The impunity with which these people set at nought during hundreds of years the successive laws which were enacted for their repression, is a curious point in connection with their history. As early as 1499, Ferdinand and Isabella, at Medina del Campo, interdicted, under heavy penalties, their vagrant propensities; ordered them to find fixed occupations, and to settle in the different towns and villages within a short specified period. In default they were to be expelled from Spanish soil. This act was confirmed and supplemented with more vigorous penalties by Charles I. at Toledo in 1539, and again by Philip II. in 1586, at Madrid.
By an enactment of Philip IV. at Madrid, 1633, the former laws were confirmed, but in order still further to penalize the profession and race of gypsies, their dress, their language, and even the name of gitanos, were declared illegal, and suppressed under pain of servitude in the galleys, or banishment. The gypsies were forbidden to form colonies or tribes, to intermarry, or to trade at markets and fairs; while the local authorities were commissioned to "hunt them down, take and deliver them," even beyond the boundaries of their respective jurisdictions. Still further legal fulminations against the gypsies were promulgated by Charles II. in 1692 and 1695, but all alike proved futile.
Similarly Philip V., in 1726, again increased the penalties on gitanismo, banishing the sect from Madrid and other royal cities, and in 1745, by a yet fiercer edict, he directed that they were to be "hunted down with fire and sword; that even the sanctity of the temples was to be invaded in their pursuit, and the gitanos dragged from the horns of the altar, should they flee thither for refuge."
Such, during three centuries (1499-1788), was the set policy of Spain towards her gypsy population. They were a proscribed race, treated as aliens and outlaws, forbidden to intermarry, and their very name, dress, and language were interdicted under severe penalties. Yet in spite of it all the gypsies continued to flourish, to increase in numbers, and to ply their customary trades of thieving, sorcery, and the rest, without the slightest check.
Whether under any circumstances these repressive measures were or were not the means best calculated to attain the object in view, it is at least certain that their failure was assured beforehand by the negligent way in which they were put in force; or rather by the fact they were never put in force at all. The gypsies, and especially the females, as we have already mentioned, by virtue of their divinations and certain other services which they rendered to the upper and ruling classes of Spain, had secured friends, or at least neutrals, amongst the very people in whose hands lay the administration of the laws. They were thus able to annul, and even to ridicule, the successive legal enactments formulated to exterminate them.
Among the various reasons for the remarkable vitality of the Rommany sect in thus surviving centuries of oppression, there stand out prominently the strong tribal cohesion inter se of the Zincali: their marriage customs and the aversion with which they regarded any alliance with the Busné, or Gentile. A gitano might, in rare instances, marry a Spanish female, but in no case did a gitana consent to take a husband outside her own race. Thus the errate—the "black blood" of the Rommany, on which above all they prided themselves, was preserved uncontaminated. Whether, had the repressive laws been vigorously carried out, they would have met with better results, is an open question.
At length, in 1783, a fresh departure in policy was inaugurated by Charles III., or perhaps it would be safer to say, during the reign of that monarch, for he was more of a Nimrod than a statesman, and appears to have occupied himself with grand batidas for stags, wild boars, and other game, rather than with the welfare of his people, and this at the very time when the magnificent colonial empire of Spain was gradually slipping from his grasp. Whoever it may have been that inspired the new gypsy law of 1783, its author at least recognized the failure of the penal decrees of the three preceding centuries, and instituted in their place a more humane method of dealing with the nomads.
Under the new law the gypsies were, in the first place, declared "not to be so by nature or origin, nor to proceed from an infected root." It was enacted that to such of them as should abandon their distinctive mode of life, dress, and language, the whole share of offices, employments, trades and occupations, should be open equally with other Spanish subjects. The whole range of trade, art, science, and the professions, were thrown open to such of the gitanos as should abjure their former vagabond life with all its evil associations; and penalties were imposed on any who should attempt to molest them or to oppose their entry within the pale of civilized life.
Finally, the law was declared to be equal as between a reclaimed gypsy and any other "vassal" of Spain: but a death-penalty was prescribed against such of the nomad race as declined this invitation to embrace an honest life, and who continued their former habits.
The effect of this measure is marked, though the gitano survives. Fifty years of equal rights accomplished in this case what centuries of oppression had failed to achieve. Gitanismo is certainly not extinguished, but it was modified and brought more or less under control. The numbers of the gitanos have ever since decreased: they are slowly relinquishing their vagrant habits, and live more in cities and towns, and less in the mountains and fields. Ages, probably, would be required wholly to eradicate the inveterate criminality practised from birth by the Rommany race since unknown times—if, indeed, its entire eradication is possible. But certainly the humane measure of Charles III. during the lifetime of a man produced more tangible results than the persecution of preceding centuries.
The gitano caste in Spain were at one time estimated at 60,000. Fifty years ago, after half a century of equal laws, their numbers had fallen to 40,000, of which one-third were inhabitants of Andalucia; while at the present day, even that total might probably be reduced by one-half.
Hitherto we have dealt with the subject of the Spanish gypsy in a past tense and from an historic point of view. It remains to add that the Rommany sect, though decreasing in numbers and largely divested of their former dangerous character, continues plentiful enough throughout Spain, and especially in the southern provinces, their best known colonies being at the Triana suburb of Seville, and in the rock-caves of the Alpujarras at Granada, where certain tribes form one of the "stock sights" familiar to travellers in Southern Spain. Though the later laws have checked their vagabondism, yet the instinct of Ishmael survives, and, especially in the summer-time, the gypsies wander over the Andalucian vegas and flock to rural fairs, where the men drive their ancient trade of dealing in horses—mostly stolen, and all "faked" and got-up for sale, though in these matters the gypsies are perhaps no worse than their gentile rivals.
At the fairs the wealthier gypsies also trade in precious stones and jewellery; the poorer in hardware, "tinkery," and the like. The gitanas, gaudily arrayed in colours of startling hues, and blazing with heavy golden ornaments, deal in divinations and tell the buena ventura as of old, the younger girls ever ready to engage in their lissom dances and in the wild suggestive singing characteristic of the Rommany race.
In towns and cities some of the gypsy women have a large and varied clientèle: they are admitted to the best houses, and the proudest señoras deign to inspect the ancient lace, the bric-à-brac and jewellery that they bring for sale. Of antique lace, elaborately wrought, and of painted fans and such-like relics, the supply in Spain seems inexhaustible: and eventually the glib tongue of the gitana may probably obtain about half the price originally asked.
Despite certain changes—hereafter described—the Spanish gypsy remains exotic to Hispania, distinct in type both of form and feature; the restless, suspicious eye of the hunted animal, the lithe build, and straight supple limbs, even among the svelte and graceful Andalucians, still distinguish these swarthy sons of the wilderness.[57] The true-bred gypsy remains a distinct species. Though amenable to the same laws, and recognized as a Spanish subject, he is distinguishable at a glance. The youths undergo their allotted period of army service, but remain not an hour beyond the stipulated time with the colours.
Their normal occupations to-day are chiefly those of butchers—all the shambles of Spain are in their hands—tinkers, horse-breakers, mule and donkey-dealers, and basket-makers. But, at a pinch, the gitano now condescends to engage on the lighter work of the land—hoeing, weeding, &c. Like the Jew, the gypsy has ever hitherto been conspicuous by his absence from every field of manual labour: both prefer the lighter barters of life; and that the gitano should now—even casually—take to such honest work, is perhaps a sign of the times.
