table-lands of central Spain, yet these lagoons of Daimiel constitute
not only one of the chief wildfowl resorts of Spain, but possibly of all
Europe. Upon these waters there occur from time to time every species of
aquatic game that is known in this Peninsula, while in autumn the
duck-tribe in countless hosts congregate in nearly all their European
varieties. Those which are found in the greatest numbers include the
mallard, pintail, shoveler, wigeon, gargany, common and marbled teal,
ferruginous duck, tufted duck, pochard, and (in great abundance) the
red-crested pochard or _Pato colorado_. Coots also frequent the lagoons,
but in smaller numbers. There also appear at frequent intervals
flamingoes and black geese (_Ganzos negros_), whose species we have not
been able to identify, sand-grouse of both kinds, sea-gulls, duck-hawks,
grebes, and occasionally some wandering cormorants. Herons and egrets in
their different varieties haunt the shores and the shallows.

[Illustration: RED-CRESTED POCHARD (_Fuligula rufila_)]

Lest any far-venturing fowler be induced by this chapter to pack his
12-bore and seek the nearest Cook's office, it should at once be stated
that the rights-of-chase (as are all worth having, alike in Spain,
Scotland, or England) are in private hands--those of the Sociedad de las
Lagunas de Daimiel, a society which at present numbers five members, all
of ducal rank, and to one of whom we are indebted for excellent
descriptive notes. The lakes are guarded by keepers who have held their
posts for generations--the family of the Escudéros.

To claim for these far-inland lagoons a premier place among the great
wildfowl resorts of Europe may seem extravagant--albeit confirmed by
facts and figures that follow. But the lakes, be it remembered, are
surrounded by that cultivation afore described--100 mile stubbles and so
on. Another fact that well-nigh struck dumb the authors (long accustomed
to study and preach the incredible mobility of bird-life) was that ducks
shot at dawn at Daimiel are found to be cropful of _rice_. Now the
nearest rice-grounds are at Valencia, distant 180 miles; hence these
ducks, not as a migratory effort, but merely as incidental to each
night's food-supply, have sped at least 360 miles between dusk and dawn.

     As autumn approaches (we quote from notes kindly given us by the
     Duke of Arión), so soon as the keepers note the arrival of incoming
     migrants, their first business consists in observing the points
     which these select for their assemblage. Then with infinite
     patience, tact, and skill, the utmost advantage is seized of those
     earlier groups which have chosen haunts nearest to points where
     guns may be placed most effectively. These favoured groups are left
     rigorously alone to act as decoys, while by gentleness and least
     provocative methods, the keepers induce other bands which have
     settled in less appropriate positions to unite their forces with
     the elect. Thus within a few days vast multitudes, scattered over
     wide areas, have been unconsciously concentrated within that
     "sphere of influence" where four or five guns may act most
     efficaciously.

     The supreme test of the keepers' efficiency is demonstrated when
     this concentration is limited to some particular area designated
     for a single day's shooting.

     The night preceding the day fixed for shooting, so soon as the
     ducks have already quitted the lagoons and spread themselves afar
     over the surrounding cornlands on their accustomed nocturnal
     excursions in search of food, the posts of the various gunners are
     prepared. This work involves cutting a channel through some
     islanded patch of reeds situate in the centre of open water. The
     channel is merely wide enough to admit the entrance of the punt
     from which the gunner shoots, the cut reeds being left to remask
     the opening so soon as the punt has entered.

     Somewhere between three and four o'clock in the morning the
     sportsmen sally forth from the shooting-lodge (situate on the Isla
     de los Asnos), each in his punt directing a course to the position
     he has drawn by lot. In the boat, besides guns, cartridges, and
     loader (should one be taken), are carried thirty or forty
     decoy-ducks fashioned of wood or cork and painted to resemble in
     form and colour the various species of duck expected at that
     particular season.

     Each of these decoys is furnished with a string and leaden weight
     to act as an anchor. A fixed plummet directly beneath the floating
     decoy prevents its being blown over or upset.

     Generally speaking, the sportsman awaits the dawn in the same boat
     in which he has reached his position, but should shallow water
     prevent this, either a lighter punt, capable of being carried by
     hand, or some wooden boards are substituted as a seat. Having set
     out his decoys, and arranged his ammunition, each gunner awaits in
     glorious expectancy the moment when the first light of dawn shall
     set the aquatic world amove.

     Singly they may come, or in bands and battalions--soon the whole
     arc of heaven is serried with moving masses. Should the day prove
     favourable, firing continues practically incessant till towards ten
     o'clock. From that hour onwards it slackens perceptibly, ducks
     flying fewer and fewer and at increasing intervals up to noon or
     thereby, when spoils are collected and the day's sport is over.

