The Bible in Spain

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It was now past noon, and the heat was exceedingly fierce: I saw
scarcely a living being in the streets, the stones of which burnt
my feet through the soles of my boots. I passed through the square
of the Constitution, which presents nothing particular to the eye
of the stranger, and ascended the hill to obtain a nearer view of
the castle. It is a strong heavy edifice of stone, with round
towers, and, though deserted, appears to be still in a tolerable
state of preservation. I became tired of gazing, and was retracing
my steps, when I was accosted by two Gypsies, who by some means had
heard of my arrival. We exchanged some words in Gitano, but they
appeared to be very ignorant of the dialect, and utterly unable to
maintain a conversation in it. They were clamorous for a gabicote,
or book in the Gypsy tongue. I refused it them, saying that they
could turn it to no profitable account; but finding that they could
read, I promised them each a Testament in Spanish. This offer,
however, they refused with disdain, saying that they cared for
nothing written in the language of the Busne or Gentiles. They
then persisted in their demand, to which I at last yielded, being
unable to resist their importunity; whereupon they accompanied me
to the inn, and received what they so ardently desired.

In the evening I was visited by Mr. Phillipi, who informed me that
he had ordered a cabriolet to call for me at the inn at eleven at
night, for the purpose of conveying me to Bonanza, and that a
person there who kept a small wine-house, and to whom the chests
and other things had been forwarded, would receive me for the
night, though it was probable that I should have to sleep on the
floor. We then walked to the beach, where there were a great
number of bathers, all men. Amongst them were some good swimmers;
two, in particular, were out at a great distance in the firth of
the Guadalquivir, I should say at least a mile; their heads could
just be descried with the telescope. I was told that they were
friars. I wondered at what period of their lives they had acquired
their dexterity at natation. I hoped it was not at a time when,
according to their vows, they should have lived for prayer,
fasting, and mortification alone. Swimming is a noble exercise,
but it certainly does not tend to mortify either the flesh or the
spirit. As it was becoming dusk, we returned to the town, when my
friend bade me a kind farewell. I then retired to my apartment,
and passed some hours in meditation.

It was night, ten o'clock;--eleven o'clock, and the cabriolet was
at the door. I got in, and we proceeded down the avenue and along
the shore, which was quite deserted. The waves sounded mournfully;
everything seemed to have changed since the morning. I even
thought that the horse's feet sounded differently, as it trotted
slowly over the moist firm sand. The driver, however, was by no
means mournful, nor inclined to be silent long: he soon commenced
asking me an infinity of questions as to whence I came and whither
I was bound. Having given him what answers I thought most proper,
I, in return, asked him whether he was not afraid to drive along
that beach, which had always borne so bad a character, at so
unseasonable an hour. Whereupon, he looked around him, and seeing
no person, he raised a shout of derision, and said that a fellow
with his whiskers feared not all the thieves that ever walked the
playa, and that no dozen men in San Lucar dare to waylay any
traveller whom they knew to be beneath his protection. He was a
good specimen of the Andalusian braggart. We soon saw a light or
two shining dimly before us; they proceeded from a few barks and
small vessels stranded on the sand close below Bonanza: amongst
them I distinguished two or three dusky figures. We were now at
our journey's end, and stopped before the door of the place where I
was to lodge for the night. The driver, dismounting, knocked loud
and long, until the door was opened by an exceedingly stout man of
about sixty years of age; he held a dim light in his hand, and was
dressed in a red nightcap and dirty striped shirt. He admitted us,
without a word, into a very large long room with a clay floor. A
species of counter stood on one side near the door; behind it stood
a barrel or two, and against the wall, on shelves, many bottles of
various sizes. The smell of liquors and wine was very powerful. I
settled with the driver and gave him a gratuity, whereupon he asked
me for something to drink to my safe journey. I told him he could
call for whatever he pleased; whereupon he demanded a glass of
aguardiente, which the master of the house, who had stationed
himself behind the counter, handed him without saying a word. The
fellow drank it off at once, but made a great many wry faces after
having swallowed it, and, coughing, said that he made no doubt it
was good liquor, as it burnt his throat terribly. He then embraced
me, went out, mounted his cabriolet, and drove off.