One great change has, however, been wrought by the century of equal laws—a change perhaps of vital import to the villain crew. The once sacred errate is contaminated. Marriages between the two races—with or without the sanction of the church—are now frequent, though the Spaniard who contracts such ill-savoured union loses caste among his or her own people, and the children of these mixed marriages never lose the taint.
Plate XXXIV. DANCERS AT GRANADA—THE BOLERO. Page 289.
Plate XXXIV. DANCERS AT GRANADA—THE BOLERO. Page 289.
By this means there has sprung into existence, during late years, an intermediate class, neither pure Gitano nor Spanish, which is daily increasing, and, being free from all the traditionary observances of the gypsy, mingles more and more with the national life, carrying with it much of the ready wit and piquancy of the latter.
The result of this grafting of an element of gitanismo upon the original Castilian stock is the Flamenco of to-day, and it is a curious satire on Spanish society that the style and attire, even the language, of this wanton half-caste breed have become a fashionable craze—have been by some paradoxical freak adopted by a section of even the higher Madrilenian circles who revel in copying the garb, the manners, and the jargon of the once loathed gypsy. Flamencos are found in every grade—well known among the gilded youth of Madrid or Seville—but the bull-ring appears to provide the most approved models for this school. Nor is the mania confined to the men: the bright gala-dress of the gitana has become fashionable among high-placed señoras who appear at dance or salon sporting the gaudy Manila shawl with its flowing fringe, short frock, and with hair coiffeured á la Flamenca. To prefer the raciest and most highly-flavoured Spanish dishes, to quaff freely the Manzanilla, to smoke cigarettes, to prefer olives to bonbons, to know the bull-fighters by their pet names, to be loud if not witty, smart in repartee and slang—this is to be Flamenca.
Both sexes of the Flamencos proper retain the dress and manner of the original gypsy. The brazen beauty of the young Flamencas has the same seductive charms for the Busné; and it is from the half-caste that the dancing girls of the cities and light-fingered gentry of many accomplishments are mostly recruited.
A considerable admixture of gypsy-blood is found among the lower strata of the bull-fighting profession, though its higher ranks are comparatively free from it. His intensely superstitious nature unfits the true-bred gypsy from real success in this or any pursuit where nerve and decision are required. The only gitano espadas of note are Chicorro and El Gallo. The former has latterly lost nerve and prestige through a curious practical joke played upon his superstitious nature by a ventriloquial member of his cuadrilla. As he stood, sword and muleta in hand, facing a black bull of the Duke of Veragua's breed in the Plaza of Madrid, suddenly the beast addressed him in low sepulchral tones, "Te voy á coger!"—I am going to catch you! Such was the effect on Chicorro's nerves that his life was only saved by his attendant chulos, who drew off the brute's attack, nor has Chicorro ever since dared to face a black bull.
GYPSY LAD.
GYPSY LAD.
The resident Spanish gypsies cluster together in some separate quarter of the town, or form an isolated mud-built barrio outside its walls. Dwelling apart, and without the slightest bond of sympathy with their Castilian neighbours, their outward signs of joy or grief—both demonstrative—pass unheard and ignored. In their religion—adopted perforce of law, as before set forth, and which savours of idolatry simple, with a dash of superstition and fanaticism—in their curious marriage and funereal customs—both occasions of noisy orgy, the latter resembling an Irish "wake" with its alternations of wailing by the hour "to order," and feasting in turn—the gypsies are left severely alone. There is no sympathy with them. On the other hand, when civil or political disturbances prevail, and southern fervour is all ablaze, the gypsy barrio remains spectacular and unmoved.
No "patriotic" dreams or soaring ambitions disturb the gypsy's squalid life—what has he to gain? What can he ever hope to be, but the despised and rejected, under any form of government? No list of misguided peasantry, beguiled and betrayed by base agitator, ever registers his name: the midnight meetings of the "Black Hand" find no gitano present at their sworn and secret conclaves. The vagabond is too shrewd uselessly to embroil himself in abortive efforts to upset existing order: though there is little doubt what his action would be should the opportunity of pillage with impunity ever present itself.
Los Bohemios.—There remain to be noticed the bands of nomad gypsies who flock to Spain during the winter months, but whose true home is said to be in Bohemia. These are not in touch with the native tribes, speaking but few words of Spanish or of its gypsy jargon. In summer they infest the roads and by-ways of Austria, travelling southwards, as winter advances, thus resembling in habit their British congeners. Their type of feature is of more Eastern caste, their faces almost black, with long tangled hair, in both sexes, hanging down to the shoulders. Their home is the wigwam or rickety waggon with its load of rags and babies, and its mixed team of mules, donkeys, and ponies. The lurcher-dog and the snare assist these Zingali to fill their puchero. They traverse the wilds of Spain in camps of thirty to fifty, squatting near village or outside city walls, ostensibly to occupy themselves with iron and copper tinkery, kettle-making, and the like. Some of the women of these Bohemians are striking enough in their gypsy-beauty; the same faces are seen in successive years, so their journeyings are to some extent methodical.
One meets these nomad bands all over rural Spain, laboriously "trekking" axle-deep, across dusky-brown plain or lonely waste of brushwood and palmetto—picturesque objects—indeed the only element of life and colour amidst these desolate scenes.
GYPSY DANCE.
GYPSY DANCE.
A WINTER RIDE IN THE SIERRAS.
To the Lammergeyer tradition has assigned some romantic attributes, and a character of wondrous dash and daring. This is the bird that is credited with feats of hurling hunters from perilous positions down crag or crevass, carrying off children to its eyrie, and kidnapping unguarded babes. Even Dr. Bree, in his "Birds of Europe," while doubting that it habitually assails grown-up people, gravely asserts that a pair of these birds will not hesitate to attack a man whom they have caught at a disadvantage; while one will venture, single-handed, an onslaught on two hunters who are asleep. Some naturalists now seem inclined to go to the other extreme, and to regard the Lammergeyer as merely a huge Neophron.
No doubt the great size and weird, dragon-like appearance of the Gypaëtus have tended to promote exaggeration, while its rarity and remote haunts have made it no easy subject to study, and few have formed its acquaintance in its own almost inaccessible domains. Our small experiences, narrated in the two following chapters, seem to show that the truth lies between the two extremes.
Towards the end of January we set out for a fortnight's exploration of the mountains beyond Tempul and Algar, a forty-mile ride to the eastward of Jerez. Bitter was the cold as we rode off in the darkness at 5 A.M., only two stars shining in the eastern firmament; truly the word recréo, as Blas explained to the sentry on duty at the old Moorish gateway, that we were only bound on pleasure, sounded almost satirical—as some one has said, life would be endurable but for its pleasures. By dawn we were crossing the hungry gravel-ridges beyond Cuartillos, and watched the sun rise from behind the stony pile of San Christobal, bathing the distant mountains, whither we were bound, in glorious golden glow.