     There are at most but four or five _puestos_, or gun-posts, at
     Daimiel, and that only when ducks are in their fullest numbers.

     Under such conditions, and when all incidental conditions are
     favourable, a bag of over 1000 ducks in the day has not
     infrequently been registered. On such occasions it follows that
     individual guns must gather from 200 to 300 ducks apiece.

     Almost incredible as are the results occasionally obtained under
     favouring conditions, yet the duck-shooting at Daimiel is
     nevertheless subject to considerable variation in accordance with
     the sequence of the season. The biggest totals are usually recorded
     during the months of September, October, and November in dry years.
     The bags secured at such periods are apt to run into extraordinary
     numbers, but with this proviso, that quality is then sometimes
     inferior to quantity. For the chief item at these earlier shoots
     consists of teal, with only a sprinkling of mallard, wigeon, and
     shoveler, and, in some years, a few coots. But at the later
     _tiradas_ (shootings), although game is usually rather less
     abundant, it is then entirely composed of the bigger ducks--beyond
     all in numbers being the mallard, pintail, wigeon, and red-crested
     pochard, while an almost equal number of shovelers and common
     pochards are also bagged.

     At these earlier _tiradas_ a good gun should be able, with ease, to
     bring down, say, 400 ducks, although this number dwindles sadly in
     the pick-up, since but few of those birds will be recovered that
     fall outside the narrow space of open water around each "hide." One
     may say roughly that at least one-fourth are lost. For, although
     each post be surrounded by open water, yet many ducks must fall
     within the encircling canes, while even those that fall in the
     open, if winged and beyond the reach of a second barrel, will
     inevitably gain the shelter of the covert, and all these are
     irrecoverable. Others, again, carrying on a few yards, may fall
     dead in open water, but at a distance the precise position of which
     is difficult to fix by reason of intervening cane-brakes. Thus
     between those that are lost in the above ways and others that may
     be carried away by the wind or the current (besides many that are
     devoured by hawks and eagles under the fowler's eye but beyond the
     range of his piece) it is no exaggerated estimate that barely
     three-fourths of the fallen are ever recovered.

To the above description another Spanish friend, Don Isidoro Urzáiz,
adds the following:--

     In the year 1892 I fired at ducks in a single morning at Daimiel
     one thousand and ten cartridges. This was between 6.30 and 10.30
     A.M. I gathered rather over two hundred, losing upwards of a
     hundred more. I shot badly; it being my first experience with duck,
     I had not learnt to let them come well in, and often fired too
     soon.

     In subsequent _tiradas_ I have never enjoyed quite so much luck,
     although never firing less than 400 to 500 cartridges. In spite of
     the difficulty of recovering dead game, I have always on these
     occasions gathered from one hundred upwards--the precise numbers I
     have not recorded. Some of the _puestos_ have a very small extent
     of open water around them, and in these a greater proportion of the
     game is necessarily lost. For example, in a single quite small
     clump of reeds I remember marking not less than thirty ducks fall
     dead, yet of these I recovered not one. The sharp-edged leaves of
     the sedge (_masiega_) cut like a knife, and the boatman who entered
     the reeds to collect the game returned a few minutes later without
     a bird, but with hands, arms, and legs bleeding from innumerable
     cuts and scratches, which obliged him to desist from further
     search. This is but one example of the difficulty of recovering
     fallen game.

As examples of the totals secured individually in a day may be quoted
the following. At the first shooting in 1908 the Duke of Arión gathered
251 ducks, and at the second shoot, 245, the Duke of Prim, 197. The
record bag was made some ten or twelve years ago by a Valencian
sportsman, Don Juan Cistel, who brought in no less than 393 ducks in
one day! His late Majesty, King Alfonso XII., comes second with 381
ducks shot in three hours and a half. On his second visit, on hearing
that he had secured his century, His Majesty stopped shooting, being
more interested to watch the fowl passing overhead. His total was 127.
King Alfonso XIII. had an unlucky day here--rain and storm--hence he
only totalled ninety odd. Many years ago, our late friend, Santiago
Udaëta, was credited with 270 ducks to his own gun in one day.

These bags are truly enormous, for, big as it is, Daimiel is not a patch
in size as compared with our own marismas of the Guadalquivir. There is
here, on the other hand, abundant cover to conceal the guns, which is
not the case with us.

