_Of our first coming to Elche and the strangeness of that city._
Being resolved to our purpose overnight, we set out fairly early in the
morning for Elche, which lies half a dozen leagues or thereabouts to the
west of Alicante. Our way lay through gardens of oranges and spreading
vineyards, which flourish exceedingly in this part, being protected from
unkind winds by high mountains against the north and east; and here you
shall picture us on the white, dusty road, Moll leading the way a dozen
yards in advance, a tambourine slung on her back with streaming ribbons
of many colours, taking two or three steps on one foot, and then two or
three steps on t'other, with a Spanish twist of her hips at each turn,
swinging her arms as she claps her costagnettes to the air of a song she
had picked up at Barcelona, and we three men plodding behind, the Don
with a guitar across his back, Dawson with our bundle of clothes, and I
with a wallet of provisions hanging o' one side and a skin of wine on
the other--and all as white as any millers with the dust of Moll's
dancing.
"It might be as well," says Don Sanchez, in his solemn, deliberate
manner, "if Mistress Moll were advised to practise her steps in our
rear."
"Aye, Señor," replied Dawson, "I've been of the same mind these last ten
minutes. But with your consent, Don Sanchez, I'll put her to a more
serious exercise."
The Don consenting with a bow, Jack continues:
"You may have observed that I haven't opened my lips since we left the
town, and the reason thereof is that I've been turning over in my mind
whether, having come thus far, it would not be advisable to let my Moll
know of our project. Because, if she should refuse, the sooner we
consider some other plan, the better, seeing that now she is in good
case and as careless as a bird on the bough, and she is less tractable
to our purposes than when she felt the pinch of hunger and cold and
would have jumped at anything for a bit of comfort."
"Does she not know of our design?" asks the Don, lifting his eyebrows.
"No more than the man in the moon, Señor," answers Jack. "For, though
Kit and I may have discoursed of it at odd times, we have been mighty
careful to shut our mouths or talk of a fine day at her approach."
"Very good," says Don Sanchez. "You are her father."
"And she shall know it," says Jack, with resolution, and taking a stride
or two in advance he calls to her to give over dancing and come to him.
"Have you forgot your breeding," he asks as she turns and waits for him,
"that you have no more respect for your elders than to choke 'em with
dust along of your shuffling?"
"What a thoughtless thing am I!" cries she, in a voice of contrition.
"Why, you're floured as white as a shade!"
Then taking up a corner of her waist-shawl, she gently rubs away the
dust from the tip of his nose, so that it stood out glowing red from his
face like a cherry through a hole in a pie-crust, at which she claps her
hands and rings out a peal of laughter.
"I counted to make a lady of you, Moll," says Jack, in sorrow, "but I
see plainly you will ever be a fool, and so 'tis to no purpose to speak
seriously."
"Surely, father, I have ever been what you wish me to be," answers she,
demurely, curious now to know what he would be telling her.
"Then do you put them plaguy clappers away, and listen to me patiently,"
says he.
Moll puts her hands behind her, and drawing a long lip and casting round
eyes at us over her shoulder, walks along very slowly by her father's
side, while he broaches the matter to her. And this he did with some
difficulty (for 'tis no easy thing to make a roguish plot look
innocent), as we could see by his shifting his bundle from one shoulder
to the other now and again, scratching his ear and the like; but what he
said, we, walking a pace or two behind, could not catch, he dropping to
a very low tone as if ashamed to hear his own voice. To all he has to
tell she listens very attentively, but in the end she says something
which causes him to stop dead short and turn upon her gaping like a pig.
"What!" he cries as we came up. "You knew all this two months ago?"
"Yes, father," answers she, primly, "quite two months."
"And pray who told you?" he asks.
"No one, father, since you forbade me to ask questions. But though I may
be dumb to oblige you, I can't be deaf. Kit and you are for ever
a-talking of it."
"Maybe, child," says Dawson, mightily nettled. "Maybe you know why we
left Alicante this morning."
"I should be dull indeed if I didn't," answers she. "And if you hadn't
said when we saw the ships that we might meet more Englishmen in the
town than we might care to know hereafter, why,--well, maybe we should
have been in Alicante now."
"By denying yourself that satisfaction," says Don Sanchez, "we may
conclude that the future we are making for you is not unacceptable."
Moll stopped and says with some passion:
"I would turn back now and go over those mountains the way we came to
ride through France in my fine gown like a lady."
"Brava! bravamente!" says the Don, in a low voice, as she steps on in
front of us, holding her head high with the recollection of her former
state.
"She was ever like that," whispers Dawson, with pride. "We could never
get her to play a mean part willingly; could we, Kit? She was for ever
wanting the part of a queen writ for her."
The next day about sundown, coming to a little eminence, Don Sanchez
points out a dark patch of forest lying betwixt us and the mountains,
and says:
"That is Elche, the place where we are to stay some months."
We could make out no houses at all, but he told us the town lay in the
middle of the forest, and added some curious particulars as how, lying
on flat ground and within easy access of the sea, it could not exist at
all but for the sufferance of the Spaniards on one side and of the
Barbary pirates on the other, how both for their own convenience
respected it as neutral ground on which each could exchange his
merchandise without let or hindrance from the other, how the sort of
sanctuary thus provided was never violated either by Algerine or
Spaniard, but each was free to come and go as he pleased, etc., and this
did somewhat reassure us, though we had all been more content to see our
destination on the crest of a high hill.