Crossing the Guadalete by the ford of Barca Florida, our route led through leagues of lovely park-like land—here straggling natural woods or ferny glades, anon opening out upon stretches of heath and palmetto. The track, where one existed, a typical Spanish by-way, shut in between vertical banks of slippery white marl, that barely left room for the laden mule; its narrow bed was a turgid mud-hole, honeycombed with the footprints of beasts that had gone before. Where the heath was more open we could take an independent course; but the scrub, as a rule, was impenetrable, and left no alternative but to go on plunging through the clinging mud. At noon we outspanned for almuerzo beneath a cork-oak, the weather and the scene alike lovely beyond words. The evergreen woods swarmed with life; over the green expanse of palmetto hovered hen-harriers: a pair of kites swept over the wooded slopes of Berlanger, grey shrikes sat perched on dead boughs; chats, larks, buntings, and goldfinches swarmed, and all the usual Spanish birds, to wit, bustards great and small, cranes, storks, peewits, red-legs, kestrels, &c., were observed during the day's ride.
Later in the afternoon we were fairly among the outspurs of the sierra, and overhead, on heavy wing, soared the vultures. What a curious commentary on the state of a country are such hordes of huge carrion-feeders, and how eloquently does their presence attest a backward and listless condition in the lands they inhabit! In Spain, it is true, vultures serve a useful office as scavengers; yet in modern Europe they surely seem an anachronism. No doubt it is due as much to the physical conditions, to the desert character and semi-tropical climate of this wild land, as to the apathy of the Spanish people, that they exist in such numbers. Among nations more keenly imbued with commercial instincts, the flock-master takes care that his stock shall support themselves in order to support him. The daily, hourly losses which are implied in the supplementary support of hordes of huge flesh-eating birds, each as heavy as a Spanish sheep and voracious as a hyena, would simply put him out of the market, and eventually land him in bankruptcy. But Spain cares nothing for modern ideas, and disdains to put herself about in the universal race for wealth. There is dignity in her attitude, but there is at least a suspicion of lassitude. Where Nature is prodigal, man becomes proportionately apathetic. Here her gifts more than suffice for simple tastes and day-to-day requirements, and the rural Andaluz seeks no more.
LAMMERGEYER—A FIRST IMPRESSION.
LAMMERGEYER—A FIRST IMPRESSION.
In agriculture, stock-raising, and other pastoral pursuits, the rudiments of modern system—drainage, irrigation, and the like—are ignored. In the burning heats of summer, when every green thing is scorched to death, the cattle die by hundreds from thirst and want of pasturage; in winter, when plains are flooded, and valleys water-logged, the death-rate from cold, want, and disease is hardly less heavy than that of summer. Small wonder the great bare-necked scavengers of Nature increase and flourish.
Passing beneath the twin crags of Las Dos Hermanas, we struck the course of the Majaceite, whose rushing stream, embowered amidst magnificent oleanders, looked more like trout than anything we had then seen in these sierras. Among the mountain streams above Alcalá de los Gazules and in the Sierra de la Jarda we have observed its darting form, and further south some large trout have more recently been captured.
It was necessary to ford the Majaceite, which, in its swollen state and opaque current, was one of those things that bring one's heart into one's mouth; the bottom, however, proved sound: we plunged through all right, and after some stiffish mountain-riding reached the pueblocito of Algar just as the setting sun was bathing the wild serrania in softest purples and gold.
The posada was a typical Spanish village inn. Our horses we had ourselves to see quartered in the stable, which occupied one side of the courtyard, while our dinner was being made ready in a small whitewashed room adjoining. The sleeping-quarters above consisted of a single small attic, absolutely devoid of furniture or of contents beyond a pile of sacks containing corn, or "paja" (chaff), in one corner, and our own belongings, including saddles, mule-pack, &c., &c., which lay littered all over the floor. Three trestle-beds ("catres") were produced, and in deference to the idiosyncrasies of the extranjero, a tiny wash-basin was placed on the window-sill—not that there was any window, beyond a folding wooden shutter. Dinner consisted of an olla, in which small morsels of pork could be hunted up amidst the recesses of a steaming mass of garbanzos (chick-pea), by no means bad, though we were too hungry to be fastidious.
DANCE AND GUITAR.
DANCE AND GUITAR.
A small crowd of idlers, as usual, hung about the open courtyard of the posada, watching for "any new thing," and speculating on our objects in coming. I overheard the word minerál, and remembering that I had been amusing myself in sifting some of the sands of the Majaceite, thought it best to dispel any false impressions by inviting the bystanders to share a boracha of the rough wine of local growth, and the usual cigarette. It is always best to have some definite object, so I told my guests that I had come to the sierra to shoot the quebranta-huesos, literally, "bone-smasher." They stared and mumbled over the name; had never heard of such a thing; the first man one meets probably never has; but there was in the village a goatherd, muy inteligente en pajaros, "who knew all about birds." I sent for this worthy, Francisco Garcia de Conde by name, a light-built, wiry mountaineer. Francisco's ornithological repute was easily acquired, for among the blind a one-eyed man is king; but he certainly did know the Lammergeyer, and his description of its habits and appearance passed the evening away pleasantly enough. The quebranta-huesos he described as a fierce and solitary bird—never seen more than two together, and discriminated it from the vultures as being muy dañino—very destructive to goats, kids, and other hill-stock, which it seizes and kills on the spot, or hurls over the ledge of some precipice. He well described their habit of engaging in aërial combat—"siempre se ponen peleando en el ayre"—and their loud wild "pwing! pwing!" resounding through the mountain solitudes. Of their actual nesting-places, however (which I was most anxious to discover), he knew nothing, beyond positively stating (and in this he was corroborated by other hill-men) that they bred exclusively in the loftier sierras beyond Ronda. We had ourselves spent some time traversing those very sierras without seeing anything of this bird; but should add, were not at that time specially in search of it. Their eyries, Francisco asserted, were only to be found in the region of "living rocks" (piedras vivas), which form the loftiest peaks. In this, however, as will appear in the next chapter, our friend Francisco was mistaken.
Our conversation was listened to—I don't imagine enjoyed—by a pair of lovers, who, with a rather pretty girl, the daughter of the house, presumably in the capacity of duena, occupied the other side of the table. The enamorados scarcely ever spoke; he sat looking mutely into her face, only muttering a whisper at long intervals. She was absolutely silent, and looked stolid and stupid too.
Leaving Algar, we crossed the bleak plateaux to the eastward, brown, stony, and sterile; thence descending to a forest region, where the track followed the course of a clear mountain stream, embedded among oleander, laurestinus, and myrtle, their foliage forming an evergreen tunnel, along which we rode in grateful shade. For some distance our route and the burn ran parallel, their courses sometimes coincident; then we diverged to the left, ascending the slope of a garganta, amidst noble oaks, chestnuts, and ilex, all, save the oaks, in full leaf, and from the gnarled trunks hung hare's-foot ferns and masses of ivy and parasitic plants in green festoons. Of bird-life, but little beyond a few common small birds was observable, and on a sunny slope we came suddenly on a big grey mongoose, which, however, got to ground before the gun could be unslung.
The first range explored was the series of crags terminating the Sierra de las Cabras; but it proved blank as regarded our chief object. The summit is a long, narrow, knife-edged ridge, along which vertical strata of limestone, bleached white as marble, protrude abruptly as the walls of a ruined city. Amidst these ruinous streets were a few Black Chats, and on a shoulder of the hill a solitary Blue Rock-Thrush; a small eagle was sweeping over the slopes, but not a sign of the Lammergeyer could we see. The day was bright and clear, and the view extensive and wild. On the north the granite mass of San Christobal, now lightly flecked with snow, limited our horizon; but in other directions rose an infinity of grey, stony sierras, range beyond range, some sharp, jagged, and cruelly bare of vegetation. To the south we could discern the silvery sheen of the Lagunas de Janda, with glimpses of the Straits of Gibraltar, and the misty outline of African highlands beyond.