[Illustration: RED-CRESTED POCHARD--AN IMPRESSION AT DAIMIEL]

It was at Daimiel that we first made acquaintance with the red-crested
pochard--a handsome and truly striking species, smart in build, colour,
action, and every attribute. A bushy red head outstretched on a very
long neck contrasts with the jet-black breast, while the white
"speculum" on the wings shows up conspicuous as a transparency,
especially when a band passes over-head in the azure vault, or splashes
down on reed-girt shallow--one actually seems to see through the gauzy
texture of their quills. These ducks breed in numbers at Daimiel, as do
also mallards, garganey, and ferruginous ducks, together with stilts,
grebes, and herons of all denominations. Greatly do we regret that our
experience at Daimiel does not include the spring-season with all its
unknown ornithological possibilities. An unfortunate accident prevented
our spending a week or two at Daimiel in May of the present year.

Ospreys visit the lakes in autumn, preying on the abundant carp and
tench; and wild-boars, some of great size, coming from the bush-clad
Sierra de Villarubia on the south, frequent the cane-brakes. Shelducks
of either species appear unknown; but grey geese (as well as flamingoes)
make passing calls at intervals, a small dark-coloured goose (possibly
the bernicle) is recorded to have been shot on two or three occasions,
and wild swans once.

The little country-town of Daimiel, situate six or eight miles from the
lakes, was recently the scene of an extraordinary tragedy. We copy the
account from the Madrid newspaper, _El Liberal_, February 20, 1908:--

     Telegraphing from Daimiel, it is announced that yesterday a gang of
     masked men forced their entrance into the Council-Chamber while the
     Council were holding a meeting under the presidency of the Mayor.

     The masked men, who numbered six or eight, came fully armed with
     guns and rifles which they discharged in the very face of the
     Mayor, who fell dead, riddled with bullets.

     The assembled Councillors, seized with panic, fled.

     The murdered Mayor was a Conservative, and the only member of that
     party who held a seat in the Corporation. It is believed that the
     assassination was perpetrated in obedience to political motives.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SPANISH BULL-FIGHT

ITS ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT

Perhaps no other contemporary spectacle has been oftener and more
minutely described by writers who--censors and enthusiasts
alike--possess neither personal nor technical qualification, for the
work. Impressions, once the Pyrenees are passed, grow spontaneously
deeper and stronger in inverse ratio with experiences. And the majority
of descriptions confessedly prejudge the scene in adverse sense--the
writer (sometimes a lady) going into wild hysterics after half-seeing a
single bull killed.

We have not the slightest intention of entering that arena of ravelled
preconceptions and misconceptions, nor are we concerned either to uphold
or to condemn. A greater mind has satirised the human tendency to
"condone the sins we are inclined to, by damning those we have no mind
to," and we are content to leave it at that.

In this chapter we purpose to glance at the subject from three points of
view.

(1) The origin of bull-fighting, 500 years ago, and its subsequent
development.

(2) The modern system of breeding and training the fighting bull.

(3) The "Miura question"--an incident of to-day.

As a Spanish institution, bull-fighting dates back to the Reconquest or
shortly thereafter. When that abounding vigour and virility that had
animated and sustained Spanish explorers and warriors--the sailors and
adventurers who, following in the wake of the caravels of Columbus,
opened up a new world to Spain and carried the purple banner of Castile
to the ends of the earth--when that vigour had spent its fiery force and
grown anæmic, there still remained (as always) a residue of bold
spirits who, scorning decadent circumstance, turned intuitively to that
virile and dangerous exercise left them as a heritage by the vanished
Moors.

For it was the Arab conquerors, the so-called Moors, who first practised
this form of vicarious warfare. It was, however, in no sense as a
sport--far less as a popular pastime--that the fierce Arab had risked
equal chances with the fiercest wild beast of the Spanish plain. No, it
was strictly as a substitute and a preparation for the sterner realities
of war that, during the intervals of peace, the Moors "kept their hands
in" by fighting bulls.

The object was to keep themselves and their chargers fit, their eyesight
true, and muscles toughened for the further struggles that all knew must
follow. But during those intervals of peace, the rival knights,
Christian and Moslem, met in keen competition with lance and sword on
the enclosed arena of the bull-ring. The conclusion of a truce was
frequently celebrated by holding a joint _fiesta de toros_.

No trace, however, exists in Arab writings to show that these people
possessed any innate love of bull-fighting as a sport, or ever practised
it save only as an accessory to the art of war.