The old man with the red nightcap now moved slowly to the door,
which he bolted and otherwise secured; he then drew forward two
benches, which he placed together, and pointed to them as if to
intimate to me that there was my bed: he then blew out the candle
and retired deeper into the apartment, where I heard him lay
himself down sighing and snorting. There was now no farther light
than what proceeded from a small earthen pan on the floor, filled
with water and oil, on which floated a small piece of card with a
lighted wick in the middle, which simple species of lamp is called
"mariposa." I now laid my carpet bag on the bench as a pillow, and
flung myself down. I should have been asleep instantly, but he of
the red nightcap now commenced snoring awfully, which brought to my
mind that I had not yet commended myself to my friend and Redeemer:
I therefore prayed, and then sank to repose.

I was awakened more than once during the night by cats, and I
believe rats, leaping upon my body. At the last of these
interruptions I arose, and, approaching the mariposa, looked at my
watch; it was half-past three o'clock. I opened the door and
looked out; whereupon some fishermen entered clamouring for their
morning draught: the old man was soon on his feet serving them.
One of the men said to me that, if I was going by the steamer, I
had better order my things to the wharf without delay, as he had
heard the vessel coming down the river. I dispatched my luggage,
and then demanded of the red nightcap what I owed him. He replied
"One real." These were the only two words which I heard proceed
from his mouth: he was certainly addicted to silence, and perhaps
to philosophy, neither of which are much practised in Andalusia. I
now hurried to the wharf; the steamer was not yet arrived, but I
heard its thunder up the river every moment becoming more distinct:
there was mist and darkness upon the face of the waters, and I felt
awe as I listened to the approach of the invisible monster booming
through the stillness of the night. It came at last in sight,
plashed its way forward, stopped, and I was soon on board. It was
the Peninsula, the best boat on the Guadalquivir.

What a wonderful production of art is a steamboat; and yet why
should we call it wonderful, if we consider its history. More than
five hundred years have elapsed since the idea of making one first
originated; but it was not until the close of the last century that
the first, worthy of the name, made its appearance on a Scottish
river.

During this long period of time, acute minds and skilful hands were
occasionally busied in attempting to remove those imperfections in
the machinery, which alone prevented a vessel being made capable of
propelling itself against wind and tide. All these attempts were
successively abandoned in despair, yet scarcely one was made which
was perfectly fruitless; each inventor leaving behind him some
monument of his labour, of which those who succeeded him took
advantage, until at last a fortunate thought or two, and a few more
perfect arrangements, were all that were wanting. The time
arrived, and now, at length, the very Atlantic is crossed by
haughty steamers. Much has been said of the utility of steam in
spreading abroad civilization, and I think justly. When the first
steam vessels were seen on the Guadalquivir, about ten years ago,
the Sevillians ran to the banks of the river, crying "sorcery,
sorcery," which idea was not a little favoured by the speculation
being an English one, and the boats, which were English built,
being provided with English engineers, as, indeed, they still are;
no Spaniard having been found capable of understanding the
machinery. They soon however, became accustomed to them, and the
boats are in general crowded with passengers. Fanatic and vain as
the Sevillians still are, and bigoted as they remain to their own
customs, they know that good, in one instance at least, can proceed
from a foreign land, and that land a land of heretics; inveterate
prejudice has been shaken, and we will hope that this is the dawn
of their civilization.

Whilst passing over the bay of Cadiz, I was reclining on one of the
benches on the deck, when the captain walked by in company with
another man; they stopped a short distance from me, and I heard the
captain ask the other, in a low voice, how many languages he spoke;
he replied "only one." "That one," said the captain, "is of course
the Christian"; by which name the Spaniards style their own
language in contradistinction to all others. "That fellow,"
continued the captain, "who is lying on the deck, can speak
Christian too, when it serves his purpose, but he speaks others,
which are by no means Christian: he can talk English, and I myself
have heard him chatter in Gitano with the Gypsies of Triana; he is
now going amongst the Moors, and when he arrives in their country,
you will hear him, should he be there, converse as fluently in
their gibberish as in Christiano, nay, better, for he is no
Christian himself. He has been several times on board my vessel
already, but I do not like him, as I consider that he carries
something about with him which is not good."

This worthy person, on my coming aboard the boat, had shaken me by
the hand and expressed his joy at seeing me again.

CHAPTER LI

Cadiz--The Fortifications--The Consul-General--Characteristic
Anecdote--Catalan Steamer--Trafalgar--Alonzo Guzman--Gibil Muza--
Orestes Frigate--The Hostile Lion--Works of the Creator--Lizard of
the Rock--The Concourse--Queen of the Waters--Broken Prayer.