We had a long, hard day ere we reached the cortijo of a hospitable hill-farmer among the cork-woods of the valley beyond. Here we sought a night's lodging, and the kindly mountaineer, "Francisco de Naranjo, su servidor de usted," as with a low bow and typical Andalucian courtesy he introduced himself, at once made us feel that the Spanish welcome—"aqui tiene usted su casa"—was, in his case, no empty form of words. We dined together, Francisco and I, on garbanzos, thrushes, a chicken, and black puddings! These last, and the consciousness that a newly-killed pig, whose life-blood no doubt had furnished the delicacy, hung from the rafters immediately behind my head, amidst store of algarrobas, capsicums, and heads of golden maize, were the only drawbacks to my comfort. We discussed agricultural and political subjects, and agreed in sharing conservative views, though, in Spain, I fancy I might turn rather more of a reformer; but this I did not hint at. Francisco observed that should Lord Salisbury's then existing Government in England fall, it would be a mal rato (a bad time) for property-owners everywhere! My host told me that he set his watch by the sun, and in answer to a question when the sun would rise to-morrow, promptly replied, "At 7.19."[58]
After dinner we adjourned to the large outer room, where among the miscellaneous crew gathered round the blazing logs were a wild-honey hunter, and a birdcatcher who was plying his vocation in the adjacent woods. I was surprised to find among his captures a number of redwings; of a couple of dozen thrushes which I bought for my own and men's eating, no less than eight were redwings, and on subsequent days he caught many more. This man, though he knew that the song-thrushes were migratory in Spain, saying they were pajaros de entrada, which left when the swallows appeared, did not see any difference between them and the redwings. He had also caught a Great Spotted Woodpecker, and while I was examining it, one of the half-wild cats of the farm, cautiously stalking beneath my chair, seized the prey and made off into outer darkness.
It was a typical Andalucian scene around the hearth, the group of bronzed leather-clad mountaineers, some already "gone to roost" (audibly) on the low mud settee round the outer wall, while others rolled the everlasting "papelito," and one, as usual, "touched" the guitar. My host had a narrow "catre" set up for me in his own room, and next morning, after an early cup of the delicious thick Spanish chocolate and the sweet biscuits for which the neighbouring village of Alcalá bears a local repute, we started on foot to ascend the range behind the house while yet the hills were wrapped in mist-wreaths.
The ascent at first lay through hanging forests, broken here and there by grey crags, the home of the chough and the eagle-owl. Here a cushat occasionally dashed away, or a jay awoke the echoes at safe distance. Above the trees the climb became harder and the ground of the roughest, stony acclivities choked with brushwood. Beyond these came the region of rock, vast monoliths and rock walls beside which a man felt a very mite in the scale of creation.
On the conical rock-pile, the Picacho del Aljibe, which towers over the surrounding sierras not unlike a gigantic Arthur's Seat over the Salisbury Crags, we had enjoyed in a former year a sight of the Gypaëtus; but now it proved blank, nor could our guides, nor a goatherd we met on the mountain, give us any information beyond the customary "hay muchos en Estremadura." Whatever one may seek, it would appear, abounds in Estremadura! The Spanish peasant, whether from an over-anxious desire to assist, or from a fear of appearing ignorant, is apt to err on the side of imagination or exaggeration. Information received from them needs careful sifting, or disappointment may ensue. Thus, while on a fishing expedition in the north of Spain, I was sounding my companion, a Gallegan peasant, as to the bears, deer, and other game of the surrounding sierras. At first his answers seemed straight and fair, but a bear story or two took me aback, and presently he insisted that the red deer in those hills never cast their horns, which grew to a fabulous size. Before abandoning the discussion I said casually—with a view to "fix" him—"Y leones?" "Lions! No, señor, here there are none; but further over yonder (this with a wave of his hand to the westward) there are many." The expression, mas allá hay muchos, and the gesture that accompanied it, conveyed the impression that only a few leagues across the mountains, there were swarms of lions: but on being questioned more precisely as to the locality, he replied—"In the United States!" Possibly in that lad's mind, the Estados Unidos commenced somewhere just beyond the limit of his view—at any rate, further zoological discussion was suspended.
Many of the crags were tenanted by vultures, but these we expressly avoided, and directed the search to spots where these birds were not. For some days we sought in vain: at last we espied an eyrie which appeared to give promise of success. This was a wide crevice in the face of a precipice, which from the copious whitewash below, was evidently occupied. Some broken crags on the left seemed to afford a chance of climbing within shot of the eyrie; and having reached the spot, Blas fired a shot below, when there followed a scrambling noise within the cave, and out swept—not the coveted Gypaëtus, but a huge bare-necked griffon. I appeased my disappointment with both barrels, and the B.B. taking effect on the head, the vulture collapsed and fell down—down—with a mighty thud to the slopes below.
We could find nothing but vultures here: every crag was possessed by them, and we examined several of their abodes. They were already beginning to build: the remnants of last year's structures being now (January 22nd) supplemented by fresh live branches of oak and olive, and big claws-full of grass torn up by the roots.
'Twere a long tale to tell of fruitless efforts: we never so much as saw our coveted prize hereabouts, and at length we left the kindly farmer's house. The pretty Anita who had waited on us, and who, though she never sat down in her master's presence, joined freely in the conversation, had, we observed, donned quite an extra stratum of poudre d'amour, or some such compound, upon her fair brown cheeks to bid adios to the mad Inglés; but neither she nor hearty Francisco would hear of accepting any return for all the trouble of our visit. We had an idea, in the former case, that coquetry might have had something to do with Anita's refusal, but time forbade the solution of the question.
GRIFFON VULTURE. (A sketch in the Sierra.)
GRIFFON VULTURE. (A sketch in the Sierra.)
Further explorations had no better result: in the forests of the Sierra de la Jarda were a good many roe and some pig, but we did not care to risk the uncertainty of a batida all alone. Partridge are very scarce on all these hills, and no wonder, since every farmer keeps his pair of call-birds (reclamos). We had gently hinted to Francisco the unwisdom of shooting partridges to decoys in spring; but he insisted it did no harm, since he only shot the cocks! A pair or two of partridges at long intervals were all we saw (two or three brace a day was the utmost we could bag as a rule), and these, with a few hares and a chance rabbit, are all the small game of the sierra. In the marshy valleys were flights of peewits (January), and the woods swarmed with thrushes, blackbirds, chaffinches, green and brown linnets, robins, a few redwings, and other common species. A striking bird among the dense scrub on the hillsides was the little Dartford warbler, a creature of such intensely tame and skulking habits, that it was impossible to get a shot beyond a few yards—which involved annihilation of so tiny an atom.