No other people of ancient race have had exhibitions of this kind--that
is, where the skill of man was invoked to incite a beast to attack in
certain desired modes; while the performer escaped the onset, and
finally slew his adversary, by preconceived forms of defence governed by
set rules--a spectacle wherein the assembled crowd could, each according
to his light, estimate both the skill of the man and the fighting
quality of the beast. That the blood of many a gladiator dyed the Roman
arena at the horns of bulls is certain: but no artistic embellishments
of attack or defence added to the joy of the Roman holiday. The mere
mechanical instinct of self-preservation may inadvertently have
suggested to individual combatants certain combinations in the conflict
that in later days have been utilised by modern matadors; but it seems
hardly possible to suppose that Roman gladiators saved themselves by
methods of prescribed art. Contemporary records, together with the
scenes depicted on coinage, represent rather a mere massacre of men by
brute force; and such cannot bear any relation to the conditions that
govern the national _fiesta_ of Spain to-day.

The actual origin in Spain of the _Corrida de Toros_ must thus be traced
to the Spanish Arabs, who, to exercise themselves and their steeds
during intermittent periods of peace, adopted this dangerous pastime
with the view of fortifying and invigorating personal valour, so
necessary in times of constant strife.

The Arab's spear and charger were opposed to the wild bull of the
Spanish plain under conditions many of which are analogous to these in
vogue to-day.

In those earlier ages it was permitted to an unhorsed cavalier to accept
protection from the horns of his enemy at the hands of his personal
retainers, who not infrequently sacrificed their own lives in devotion
to their chief.

At this period (during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries) the
knight who, lance in hand, had been hurled from the saddle might draw
his sword and kill the bull, his vassals being allowed to assist in
placing the animal (by deft display of coloured cloaks) in a position to
facilitate the death-stroke. Here, doubtless, originated the art of
"playing" the bull, and incidentally sprang the professional
bull-fighter.

For as these servants became experts, and by reason of their prowess
gained extra wages, so proportionately such skill became of pecuniary
value. Mercenaries of this sort were, nevertheless, despised--to risk
their lives in return for money was regarded as an infamous thing. But
at least they had inaugurated the regime of the highly paid matador of
to-day.

During the first century after the Reconquest bull-fighting was opposed
by several powerful influences, but each in turn it survived and set at
naught. Isabel la Católica, horrified by the sight of bloodshed at a
bull-fight which she personally attended, decided to prohibit all
_corridas_; but that, she found, lay beyond even her great influence.
Next, in 1567, the power of the Papacy was invoked in vain.

Pope Pius V., by a _bula_ of November 20, forbade the spectacle under
pain of excommunication, the denial of Christian burial, and similar
ecclesiastical penalties; but he and his _bula_ had likewise to go under
in face of the national sentiment of Spain.

A noble bull fell to the lance of Isabel's grandson, H.M. the Emperor
Charles V., in the Plaza Mayor of Valladolid amidst acclamation of
countless admirers. This occurred during the festivals held to
celebrate the birth of his eldest son, afterwards Phillip II.

[Illustration: BULL-FIGHTING. From a Drawing by Joseph Crawhall]

In 1612 bull-fighting first assumed a financial aspect. Phillip III.
conceded to one Arcania Manduno the emoluments accruing during the term
of three lives from the _corridas de toros_ in the city of Valencia.
Charities and asylums benefited under this fund, but the bulk went in
payment for professional services in the Plaza.

During the reign of Phillip IV.--that king being skilled in the use of
lance and javelin (_rejón_), and frequently himself taking a public
part--the _fiesta_ advanced enormously in national estimation. English
readers may recall the sumptuous _corrida_ which marked the arrival of
Charles I., with the Duke of Buckingham, at Madrid.

Later, during the reigns of the House of Austria, to face a bull with
bravery and skill and to use a dexterous lance was the pride of every
Spanish noble.

Phillip V., however, would have none of the spectacle, and then the
nobility held aloof from the _corridas_; but their example proved no
deterrent. For the hold of the national pastime on the Moro-hispanic
race was too firm-set to be swept aside by alien influence, however
strong; and when thus abandoned by the patricians, the hidalgos and
grandees of Spain, the sport of bull-fighting (hitherto confined
exclusively to the aristocracy) was taken up by the Spanish people. A
further impulse was generated later on under Ferdinand VII., who
obtained a reversal of the anathema of the Church on condition that some
of the pecuniary profits of the _corridas_ should swell the funds of the
hospitals.