Cadiz stands, as is well known, upon a long narrow neck of land
stretching out into the ocean, from whose bosom the town appears to
rise, the salt waters laving its walls on all sides save the east,
where a sandy isthmus connects it with the coast of Spain. The
town, as it exists at the present day, is of modern construction,
and very unlike any other town which is to be found in the
Peninsula, being built with great regularity and symmetry. The
streets are numerous, and intersect each other, for the most part,
at right angles. They are very narrow in comparison to the height
of the houses, so that they are almost impervious to the rays of
the sun, except when at its midday altitude. The principal street,
however, is an exception, it being of some width. This street, in
which stands the Bolsa, or exchange, and which contains the houses
of the chief merchants and nobility, is the grand resort of
loungers as well as men of business during the early part of the
day, and in that respect resembles the Puerta del Sol at Madrid.
It is connected with the great square, which, though not of very
considerable extent, has many pretensions to magnificence, it being
surrounded with large imposing houses, and planted with fine trees,
with marble seats below them for the accommodation of the public.
There are few public edifices worthy of much attention: the chief
church, indeed, might be considered a fine monument of labour in
some other countries, but in Spain, the land of noble and gigantic
cathedrals, it can be styled nothing more than a decent place of
worship; it is still in an unfinished state. There is a public
walk or alameda on the northern ramparts, which is generally
thronged in summer evenings: the green of its trees, when viewed
from the bay, affords an agreeable relief to the eye, dazzled with
the glare of the white buildings, for Cadiz is also a bright city.
It was once the wealthiest place in all Spain, but its prosperity
has of late years sadly diminished, and its inhabitants are
continually lamenting its ruined trade; on which account many are
daily abandoning it for Seville, where living at least is cheaper.
There is still, however, much life and bustle in the streets, which
are adorned with many splendid shops, several of which are in the
style of Paris and London. The present population is said to
amount to eighty thousand souls.

It is not without reason that Cadiz has been called a strong town:
the fortifications on the land side, which were partly the work of
the French during the sway of Napoleon, are perfectly admirable,
and seem impregnable: towards the sea it is defended as much by
nature as by art, water and sunken rocks being no contemptible
bulwarks. The defences of the town, however, except the landward
ones, afford melancholy proofs of Spanish apathy and neglect, even
when allowance is made for the present peculiarly unhappy
circumstances of the country. Scarcely a gun, except a few
dismounted ones, is to be seen on the fortifications, which are
rapidly falling to decay, so that this insulated stronghold is at
present almost at the mercy of any foreign nation which, upon any
pretence, or none at all, should seek to tear it from the grasp of
its present legitimate possessors, and convert it into a foreign
colony.

A few hours after my arrival, I waited upon Mr. B., the British
consul-general at Cadiz. His house, which is the corner one at the
entrance of the alameda, commands a noble prospect of the bay, and
is very large and magnificent. I had of course long been
acquainted with Mr. B. by reputation; I knew that for several years
he had filled, with advantage to his native country and with honour
to himself, the distinguished and highly responsible situation
which he holds in Spain. I knew, likewise, that he was a good and
pious Christian, and, moreover, the firm and enlightened friend of
the Bible Society. Of all this I was aware, but I had never yet
enjoyed the advantage of being personally acquainted with him. I
saw him now for the first time, and was much struck with his
appearance. He is a tall, athletic, finely built man, seemingly
about forty-five or fifty; there is much dignity in his
countenance, which is, however, softened by an expression of good
humour truly engaging. His manner is frank and affable in the
extreme. I am not going to enter into minute details of our
interview, which was to me a very interesting one. He knew already
the leading parts of my history since my arrival in Spain, and made
several comments upon it, which displayed his intimate knowledge of
the situation of the country as regards ecclesiastical matters, and
the state of opinion respecting religious innovation.

I was pleased to find that his ideas in many points accorded with
my own, and we were both decidedly of opinion that, notwithstanding
the great persecution and outcry which had lately been raised
against the Gospel, the battle was by no means lost, and that the
holy cause might yet triumph in Spain, if zeal united with
discretion and Christian humility were displayed by those called
upon to uphold it.

During the greater part of this and the following day, I was much
occupied at the custom-house, endeavouring to obtain the documents
necessary for the exportation of the Testaments. On the afternoon
of Saturday, I dined with Mr. B. and his family, an interesting
group,--his lady, his beautiful daughters, and his son, a fine
intelligent young man. Early the next morning, a steamer, the
Balear, was to quit Cadiz for Marseilles, touching on the way at
Algeciras, Gibraltar, and various other ports of Spain. I had
engaged my passage on board her as far as Gibraltar, having nothing
farther to detain me at Cadiz; my business with the custom-house
having been brought at last to a termination, though I believe I
should never have got through it but for the kind assistance of Mr.
B. I quitted this excellent man and my other charming friends at a
late hour with regret. I believe that I carried with me their very
best wishes; and, in whatever part of the world I, a poor wanderer
in the Gospel's cause, may chance to be, I shall not unfrequently
offer up sincere prayers for their happiness and well-being.