After another week's exploration, sleeping at the chozas of goatherds, or in bat-haunted caves, and enduring much discomfort, we decided to give it up.[59] On the homeward journey we gave a day to the exploration of the Boca de la Foz, where on a former occasion we had had a shot at a Lammergeyer—a grey-brown immature bird; but here again we met with nothing but the ubiquitous vultures, and in the afternoon we had paid off our guides and were starting on the homeward ride, when Benitez pointed out a pajaraco in the distance. At first the bird appeared an ordinary griffon, some of which were close by; but as it came overhead, there was no mistaking the outlines of the Lammergeyer. Slowly the magnificent bird wheeled and sailed overhead, and our eyes feasted on the object we would have given two little fingers to possess. For some minutes he treated us to a fine view at moderately short distance. The general contour and flight was far more vulturine and less falcon-like than we had expected. The wings seemed fully as heavy, broad, and square at the points as those of a griffon, but there was rather more curve at the elbow. A lightish spot near the tips of the quills, the rich tawny breast and white head, keenly turning from side to side, were very conspicuous from below; but the distinguishing characteristic of the bird is its tail. This is very long, and continues broadening out for half its length, thence narrowing down acutely to the sharp wedge-shaped tip.
Presently the bird appeared to enter some great crags—already hidden from view by an intervening bluff—and the hopes of a shot revived. Benitez was protesting against the idea of spending another night here, with no food for man or beast, when the Lammergeyer solved the question by re-appearing, and after a few fine aërial evolutions, winged his way direct towards the distant sierras beyond Grazalema.
That night we reached the little venta of the Parada del Valle: the landlord could hardly get over the curiosity of our wishing to wash before dinner, and for some minutes revolved like a swivel-mitrailleuse, expectorating all over the floor while pondering this thing in his mind. "Ahora?" at last he inquired. "Si! ahora mismo!" we replied, when he went and brought a thing that looked like a tin plate, containing about a breakfast-cupful of water.
El Valle is a straggling little village situate in the mouth of one of the defiles leading into the mountains, and consists of a few low cottages and a single country-house—a rare thing in Spain—embowered amidst orange and olive-groves. The orange harvest was in full swing, and the villagers one and all busy gathering the golden fruit into heaps, and packing it upon mules for market; some also in the long wooden cases one sees about Covent Garden. The only sign-board in the little one-sided street displayed the words "Dentista y Sangrador"—the Spaniards, by the way, are strong believers in bleeding: it seems the one known remedy, efficacious for all the ills of the flesh, as the writer once learned by experience, when having had a slight sunstroke, he awoke to find a rural medico in the act of applying the lancet to his arm.
Before dawn we started for Jerez, and in a detached crag of the sierra we obtained a fine adult male golden eagle which had breakfasted early on a rabbit. Like most Spanish examples, this eagle was much splashed with white below, especially on the thighs. Shortly after, on a bare stretch of maize stubble, we rode fairly into a pack of little bustard, and though the gun was in the slings a quick shot secured three—one to the first barrel, and a brace, winged, to the second. A long skein of cranes came gaggling over as we breakfasted on the banks of Guadalete, and, passing the Agredera, by evening the long ride was over, and we were once more amidst the grateful comforts of Jerez de la Frontera. Only for a brief period, however, did these delay us, for on the following evening we set out on a night expedition to the marisma.
Since the time of those earlier efforts to scrape an acquaintance with the Lammergeyer (some of which form the subject of the last chapter), we have at length enjoyed opportunities of observing this grand bird in its true home, and here add a short summary of these later experiences.
Broadly speaking, this bird may be said to exist in all the higher mountain regions of Spain; but, as a rule, in small and decreasing numbers. In the north, there are eyries in Guipúzcoa and Navarre, one or two within sight of the French frontier; others in the Cordilleras of Leon and the Asturias—the magnificent gorge known as the Desfiladero de la Deva, being an immemorial haunt. We have observed them in the great central sierras of Castile, and they are known (but probably do not breed) in the Guadarrama range, within sight of Madrid. Nowhere common, there are yet more sporadic pairs to be seen sweeping low on the steep brown mountain-sides of certain Andalucian and Estremenian sierras than anywhere else in Spain. Here, however, as elsewhere, their numbers are being yearly reduced by the deadly poison laid by hill-farmers for wolves, and, in some cases, expressly for the Lammergeyer itself; for, rightly or wrongly, the great bird bears an ill-repute, and being, moreover, during the breeding-season, of confiding disposition—more so than eagle or vulture—is easily killed at the nest.
The Gypaëtus, like the noble eagles, is essentially a solitary bird, each pair (they remain paired for life) requiring a mountain region exclusively their own, and shunning the near propinquity of vultures and other large raptores. It is no doubt this trait of its character that explains its comparative absence from our "home" mountains round Ronda, and the failure of our search for it in that district; for the ramification of mountain-ranges which occupies that southernmost apex of Europe swarms with vultures, which crowd every crag and precipice in numbers quite unknown elsewhere. Such conditions are distasteful to the solitude-loving Lammergeyer.
Yet, while shunned as near neighbours, it appears certain that the vultures perform services of value to their nobler congener. Their office consists in stripping the skeleton of flesh, and leaving prepared for the "quebranta-huesos" (bone-smasher) his much preferred bonne-bouche of marrow-bones. Thus, while the respective haunts of the two species remain distinct, their hunting-areas must coincide.
The Lammergeyer disdains carrion; is never seen at those seething vulture-banquets which form so characteristic a spectacle in rural Spain; but he loves the bones, and his habit of carrying huge tibia and femora into the upper air, thence dropping them upon rocks, has been known since the days of Æschylus. Hence the fouler feeders are useful to him; he requires their assistance, but demands that they keep a respectful distance. His attitude towards the vultures may be compared with that of certain high-souled anthropoids of human affinity, who utilize their humbler neighbours and cut them dead next day!
Thus it happens that while in a range of sierra inhabited by Griffons, the Lammergeyer will not be found, yet a pair of the latter usually have their eyrie at no great distance from the vulture-colony.[60]
During our ibex-shooting campaigns among the Mediterranean sierras, we frequently fell in with this species.
Plate XXXV. LAMMERGEYER. A sketch from life in the Sierra Bermeja. Page 308.
Plate XXXV. LAMMERGEYER. A sketch from life in the Sierra Bermeja. Page 308.
It was almost the first bird seen in the Sierra Bermeja, where a superb adult passed slowly along our line, carrying what appeared to be a live snake in his claws, some four feet of writhing reptile dangling beneath. The Lammergeyer, by the way, like the eagle, carries everything in its claws, not in the beak. We were rather surprised at seeing this bird here, the local hunters having specially assured us that only "aguilas reales" bred in that sierra. This name, however, proved to be that here applied to the Lammergeyer; its proper recipient, the Golden Eagle (a pair of which were nesting in a crag not far off) being known as "aguila negra."
Vultures, it may be mentioned, were chiefly remarkable by their absence in these mountains—one only saw a solitary Griffon at long intervals, and in that barren rocky-mountain region (afterwards mentioned), in which we found the Lammergeyer most numerous, vultures were seldom seen. Yet Buiteras, "Griffonries," so to speak, existed at certain intervals, say, six or eight leagues apart, throughout the whole of those sierras.
This pair of Lammergeyers, which we enjoyed watching during some days, soon disclosed to us both the position of their present abode and also that of a former year, entering the latter crag almost as often as the then tenanted nursery.
Perched, as we were, a thousand feet above, it was a glorious ornithological spectacle to watch these grand birds sailing to and fro unsuspicious and unconscious of our presence, their lavender backs and outstretched pinions gleaming like silver in the sunshine. Slowly they would glide down the gorge till lost to sight around an angle; returning half an hour later, and passing beneath our post, would circle for a minute or two round the rock-stack. Not a motion of those rigid pinions till close to the mouth of the eyrie, then the great wings closed, and the bird disappeared within its cave.