It was, however, during the first half of the eighteenth century that
bull-fighting on a popular basis, as understood and practised at the
present day, took its start. Then there stepped upon the enclosed arena
the first professional _Toréro_ amidst thrilling plaudits from tier
above tier of encircling humanity. Never before had the bull been taken
on by a single man on foot armed only with his good sword and scarlet
flag--with these to pit his strength and skill against the weight and
ferocity of a _toro bravo_--alone and unaided to despatch him. Such a
man was Francisco Romero, erewhiles a shoemaker at Ronda--A.D.
1726--first professional _lidiador_. On his death at an advanced age, he
left five sons, all craftsmen of repute, who, in honour of their sire,
formed a bull-fighting guild still known as the Rondénean
School--distinguished from the later Sevillian cult by its more serious
and dignified attack as compared with the prettiness and "swagger" of
the Sevillano.

In that generation Francisco's son, Pedro Romero, appeared in rivalry
with PEPE-ILLO, the new-risen star in the Sevillian firmament. It was,
by the way, the master-mind of the latter which completed and perfected
the reorganisation on popular lines of the national _fiesta_ after
Bourbon influence had alienated the aristocracy from their ancient
diversion. The rivalry between these competing exponents of the two
styles commenced in 1771, the pair representing each a supreme mastery
of their respective schools, and only terminated with the death of
Pepe-Illo in the Plaza of Madrid, May 11, 1801. The Sevillian style has
since attained pre-eminence, appealing more to the masses by its
nonchalance and apparent disregard of danger. When the best features of
both schools are combined--as has been exemplified in more than one
brilliant exponent of the art--then the letters of his name are writ
large on the _cartels_.

One other famous name of that epoch demands notice--that of Costillares,
who introduced the flying stroke distinguished as the _suerte de
volapié_. Hitherto all _lidiadors_ had received the onset of the bull
standing--the _suerte de recibir_. In the _volapié_ the charging bull is
met half-way, an exploit demanding unswerving accuracy, strength of arm,
and exact judgment of distance, since the spot permissible for the sword
to enter, the target on the bull's neck, is no bigger than an orange.

The normal difficulty of sheathing the blade at that exact point on a
charging bull is great enough; but is vastly increased in the _volapié_,
or flying stroke, and the effect produced on the spectators emotional in
the last degree.

Costillares also formalised the costumes of the different classes of
bull-fighters. He flourished in 1760, and died of a broken heart owing
to his right arm being injured, which incapacitated him from further
triumphs. About that period Martinho introduced the perilous pole-jump,
and José Candido stood out prominent for skill and extraordinary
resource.

Intermediate episodes of minor importance we must briefly note. Thus
Godoy in 1805 stopped bull-fights, but Joseph Bonaparte in 1808
re-established the spectacle, in vain hope--a sop to Cerberus--of
attaching sympathy to his dynasty.

On the return of Fernando VII. in 1814, he also prohibited the shows,
only to re-authorise them the following year, while in 1830 he founded a
school of Toromaquia in Seville. One famous _toréro_, matriculating
thereat, inaugurated a new epoch. Francisco Montes carried popular
enthusiasm to its highest apex. Joy bordering on madness possessed the
Madrilenean ring when Montes handled the _muleta_. Yet as a matador he
had serious defects.

In 1840 Cuchares appeared on the scene, and two years later the great
disciple of Montes, José Redondo. The rivalry of these notable
contemporaries lifted the _toréo_ once more to a level of absorbing
national interest. It will have been seen that whenever two brilliant
constellations flash forth simultaneously, their very rivalry commands
the sympathy and supreme interest of the Spanish people.

From 1852 El Tato stood out as a type of elegance and valour, the idol
of the masses, till on June 7, 1859, a treacherous bull left him
mutilated in the arena. Antonio Carmóna (El Gordito), commenced his
career in 1857, alternating in the ring with El Tato and later with
Lagartijo, the latter a brilliant _toréro_ (or player of bulls) as
distinguished from a matador. Consummate in every feint and artifice,
Lagartijo could befool the animals to the top of his bent, yet as a
matador, the final and supreme executor, he failed.

For twenty years (1867-87) the Spanish public were divided in their keen
appreciation of contemporaneous masters, Lagartijo and Frascuelo. The
latter, whose iron will and courage made amends for certain personal
defects in the lighter role, had marvellous security in the final
stroke.

Lagartijo and Frascuelo accentuate an era well remembered by enthusiasts
in the Classic School of the _Toréo_. In their day all Spaniards were
devoted, aye, passionate adherents of one or the other: all Spain was
divided into two camps, that of Lagartijo and that of Frascuelo. The
actual supporters of the ring were probably no more numerous then than
to-day; but toreadors breathed that old-fashioned atmosphere in which a
love of the profession was supreme--an heroic unselfishness, personal
skill, and valour were the ruling motives. Pecuniary interest was a
thing apart.