Before taking leave of Cadiz, I shall relate an anecdote of the
British consul, characteristic of him and the happy manner in which
he contrives to execute the most disagreeable duties of his
situation. I was in conversation with him in a parlour of his
house, when we were interrupted by the entrance of two very
unexpected visitors: they were the captain of a Liverpool merchant
vessel and one of the crew. The latter was a rough sailor, a
Welshman, who could only express himself in very imperfect English.
They looked unutterable dislike and defiance at each other. It
appeared that the latter had refused to work, and insisted on
leaving the ship, and his master had in consequence brought him
before the consul, in order that, if he persisted, the consequences
might be detailed to him, which would be the forfeiture of his
wages and clothes. This was done; but the fellow became more and
more dogged, refusing ever to tread the same deck again with his
captain, who, he said, had called him "Greek, lazy lubberly Greek,"
which he would not bear. The word Greek rankled in the sailor's
mind, and stung him to the very core. Mr. B., who seemed to be
perfectly acquainted with the character of Welshmen in general, who
are proverbially obstinate when opposition is offered to them, and
who saw at once that the dispute had arisen on foolish and trivial
grounds, now told the man, with a smile, that he would inform him
of a way by which he might gain the weather-gage of every one of
them, consul and captain and all, and secure his wages and clothes;
which was by merely going on board a brig of war of her Majesty,
which was then lying in the bay. The fellow said he was aware of
this, and intended to do so. His grim features, however, instantly
relaxed in some degree, and he looked more humanely upon his
captain. Mr. B. then, addressing himself to the latter, made some
observations on the impropriety of using the word Greek to a
British sailor; not forgetting, at the same time, to speak of the
absolute necessity of obedience and discipline on board every ship.
His words produced such an effect, that in a very little time the
sailor held out his hand towards his captain, and expressed his
willingness to go on board with him and perform his duty, adding,
that the captain, upon the whole, was the best man in the world.
So they departed mutually pleased; the consul making both of them
promise to attend divine service at his house on the following day.

Sunday morning came, and I was on board the steamer by six o'clock.
As I ascended the side, the harsh sound of the Catalan dialect
assailed my ears. In fact, the vessel was Catalan built, and the
captain and crew were of that nation; the greater part of the
passengers already on board, or who subsequently arrived, appeared
to be Catalans, and seemed to vie with each other in producing
disagreeable sounds. A burly merchant, however, with a red face,
peaked chin, sharp eyes, and hooked nose, clearly bore off the
palm; he conversed with astonishing eagerness on seemingly the most
indifferent subjects, or rather on no subject at all; his voice
would have sounded exactly like a coffee-mill but for a vile nasal
twang: he poured forth his Catalan incessantly till we arrived at
Gibraltar. Such people are never sea-sick, though they frequently
produce or aggravate the malady in others. We did not get under
way until past eight o'clock, for we waited for the Governor of
Algeciras, and started instantly on his coming on board. He was a
tall, thin, rigid figure of about seventy, with a long, grave,
wrinkled countenance; in a word, the very image of an old Spanish
grandee. We stood out of the bay, rounding the lofty lighthouse,
which stands on a ledge of rocks, and then bent our course to the
south, in the direction of the straits. It was a glorious morning,
a blue sunny sky and blue sunny ocean; or, rather, as my friend
Oehlenschlaeger has observed on a similar occasion, there appeared
two skies and two suns, one above and one below.

Our progress was rather slow, notwithstanding the fineness of the
weather, probably owing to the tide being against us. In about two
hours we passed the Castle of Santa Petra, and at noon were in
sight of Trafalgar. The wind now freshened and was dead ahead; on
which account we hugged closely to the coast, in order to avoid as
much as possible the strong heavy sea which was pouring down from
the Straits. We passed within a very short distance of the Cape, a
bold bluff foreland, but not of any considerable height.