Both eyries were situate in similar positions—in abrupt stacks of rock which protruded from the rugged mountain slope, but both quite low down, almost at the bottom of the 3,000-foot gorge across which the two nests faced each other. The Lammergeyer, we have now ascertained, does not breed, as we had expected, in those more stupendous precipices beloved of Aquila bonelli, and whose height dwarfs even an eagle to the similitude of the homely kestrel; but rather, either in rock-stacks such as those (often not 100 feet high) which flank the lower gargantas, or corries of the sierra, or in those generally loftier crags which often belt the base of each individual mountain.
The actual site of the nest is a small cave—rather than a crevice—and a huge mass of material, the accumulation of years, usually covers the whole floor. In one case, not less than a cart-load of sticks, branches, and twigs of cistus and heath had been collected, covering a circular space some six feet in diameter by two in depth. The present nest was hardly so large, and was completed with dead vine-branches, the prunings of the previous autumn;—and contained, besides an old alparagata, or hempen sandal, several cows' hoofs, and the dried leg and foot of a wild-goat. There was, however, no carrion about, nor any very offensive smell, such as would have characterized the home of a vulture.
To an outsider, the feat of scaling even a 100-foot crag, when fairly sheer, seems no easy undertaking; but our two mountain-bred lads made light work of it, one escalading the Lammergeyer's fortress from below, the other from above (which proved the easier way), and actually meeting in the eyrie. Some goatherds, hearing of our wish to secure a "quebranta-huesos," had removed the single young bird an hour or two previously. This grotesque and most uncouth fledgeling was then (at end of March) about the size of a turkey, covered with grey-white down, and with beak and crop so disproportionately heavy that a recumbent position appeared almost a necessity. The youngster kept up a constant querulous whistle when visited, and consumed, we were told, four pounds of meat daily. A month later the feathers were beginning to show through the down, and the daily consumption of meat had doubled.
In a remote region of the Sierra Nevada, during the spring of 1891, the writer visited several eyries of the Lammergeyer—each nest, in construction and situation, resembling those already described, but the season (April) was too late to secure eggs, this species breeding very early—in January. The young—usually only one, though two eggs are often laid—at this season were about one-third feathered. These nests were in the midst of a peculiarly barren and rocky district of the great Eastern Sierras, the precise locality of which it may be as well to leave unwritten. Two of the eyries were in low belts of protruding rock which broke the steep slope of the sierra, a third in a detached crag about 150 feet in height. The latter, however, was easily accessible (by rope) from above. The Lammergeyer, when breeding, is less cautious than eagle or vulture, sitting close, even while preparations for an assault on its stronghold are being made close at hand.
The adults measure from 8 feet 6 inches to 9 feet in expanse of wing, and the wedge-shaped white head with its bristly beard and scarlet eyelids, its cat-like irides, and the black bands that pass through the eye, give the bird a peculiarly ferocious aspect. When on the wing, as Prince Rudolph remarks, these features, together with the long rigid wings, cuneate tail, and the mixture of hoary grey, black, and bright yellow in its plumage, distinguish the Gypaëtus at a glance from any other living creature, and lend it a strange, almost a dragon-like appearance.
Its claws, though less acutely hooked than those of the eagle, are sharp and powerful weapons—quite different to the worn and blunted claws of vultures, though the central toe in both is much longer than the two outside ones.
The industry of the peasantry of these wild regions of Nevada deserves a passing remark. As high as rye or other crops will grow, almost every foot of available ground is brought under cultivation. Precipitous, stony slopes are terraced with a perseverance that rivals, though on a smaller scale, the vineyards of Alto Douro, elsewhere described. Scanning the heights with a field-glass, one descries a man working on some jutting point or tiny patch of tillage so steep that a stone would hardly lie. All these folk, towards nightfall, betake themselves to the quaint but unsavoury hamlets that hang on some ridge of the sierra—and not the human folk only, but the pigs, the goats, and the donkeys forbye—each beast making straight for its own abode. Along each rock-paved street at dusk they come at a run, looking neither to right nor left till each beast bolts, without ceremony, into its own abode. Some five-and-twenty of the larger "domestic" animals (I take no count of dogs, hens, or the like) shared with me and sundry natives our scanty lodgment, whence at earliest dawn the braying of asses, cock-crowing, and porcine squalls, drove us betimes of a morning.
OUR QUARTERS AT QUENTAR DEL RIO.
OUR QUARTERS AT QUENTAR DEL RIO.
In one hill-village, there being no posada, we put up in the outhouse of a mill: but, amidst sacks of grain and malodorous mules, we passed a lively evening, for one by one the serranos dropped in to chat with the "Ingléses"; the wine-skin was replenished, and Manuel struck up some snatches of "Don Rodrigo de Bivar" and songs of the ancient chivalry. Maiden figures soon flitted in the darkness outside, and coyly accepting an invitation to enter, our barn resounded with the music of castanet and guitar, while lissom forms and light fandango graced its erewhiles unlovely floor.
Next morning our guide, Manolo Osorio Garcia, was drunk—a most unusual thing in Spain! We left him to sleep off his borachera, and were glad to get rid of him, for—again, most unusual—he was constantly pestering not only for wine, but for boots, gunpowder, and other things—requests that, when luggage is reduced to a minimum, cannot be conveniently complied with.
Despite their industry there is, nevertheless, woful poverty amid the peasants of Nevada. Whole tribes live in caves and excavations in the mountain-sides—filthy holes, shared, of course, by the beasts, and devoid of the remotest approach to comfort or decency. Even in the larger villages the ordinary sanitary precautions are utterly neglected, disease is frequent, and death sweeps in broad swathes. Early one morning Manuel came in to tell us that in the hamlet, at which we had arrived the previous night, "the people were dying by dozens each day of small-pox, that ten children had already succumbed that morning, and that he was very ill himself." We accordingly left at once, meeting in the pass above the village a drove of several hundred black pigs. Our horses planted their feet firmly on the rocks, and for some minutes we stood encompassed in a torrent of swine, which raced and jostled beneath us.
In Spain the Gypaëtus is yearly decreasing in numbers. A decade ago they were fairly numerous in the vast area of rock mountains which stretches between Granada and Jaen. To-day a week may be spent in that district without so much as even a distant view of this grand bird. The reason is unquestionably the use of poison (veneno), which is laid out broadcast by the goatherds for the special benefit of wolves, but which is equally fatal to the Lammergeyer.
Wolves, by the way, during the severe winter of 1890-1, were particularly numerous and destructive in the Sierra Nevada, descending to lower levels than usual, demolishing whole flocks, and even attacking human beings when found alone. In one instance all that could be found of a poor goatherd, who had been missing for some weeks, was his boots!
This brings us again to the question of the habits of the Gypaëtus, and especially of its food. Some naturalists seem inclined to hold that the bird is only a vulture, subsisting on carrion, and fearing to attack any living prey. The goatherds of Nevada, however (rightly or wrongly), do not share this view. One kindly old hill-farmer, at whose lonely cottage we spent a couple of nights, assured us that the "quebrantones," as he called them, were as destructive to his new-born kids in spring-time as the wolves themselves, and added that he laid out the veneno in special spots for each of his enemies. Only three days before, he asserted with vehement emphasis, he had witnessed a Lammergeyer strike down a week-old kid, its mate meanwhile driving off the dam. So intent was the bird on demolishing its victim that the farmer approached within a few yards and threw his stick at it as it rose. The kid, however, was dead. He insisted that the robber was no Golden Eagle (which he knew well), but "de los Barbudos malditos!"—one of those accursed bearded fellows!