The career of the bull-fighter to-day is absolutely wanting in such
virtue. Lagartijo and Frascuelo staked their lives each afternoon,
through a love of their art, by the impress of honest nature, perhaps by
inspiration of a woman's eyes. Into their calculations, ideas of lucre
did not enter, money had no value.

Then came on the scene (1887) that bright particular star, Rafael Guerra
(Guerrita) celebrated and admired--and with justice. But his coming
destroyed for ever the legend of the disinterested _toréro_. The lover
of the art for its own sake was no more, Guerrita was a mercenary of the
first water. Admittedly first of modern bull-fighters, the aspiration of
his soul was the possession of bank-notes, to be the clipper of many
coupons! Neither passion, nor blood, nor favour of the fair inspired his
sordid soul. At the supreme moment of danger, money, only money, was the
motive which actuated him. In his desire for wealth, he succeeded. His
unexpected retirement from the arena in the very apogee of his glory,
and carrying away the accumulation of his thrift, was a shock to this
warm-hearted people. Every vestige of the romantic halo with which
personal prowess and graceful presence had surrounded him was destroyed.
Guerrita as a player of bulls (_toréro_) was the first in all the
history of the ring. As a "matador" also he was the most complete and
certain. Unlike the majority of his compeers, he was reserved in his
habits, and lived apart from the bizarre and tempestuous life of the
ordinary bull-fighter, with its feminine intrigues and excitements. For
that reason he had many enemies amongst his set; but of his claim to be
in the very first rank there has never been a question. To see Guerrita
wind the silken sash around his ribs of steel, as he attired himself for
the arena, was a sight his patrons considered worth going many a mile to
witness.[32]

Since his retirement, the show has fallen greatly, in the quality of the
bull-fighter.

Luis Mazzantini created a temporary revolution in the annals of
toromaquia (1885), lighting up anew the enthusiasm for the _fiesta_. He
came not of the usual low, half-gipsy caste, but of the class which
entitled him to the _Don_ of gentle birth. Don Luis Mazzantini, the only
professional bearing such a prefix, acquired at an unusually late period
of life sufficient technical knowledge of bull-fighting to embolden him
to enter the lists in competition with professionals. He was thirty
years of age when the heavy pay of the matador induced him to risk his
life in the arena.

Whatever may be said of his failing as an artistic exponent of the art
of Cucháres, he killed his bulls in a resolute manner, and re-animated
the interest in the _corrida_, but his example was a bad one. Several
men emulating his career have endeavoured to become improvised
_toréros_, and, like him, to avoid the step-by-step climb to matador's
rank. All have been failures. They wanted to begin where the
bull-fighter of old left off.

Mazzantini has retired, unscathed, from his twenty years of perilous
experience in the arena, and is now a civic light in the local
government of the city of Madrid.

Since Guerrita, not a single matador of leading light has arisen.
Reverte (1891), Antonio Fuentes (1893), and Bombita (1894) all attracted
a numerous public; and after them we arrive at the lesser lights of the
present day, Bombita II. and Machaquito.

Notwithstanding its present decadence in all the most essential
qualities, yet the _fiesta de toros_ is still, if not the very
heartthrob of the nation, at least the single all-embracing symbol of
the people's taste as distinguished from that of other lands. Racing has
been tried and failed; there are no teeming crowds at football, nor
silent watchers on the cricket-field. _La Corrida_ alone makes the
Spanish holiday.

CHAPTER XIX

THE SPANISH FIGHTING-BULL

HIS BREEDING AND TRAINING

The normal British idea of a bull naturally derives colour from those
stolid animals one sees at home, some with a ring through the nose, and
which are only kept for stud purposes, but occasionally evince a latent
ferocity by goring to death some hapless herdsman.

Between such and the Spanish _Toro de Plaza_ there exists no sort of
analogy. The Spanish fighting-bull is bred to fight, and the keen
experience of centuries is brought to bear on the selection of the
fittest--that, moreover, not only as regards the bulls, for the cows
also are tested both for pluck and stamina before admission to the
herd-register. The result, in effect, assures that an animal as fierce
and formidable as the wildest African buffalo shall finally face the
matador.

The breeding of the fighting-bull forms in Spain a rural industry as
deeply studied and as keenly competitive as that of prize-cattle or
Derby winners in England.

At the age of one year preliminary tests are made, and promising
youngsters branded with the insignia of the herd. But it is the
completion of the second year that marks their critical period; for then
take place the trials for pluck and mettle. The brave are set aside for
the Plaza, the docile destroyed or gelded; while from the chosen lot a
further selection is made of the sires for future years.

