta chimney-piece--each arriero
trying to outdo his brother in the marvellous and horrible--until he
becomes convinced of their veracity, and repeats them as well
authenticated facts.
The state of the country is also such, that when a robbery actually is
committed--and such crimes will be perpetrated in the best regulated
countries--the traveller hears of it from so many different people, but
related with such various attendant circumstances, and stated to have
occurred in so many different places, that he naturally multiplies it
into a dozen at least. It is in this way that foreigners, who in general
know but little of the language, and still less of the topography, of
the country, become dupes to this system of deception, and adopt in
consequence a most unfavourable opinion of Spanish honesty; regarding
every fierce-looking fellow, with piercing black eyes, a three days'
beard, and a long knife stuck in his sash, as a robber; and every Cross
on the road side as the _memento mori_ of some waylaid traveller.
Whereas, in point of fact, if this mountainous and intricate tract were
peopled by our own more highly educated and civilized countrymen, I
fear--in spite of our vigilant and, it must be confessed, admirable
police--we should be liable to have our pockets picked in a much less
delicate and unobtrusive manner, than is now practised in the streets of
London.
That robberies and murders have taken place in this part of Spain, and
sometimes been attended with most revolting cruelty, is most true; but
they have almost always been perpetrated at a time that some unusual
political excitement agitated the country, unnerving the arm of power,
and even--as has often been the case--placing the civil authorities at
the mercy of a ruffian band of undisciplined soldiers.
I regret, however, as before said, that though I courted adventure in
every possible way, (as I think must be admitted) yet my suit was always
unsuccessful; and since I cannot interest my reader with any account of
my own personal risks, I will endeavour to amuse him, with the imaginary
dangers of some of my countrymen, which at the same time will serve to
show how easily a few simple words may, through ignorance of the
language of the country, be made to tell a tale of direful import.
The occurrence to which I allude took place not many years since, when
the country round Gibraltar was infested by a band of robbers, headed by
a notorious miscreant named _José Maria_. Moving about from place to
place with extraordinary rapidity, these scoundrels completely baffled
all pursuit, but of course gave a wide berth to the garrisons of San
Roque and Algeciras; so that the English officers were not deterred from
sallying forth from Gibraltar with their fox-hounds, and pursuing the
favourite national sport.
On one occasion, however, Renard had led them close upon the border of
the Almoraima forest, and some of the party--perhaps a little "_thrown
out_"--were making a short cut across a field of young barley, when,
the owner of the thriving crop, perceiving the mischief the horses'
hoofs were doing, and unconscious of the value of the words
"_'ware corn_," cried lustily out to the red-coated gentry, in his own
vernacular--"_Fuera!--Jesús! María! Josef! mi cibada! mi cañamo! todo,
se echarà à perder!_"[69]
The wave of the arm that accompanied this exclamatory "_Fuera!_" clearly
implied, _be off_; and the sportsmen, full of the exploits of the dread
bandit, translating the words "_Jesus, Maria José_," "_By the Lord,
here's José Maria_;" naturally concluded that the remainder of the
sentence, (pronounced with much gesticulation) could mean nothing but
save yourselves, or you'll be hanged, drawn, and quartered. Not waiting,
therefore, to lose time in questions, they set spurs to their horses,
and rode _ventre à terre_ into the English garrison.
Now the wonderful echo of Killarney is a joke compared to the
reverberation that a story is sent back with, from the "four corners" in
the High Street of Gibraltar. Accordingly, a report was soon spread,
that _José Maria_ had come down close to the Spanish lines, and made a
capture of the "whole field,"--hounds, huntsmen, and whipper-in
inclusive!
A statement of the case was instantly forwarded by an express boat to
the Spanish General commanding at Algeciras; who, rejoicing at the
opportunity of capturing the miscreant band which had so long eluded his
vigilance, forthwith despatched "horse, foot, and dragoons," to scour
the country in all directions.
Of course their search was fruitless; but the laughable mistake that had
occurred, from simply making José and Maria change places, was
discovered only on the return of the other sportsmen, who, after "a
capital run," had secured Master Renard's services for another
occasion.