Again, on a single majada, or goat-breeding establishment, in Estremadura, we were told that forty odd kids had been killed that spring by one pair of Lammergeyers before the enraged tenant was able to shoot them. We saw one of the birds—a superb adult Gypaëtus.
Here also is the evidence of the veteran cazador, Manuel de la Torre, a man of keen observation and intelligence, and the best field-naturalist we have met in Spain: "The Lammergeyer seeks far and wide for prey, preferring bones to anything else, but also eating carrion on necessity; and in spring, when it has young, kills many young sheep and goats, both wild and tame. I have seen it take snakes and other reptiles, and the largest and finest I ever shot (now in Madrid Museum) was in the act of eating a rabbit I had just seen it kill. This was in the Pardo. A dead hare or rabbit is the best bait to attract the Gypaëtus to the gun; it regularly hunts both. The Neophron I have never seen take any living thing; it only eats carrion, garbage, and offal, but I have found dead snakes in its nests. The Gypaëtus, like the vultures and some eagles, feed their young for some months on half-digested food, disgorged from their own crops." This is the evidence of one who has seen more of the Lammergeyer than any other living naturalist, and it is for this reason that, contrary to our practice, we have accepted what may be called hearsay evidence.
It is for these reasons that we have retained the distinctive title of Lammergeyer, now generally discarded in favour—on mistaken grounds, we think—of the name of "Bearded Vulture." Independently of the fact that our subject is no more a vulture than it is an eagle, surely a distinctive name is preferable to further iteration of the wearisome monotony—ay, poverty—of ornithological nomenclature. Have we not run to death those compound epithets, "long-legged," "black-tailed," "white-shouldered," and the like? Even on the assumption—not proven in this case—that the word conveys an inference not strictly accurate, there are precedents for its retention, e.g., Caprimulgus, Goatsucker, Nycticorax, Bernicla, the Bernacle Goose, Oyster-catcher, and many more. We hesitate to accept such substitutes as Tures and Bearded Vulture for the time-honoured designations of Ibex and Lammergeyer.
AN INCIDENT OF IBEX-STALKING.
For more than an hour we had been lying expectant, Ramon and I. Our position was in a tumble of rocks, which commanded the approach to a pass—a little portillo, the only one by which the beetling crags above were surmountable, even to an ibex. The pass was a narrow cleft or fissure, traversing transversely the whole height of the crags, whose sheer dolomite precipices otherwise presented an utterly unscaleable face. Our post was a favourable one, hence it was with a tinge of disappointment that we observed the appearance of one of our drivers on the heights of the opposite sky-line.
Ramon lay just in front of me on the narrow shelving ledge, his head considerably lower than his feet, his lithe body entwined around a projecting rock-buttress, while his keen eye surveyed everything that moved in the panorama of wild rock-chaos beneath. During these hours of meditation I began more clearly to understand one, at least, of the raisons d'être for that remarkable acuteness of smell which is attributed to the ibex. The ibex-hunters invariably assured us that the goats relied more on their sense of smell than on that of sight—"they have more nose than eyes—mas nariz que ojos," in Spanish phrase. This, I now realized, was not, after all, so inexplicable, for the skin-clad hunter before me was decidedly aromatic. It became easy of comprehension that his presence might be more readily perceptible to the nose than to the eyes; for, while Ramon's serpentine form, curving round a rock-angle, and appearing to fit into its sinuosities, was all but invisible, his whereabouts, even to human olfactory organs, might probably be detected at a considerable distance. No wonder the native hunter is careful to keep always under the lee of the breeze.
"Do you see where Guarro is now?" presently remarked Ramon, "crossing the ridge below the glacier-foot." After scanning for some minutes every inch of the spot indicated with a strong field-glass, I made out at length a minute moving dot that might be our friend Guarro y Guarro, the ruddy-faced goatherd, who was in charge of the batida.[61] "Well, that is where I shot the first of the two big machos on Thursday—the other on these broken pinnacles lower down on the right." To kill two first-rate males, single-handed, in a day was no small feat, and Ramon's tale of the achievement was an interesting sporting episode.
"I was attending my goats," he said, "in the Arroyo del Cerradillo, the ravine above where we shot the small macho yesterday; and as I came within sight of the high crags at its summit, I crept carefully forward, 'speering' round the rocks to see if any ibex chanced to be in them. They are a favourite haunt of the goats during the day, and as there are some large males on that side, it is always worth while to be prepared and cautious. That morning there were two—both large ibex, with very long horns, as long as a man's arms. They were at first walking away, but soon lay down on a ledge where it was possible to crawl to within fifty or sixty yards of them. Unfortunately, part of the stalk was through soft snow, and, in consequence, the gun missed fire."
Ramon's gun, by the way, was an exceptionally rickety old weapon, with many signs of rude repairs, and bore on its single barrel, counter-sunk in golden letters, the inscription "Plasencia, 1841." No doubt it owed the Imperial exchequer of Spain something like fifty pounds sterling in respect of license duty during half a century, not one centime of which is ever likely to find its way into the Spanish Treasury.
Poor Ramon, though well provided with powder and ball, had but two caps; hence it was necessary, after the misfire, to draw the faithless charge in order to save intact the two precious mitos. "Meanwhile," continued Ramon, "the two ibex had moved up the rocks, and soon crossed the sky-line just above those snow-gullies. They did not appear much alarmed, never having seen me; so I followed round the shoulder of the main spur, as the goats had gone downwind. In the afternoon I came up with them, just where I showed you. There were now four of them—all big males, and as the two nearer were lying down in a favourable position, I got a good shot, killing the largest quite dead, with a bullet through chest and heart.
"The other three, still uncertain whence the shot had come, owing to the echo reverberating among the hills, hesitated a few moments, and then sprang downwards, one passing so near that, had I had another gun, I might perhaps have killed him. My dog, which had followed me, and which was well accustomed to herding my own goats, now gave chase. I knew the ibex could not pass the ice-slope of Cerradillo [two miles away], and in the hope that I might cut off their retreat by the Garganta del Canchon, I set off, after reloading, to cross the two ravines." (This, by the way, would have taken an average Englishman at least an hour's difficult and laborious climbing.) "I reached those steeple-rocks on the second ridge just in the nick of time to meet the three ibex ascending on the other side. The dog was nowhere in sight, though he was still following. I had not gained the pass two minutes when the ibex crossed in front, travelling slowly over a patch of snow, where I shot the largest of the three at about eighty paces distant. He fell to the shot, floundering for some seconds in the loose snow, but recovered and went on some distance, till the dog at last came up with him and pulled him down."
On surveying the field of operations carefully through the binoculars, and estimating the distances traversed respectively by Ramon and his three opponents, we could only marvel at the wondrous feat he had performed in crossing that fearful gorge, with its miles of snow and rocks, in time to cut out the hunted and light-footed ibex. The latter, it is true, had something like four times the distance to cover, but even that, one would have thought, was far too light a handicap.