At these two-year-old trials, or _Tentaderos_, it is customary for the
owner and his friends to assemble at the sequestered _rancho_--the event
indeed becomes a rural fête, a bright and picturesque scene, typical of
untrodden Spain and of the buoyant exuberance and dare-devil spirit of
her people.

Nowhere can the exciting scenes of the _Tentadero_ be witnessed to
greater advantage than on those wide level pasturages that extend from
Seville to the Bay of Cádiz. Here, far out on spreading _vega_ ablaze
with wild flowers, where the canicular sun flashes yet more light and
fire into the fiery veins of the Andaluz--here is enacted the first
scene in the drama of the _Toréo_. For ages these flower-strewn plains
have formed the scene of countless _tentaderos_, where the young bloods
of Andalucia, generation after generation, rival each other in feats of
derring-do, of skill, and horsemanship.

The remote _estancia_ presents a scene of unwonted revelry. All night
long its rude walls resound with boisterous hilarity--good-humour,
gaiety, and a spice of practical joking pass away the dark hours and by
daylight all are in the saddle. The young bulls have previously been
herded upon that part of the estate which affords the best level ground
for smart manoeuvre and fast riding, and the task of holding the
impetuous beasts together is allotted to skilled herdsmen armed with
long _garrochas_--four-yard lances, with blunt steel tip. All being
ready, a single bull is allowed to escape across the plain. Two horsemen
awaiting the moment, spear in hand, give chase, one on either flank. The
rider on the bull's left assists his companion by holding the animal to
a straight course. Presently the right-hand man, rising erect in his
stirrups, plants his lance on the bull's _off-flank_, near the tail, and
by one tremendous thrust, delivered at full speed, overthrows him--a
feat that bespeaks a good eye, a firm seat, and a strong arm. Some young
bulls will take two or more falls; others, on rising, will elect to
charge. The infuriated youngster finds himself faced by a second foe--a
horseman armed with a more pointed lance and who has been riding close
behind. This man is termed _el Tentador_. Straightway the bull charges,
receiving on his withers the _garrocha_ point; thrown back thus and
smarting under this first check to his hitherto unthwarted will, he
returns to the charge with redoubled fury, but only to find the horse
protected as before. The pluckier spirits will essay a third or a fourth
attack, but those that freely charge _twice_ are passed as fit for the
ring.

Should a young bull _twice_ decline to charge the _Tentador_, submitting
to his overthrow and only desiring to escape, he is condemned--doomed to
death, or at best to a life of agricultural toil.

Not seldom a bull singled out from the _rodéo_ declines to escape, as
expected; but, instead, charges the nearest person, on foot or mounted,
whom he may chance to espy. Then there is a flutter in the dovecotes!
Danger can only be averted by skilled riding or a cool head, since there
is no shelter. Spanish herdsmen, however (and amateurs besides), are
adepts in the art of giving "passes" to the bull--a smart fellow, when
caught thus in the open, can keep a bull off him (using his jacket only)
for several moments, giving time for horsemen to come up to his rescue.
Even then it is no uncommon occurrence to see horseman, horse, and bull
all rolling on the turf in a common ruin. Seldom does it happen that one
of these trial-days passes without broken bones or accidents of one kind
or another.

For four to five more years, the selected bulls roam at large over the
richest pasturages of the wide unfrequented prairies. Should pasture
fail through drought or deluge, the bulls are fed on tares, vetch, or
maize, even with wheat, for their début in public must be made in the
highest possible condition. The bulls should then be not less than five,
nor more than seven years old.

The _tentadero_ at the present day brings together aristocratic
gatherings that recall the tauromachian tournaments of old. Skill in
handling the _garrocha_ and the ability to turn-over a running bull are
accomplishments held in high esteem among Spanish youth. Even the
Infantas of Spain have entered into the spirit of the sport, and have
been known themselves to wield a dexterous lance.

At length, however, the years spent in luxurious idleness on the silent
plain must come to an end. One summer morning the brave herd find
grazing in their midst sundry strangers which make themselves extremely
agreeable to the lordly champions, now in the zenith of magnificent
strength and beauty. These strangers are the _cabrestos_ (or
_cabestros_, in correct Castilian), decoy-oxen sent out to fraternise
for a few days with the fighting race preparatory to the _Encierro_, or
operation of convoying the latter to the city whereat the _corrida_ is
to take place. Each _cabresto_ has a cattle-bell suspended round its
neck in order to accustom the wild herd to follow the lead of these base
betrayers of the brave. Thus the noble bulls are lured from their native
plains through country tracks and bye-ways to the entrance of the fatal
_toril_.

[Illustration: AFTER THE STROKE.]