From this point we came in less than half an hour to Santa Pola, a small
village, but very bustling, for here the cart-road from Alicante ends,
all transport of commodities betwixt this and Elche being done on mules;
so here great commotion of carriers setting down and taking up
merchandise, and the way choked with carts and mules and a very babel of
tongues, there being Moors here as well as Spaniards, and all shouting
their highest to be the better understood of each other. These were the
first Moors we had seen, but they did not encourage us with great hopes
of more intimate acquaintance, wearing nothing but a kind of long,
ragged shirt to their heels, with a hood for their heads in place of a
hat, and all mighty foul with grease and dirt.
Being astir betimes the next morning, we reached Elche before midday,
and here we seemed to be in another world, for this region is no more
like Spain than Spain is like our own country. Entering the forest, we
found ourselves encompassed on all sides by prodigious high palm trees,
which hitherto we had seen only singly here and there, cultivated as
curiosities. And noble trees they are, standing eighty to a hundred feet
high, with never a branch, but only a great spreading crown of leaves,
with strings of dates hanging down from their midst. Beneath, in marshy
places, grew sugar-canes as high as any haystack; and elsewhere were
patches of rice, which grows like corn with us, but thrives well in the
shade, curiously watered by artificial streams of water. And for hedges
to their property, these Moors have agaves, with great spiky leaves
which no man can penetrate, and other strange plants, whereof I will
mention only one, they call the fig of Barbary, which is no fig at all,
but a thing having large, fleshy leaves, growing one out of the other,
with fruit and flower sprouting out of the edges, and all monstrous
prickly. To garnish and beautify this formidable defence, nature had
cast over all a network of creeping herbs with most extraordinary
flowers, delightful both to see and smell, but why so prickly, no man
can say.
"Surely, this must be paradise," cries Moll, staying to look around her.
And we were of the same thinking, until we came to the town, which, as I
have said, lies in the midst of this forest, and then all our hopes and
expectations were dashed to the ground. For we had looked to find a city
in keeping with these surroundings,--of fairy palaces and stately
mansions; in place whereof was nought but a wilderness of mean, low,
squalid houses, with meandering, ill-paved alleys, and all past
everything for unsavoury smells,--heaps of refuse lying before every
door, stark naked brats of children screaming everywhere, and a pack of
famished dogs snapping at our heels.
Don Sanchez leads the way, we following, with rueful looks one at the
other, till we reach the market-place, and there he takes us into a
house of entertainment, where a dozen Moors are squatting on their
haunches in groups about sundry bowls of a smoking mess, called
cuscusson, which is a kind of paste with a little butter in it and a
store of spices. Their manner of eating it is simple enough: each man
dips his hand in the pot, takes out a handful, and dances it about till
it is fashioned into a ball, and then he eats it with all the gusto in
the world. For our repast we were served with a joint of roast mutton,
and this being cut up, we had to take up in our hands and eat like any
savages,--their religion denying these Moors anything but the bare
necessities of life. Also, their law forbids the drinking of wine, which
did most upset Jack Dawson, he having for drink with his meat nothing
but the choice of water and sour milk; but which he liked least I know
not, for he would touch neither, saying he would rather go dry any day
than be poisoned with such liquor.
Whilst we were at our meal, a good many Moors came in to stare at us, as
at a raree show, and especially at Moll, whose bright clothes and loose
hair excited their curiosity, for their women do rarely go abroad,
except they be old, and wear only long dirty white robes, muffling the
lower part of their faces. None of them smiled, and it is noticeable
that these people, like our own Don, do never laugh, taking such
demonstration as a sign of weak understanding and foolishness, but
watching all our actions very intently. And presently an old Moor, with
a white beard and more cleanly dressed than the rest, pushing the crowd
aside to see what was forward, recognised Don Sanchez, who at once rose
to his feet; we, not to be behind him in good manners, rising also.
"May Baba," says the old Moor; and repeating this phrase thrice (which
is a sure sign of hearty welcome), he claps the Don's hand, without
shaking it, and lays his own upon his breast, the Don doing likewise.
Then Don Sanchez, introducing us as we understood by his gestures, the
old Moor bends his head gravely, putting his right hand first to his
heart, next to his forehead, and then kissing the two foremost fingers
laid across his lips, we replying as best we could with a bowing and
scraping. These formalities concluded, the Don and the old Moor walk
apart, and we squat down again to our mutton bones.
After a lengthy discussion the old Moor goes, and Don Sanchez, having
paid the reckoning, leads us out of the town by many crooked alleys and
cross-passages; he speaking never a word, and we asking no questions,
but marvelling exceedingly what is to happen next. And, following a wall
overhung by great palms, we turn a corner, and find there our old Moor
standing beside an open door with a key in his hand. The old Moor gives
the key into Don Sanchez's hand, and with a very formal salutation,
leaves us.
Then following the Don through the doorway, we find ourselves in a
spacious garden, but quite wild for neglect; flower and weed and fruit
all mingling madly together, but very beautiful to my eye, nevertheless,
for the abundance of colour, the richness of the vegetables, and the
graceful forms of the adjacent palms.
A house stood in the midst of this wilderness, and thither Don Sanchez
picked his way, we at his heels still too amazed to speak. Beside the
house was a well with a little wall about it, and seating himself on
this, Don Sanchez opens his lips for the first time.
"My friend, Sidi ben Ahmed, has offered me the use of this place as long
as we choose to stay here," says he. "Go look in the house and tell me
if you care to live in it for a year."