These two ibex were both eight-year old males, and their horns measured, respectively:—
| No. 1.—Length, | 28½ | inches. | Circumference, | 9¼ | inches. |
| No. 2.— " | 27½ | " | " | 9 | " |
Bernál Gonzalvo was the smartest of all the shepherd-lads in the mountain village of Valdama, and universally acknowledged as the best shot and most successful ibex-hunter in that part of the sierra. But in his wanderings near the clouds, his thoughts of late had often strayed from his flock: other music than the tinkling of their many bells was sweeter to his ear. His thoughts would carry him a thousand times a day to the hamlet which nestled far below. In short, Bernál was in love; for the first time in his simple life of three-and-twenty years his spirit was made captive by a daughter of Eve. Concha, the pretty brunette of the parador, had heard the old, old story from his lips, and he had found favour in her eyes. Concha's good luck made her the envy of all the girls of the hamlet. For not only was Bernál a handsome lad of the sprightly, graceful type peculiar to the mountain region, but he was also rich—he owned over two hundred goats, and had inherited a two-roomed choza and an acre of trailing vines.
Engagements in these primitive nooks of the world are not of long duration. The following week it was arranged his betrothal should be announced, and the dichos declared—the custom of avowing publicly the mutual acceptance of nuptial obligations, which in Spain corresponds with our "calling the banns." On such occasions it is customary in Valdama for the bridegroom-elect to provide a feast whereat the friends of the fiancés assemble after this preliminary ceremony. The marriage itself does not take place till some days later. After the dichos the rest of that day is spent in conviviality.
Bernál owned plenty of goats, but, being a lad of some originality, he determined to give his "novia" something different to the regulation marriage-feast of stewed kid. Concha's nuptials should mark an epoch in the annals of Valdama—nothing less than the venison of a wild ibex should betoken his plighted troth. He was a mighty hunter, and Concha's first offering at his hands should be one appropriate to his fame and skill with the rifle-ball.
The season was mid-winter and the snow lay deep and treacherous on all the great sierras that overhang his native village. Few are venturesome enough to brave the dangers and hard work that the pursuit of ibex in winter must entail. All the more reason why Bernál should distinguish himself, and all the more acceptable the gift.
On the morning before the ceremony of the dichos, he set out at daybreak; his gun slung on his shoulder, a crust of brown bread, some meat and olives in his "alforjas," and his favourite dog "Vasco" at his heel. As the earlier risers among the damsels of the hamlet wended their way towards the well for the day's supply of water, each with a big brown cantaro poised on her head, they lingered to scan the hill and watch Bernál's retreating figure as he leaped upwards from rock to rock, ascending towards the snowy pinnacles of Las Lanzas. Soon he disappeared from view, turning off into the snow-filled gullet of the Salto del lobo—the wolfs leap.
The day was bright and glorious as a winter's day in Spain can be, but before dusk heavy cloud-banks had darkened the western horizon, and the sun sank in lurid light amidst gathering murk that boded ill for the night. Darkness had set in, but Bernál had not returned. Hour after hour passed by without sign of him, and Concha's anxiety grew more and more intense. Not all the sympathy of her maiden friends could cheer her; but some consolation the poor girl tried to find in the assurances of the rough hunters who came to comfort her—Bernál, they asserted, was safe enough; he had been caught in those scudding snow-clouds, and, as many a belated herdsman had done before, had sought shelter for the night in some cave or crevice, awaiting the return of daylight before attempting the descent. Had he, as was probable, succeeded in shooting an ibex, it was natural that with such a burden he would find himself unable to return in the short winter's day. With these and similar assurances poor Concha was fain to console herself.
Before midnight the threatened storm burst: the gale howled through the gorges of the sierra and along the narrow street of Valdama. Thickly, too, fell the snow; before dawn the whole landscape lay enveloped in the white mantle, and the bye-ways of the hamlet were choked to the lintels. Snow-wreaths hung in majestic forms over each prominent escarpment, threatening destruction to the villagers' stock of olives, figs, and vines which grew beneath. The older men gathered in knots discussing Bernál's chances of escape from the higher regions; no help was possible, and the general opinion was that till the gale had partially swept the dry powdery snow into the ravines and hollows, his descent would be perilous, even if possible. Again the day passed by without sign of the missing bridegroom. The dichos were postponed, and the hamlet slept with a heavy load of doubt and fear oppressing its mind.
Thus passed two days—three since the adventurous hunter had set forth, but on the fourth morning it was thought an ascent might be attempted. Three search parties, each composed of three mountaineers, started in different directions, but at nightfall they returned without news or trace of lost Bernál.
Next morning the search was renewed. Towards noon the party, led by our friend Claudio, descried among the bare rocks of a ridge high above them a moving object. Their cries and shots attracted attention, and presently poor Vasco, Bernál's faithful companion, struggled to reach them. The three men decided to continue calling out Bernál's name, in order to convey to the dog the idea that they were in search of his master; but this the wise beast seemed to have intuitively understood, for he immediately set out in the direction whence he had come. Claudio and his two companions followed Vasco's lead for nearly a league, when the dog stopped and commenced scratching away the snow from below a projecting rock. Here were found the "alforjas" (wallet) of the lost man, still containing the bread and olives with which he had set out. Vasco at once continued his course, leading the way to one of the deepest and most magnificent cañons of the whole sierra. Here, on the very verge of a precipice of a thousand feet sheer, the dog directed the rescuers to his master's gun, which lay buried in the snow within a foot of the abyss. The gun was cocked—a sure sign to the serranos that at the moment of leaving it Bernál had been in presence of game, momentarily expecting a shot. Further the dog would not, or could not, go; yet no sign of Bernál could be seen on the crag-top. Clearly he must have slipped, fallen over into the tremendous abyss beneath. The men separated, two going to right and left to seek some spot, some cleft or ledge, by which the crag might be descended, the third remaining above to guide the search. It was a perilous service on those slippery, ice-clad rocks. After an hour's labour, Claudio managed to reach a ledge midway down the precipice, just beneath the spot where Guàrro remained on the height above: and here the dog (which had steadily followed the climber whose course at the moment led in the right direction) at once indicated a point above some big boulders which lay balanced on the narrow shelf. Here, beneath the frozen snow, lay poor Bernál Gonzalvo, almost every bone in his once shapely form smashed into splinters by that terrible fall of 500 feet. And there, on that dizzy ledge, his remains lie still. There they had to be left; for it was found impossible to remove the body, or to carry it along the ledges and "chimneys" by which the rescue party had descended. It was, after all, an appropriate resting-place for the luckless ibex-hunter. The three men heaped up a pile of stones to protect his remains from the maw of vulture or prowling wolf, and there we may leave him in peace.
Perhaps it would be wiser to leave the story, too, at this point; but we are simply historians without aspiration for the novelist's rôle, and are impelled to complete faithfully this sad little story of the sierra. Concha was, of course, almost beside herself with grief. During the long winter months, while the snow whirled round the ravines of Valdama, the poor girl remained inconsolable. But time is a wondrous restorer. When spring came round, and the vines and chestnuts unfolded their shoots, making Valdama all green and beautiful, then youth and buoyant spirits reasserted their power, and, less than a twelve-month afterwards, Concha had found consolation. Friend Claudio, the discoverer of her lost lover's remains, and to whom we are indebted for this little tale, had meanwhile become her husband.
Plate XXXVI. GATEWAY AND VINEYARD. Page 325.
Plate XXXVI. GATEWAY AND VINEYARD. Page 325.