It is impossible for an Englishman to pass by this place--the scene
of the most celebrated naval action on record--without emotion.
Here it was that the united navies of France and Spain were
annihilated by a far inferior force; but that force was British,
and was directed by one of the most remarkable men of the age, and
perhaps the greatest hero of any time. Huge fragments of wreck
still frequently emerge from the watery gulf whose billows chafe
the rocky sides of Trafalgar: they are relies of the enormous
ships which were burnt and sunk on that terrible day, when the
heroic champion of Britain concluded his work and died. I never
heard but one individual venture to say a word in disparagement of
Nelson's glory: it was a pert American, who observed, that the
British admiral was much overrated. "Can that individual be
overrated," replied a stranger, "whose every thought was bent on
his country's honour, who scarcely ever fought without leaving a
piece of his body in the fray, and who, not to speak of minor
triumphs, was victorious in two such actions as Aboukir and
Trafalgar?"

We were now soon in sight of the Moorish coast, Cape Spartel
appearing dimly through mist and vapour on our right. A regular
Levanter had now come on, and the vessel pitched and tossed to a
very considerable degree. Most of the passengers were sea-sick;
the governor, however, and myself held out manfully: we sat on a
bench together, and entered into conversation respecting the Moors
and their country. Torquemada himself could not have spoken of
both with more abhorrence. He informed me that he had been
frequently in several of the principal Moorish towns of the coast,
which he described as heaps of ruins: the Moors themselves he
called Caffres and wild beasts. He observed that he had never been
even at Tangier, where the people were most civilised, without
experiencing some insult, so great was the abhorrence of the Moors
to anything in the shape of a Christian. He added, however, that
they treated the English with comparative civility, and that they
had a saying among them to the effect that Englishman and Mahometan
were one and the same; he then looked particularly grave for a
moment, and, crossing himself, was silent. I guessed what was
passing in his mind:

"From heretic boors,
And Turkish Moors,
Star of the sea,
Gentle Marie,
Deliver me!"

At about three we were passing Tarifa, so frequently mentioned in
the history of the Moors and Christians. Who has not heard of
Alonzo Guzman the faithful, who allowed his only son to be
crucified before the walls of the town rather than submit to the
ignominy of delivering up the keys to the Moorish monarch, who,
with a host which is said to have amounted to nearly half a million
of men, had landed on the shores of Andalusia, and threatened to
bring all Spain once more beneath the Moslem yoke? Certainly if
there be a land and a spot where the name of that good patriot is
not sometimes mentioned and sung, that land, that spot is modern
Spain and modern Tarifa. I have heard the ballad of Alonzo Guzman
chanted in Danish, by a hind in the wilds of Jutland; but once
speaking of "the Faithful" to some inhabitants of Tarifa, they
replied that they had never heard of Guzman the faithful of Tarifa,
but were acquainted with Alonzo Guzman, "the one-eyed" (el tuerto),
and that he was one of the most villainous arrieros on the Cadiz
road.

The voyage of these narrow seas can scarcely fail to be interesting
to the most apathetic individual, from the nature of the scenery
which presents itself to the eye on either side. The coasts are
exceedingly high and bold, especially that of Spain, which seems to
overthrow the Moorish; but opposite to Tarifa, the African
continent, rounding towards the south-west, assumes an air of
sublimity and grandeur. A hoary mountain is seen uplifting its
summits above the clouds: it is Mount Abyla, or as it is called in
the Moorish tongue, Gibil Muza, or the hill of Muza, from the
circumstance of its containing the sepulchre of a prophet of that
name. This is one of the two excrescences of nature on which the
Old World bestowed the title of the Pillars of Hercules. Its
skirts and sides occupy the Moorish coast for many leagues in more
than one direction, but the broad aspect of its steep and
stupendous front is turned full towards that part of the European
continent where Gibraltar lies like a huge monster stretching far
into the brine. Of the two hills or pillars, the most remarkable,
when viewed from afar, is the African one, Gibil Muza. It is the
tallest and bulkiest, and is visible at a greater distance; but
scan them both from near, and you feel that all your wonder is
engrossed by the European column. Gibil Muza is an immense
shapeless mass, a wilderness of rocks, with here and there a few
trees and shrubs nodding from the clefts of its precipices; it is
uninhabited, save by wolves, wild swine, and chattering monkeys, on
which last account it is called by the Spaniards, Montana de las
Monas (the hill of the baboons); whilst, on the contrary,
Gibraltar, not to speak of the strange city which covers part of
it, a city inhabited by men of all nations and tongues, its
batteries and excavations, all of them miracles of art, is the most
singular-looking mountain in the world--a mountain which can
neither be described by pen nor pencil, and at which the eye is
never satiated with gazing.