An animated spectacle it is on the eve of the _corrida_ when, amidst
clouds of dust and clang of bells, the tame oxen and wild bulls are
driven forward by galloping horsemen and levelled _garrochas_. The
excited populace, already intoxicated with bull-fever and the
anticipation of the coming _corridas_, line the way to the Plaza,
careless if in the enthusiasm for the morrow they risk some awkward rips
to-day.

Once inside the lofty walls of the _toril_ it is easy to withdraw the
treacherous _cabestros_, and one by one to tempt the bulls each into a
small separate cell, the _chiquero_, the door of which will to-morrow
fall before his eyes. Then, rushing upon the arena, he finds himself
confronted and encircled by surging tiers of yelling humanity, while the
crash of trumpets and glare of moving colours madden his brain. Then the
gaudy horsemen, with menacing lances, recall his day of trial on the
distant plain--horsemen now doubly hateful in their brilliant glittering
tinsel.

What a spectacle is presented by the Plaza at this moment!--one without
parallel in the modern world. The vast amphitheatre, crowded to the last
seat in every row and tier, is held for some seconds in breathless
suspense; above, the glorious azure canopy of an Andalucian summer sky;
below, on the yellow arena, rushes forth the bull, fresh from his
distant prairie, amazed yet undaunted by the unwonted sight and
bewildering blaze of colour which surrounds him. For one brief moment
the vast mass of excited humanity sits spell-bound; the clamour of
myriads is stilled. Then the pent-up cry bursts forth in frantic volume,
for the gleaning horns have done their work, and _Buen toro! buen toro!_
rings from twice ten thousand throats.

We have traced in brief outline the life-history of our gallant bull; we
have brought him face to face with the matador and his Toledan
blade--there we must leave him.[33] In concluding this chapter, may we
beg the generous reader, should he ever enter the historic precincts of
the Plaza, to go there with an open mind, to form his own opinion
without prejudice or bias. Let him remember that to untrained eyes there
must ever fall unseen many of the finer "passes," much of the skilled
technique and science of tauromachian art. The casual spectator
necessarily loses that; he perceives no more difficulty in the perilous
_suerte de vol-á-pié_ than in the simpler but more attractive _suerte de
recibir_, and a hundred similar details. Finally, before crystallising a
judgment, critics should endeavour to see a few second-or third-rate
_corridas_. It is at these that the relative values of the forces
opposed--brute strength and human skill--are displayed in truer and more
speaking contrast. At set bull-fights of the first-class, the latter
quality is often so marked as partly to obscure the difficulties and
dangers it surmounts. Watch _toréros_ of finished skill and the game
seems easy--as when some phenomenal batsman, well set, knocks the best
bowling in England all over the field. Yet that bowling, the expert
knows, is not easy. Nor are the bulls. At second-rate fights the forces
placed face to face are more evenly balanced; and there it is often the
bull that scores.

THE MIURA QUESTION

A raging controversy, illuminative of Tauromachia, has recently split
into two camps the bull-fighting world and agitated one-half of Spain.
The breeding of the fighting-bull is in this country a semi-æsthetic
pursuit, analogous to that of short-horns or racehorses in England, and
the possession of a notable herd the ambition of many of the grandees
and big landowners of Spain.

Among the various crack herds that of Don Eduardo Miura of Sevilla had
always occupied a prominent rank; while during recent years the power
and dashing prowess of the _Miureno_ bulls had raised that breed almost
to a level apart, invested with a halo of semi-mysterious quality.
Captures occurred at every _corrida_; man after man had gone down before
these redoubted champions, and the minds of surviving
matadors--saturated one and all with gipsy-sprung superstition--began to
attribute secret or supernatural powers to the dreaded herd. Not a
swordsman but felt unwonted qualm when meeting a _Miureno_ on the sanded
arena. Showy players with the _capa_ and the banderillos proved capable
of giving attractive exhibitions, but it was another matter when the
matador stood alone, face to face with his foe. Even second-class
_toréros_ can, with almost any bull, show off their accomplishments in
these lighter séances; but in the supreme rôle--that of killing the
bull as art demands--there is no room for half-measures or deceptions.
To valour, ability must be united. When those two qualities are not both
coupled and balanced, then one of two things happens: Either the scene
becomes a dull one, a mixture of funk and feebleness made patent all
round; or disaster is at hand. This one hears forecast in the strange
cries of this meridional people--from all sides come the shouts of
"_Hule! Hule!_" Now _Hule_ is the name of the material with which the
stretchers for the killed and wounded are covered!

At this period (summer of 1908) a combination of the bull-fighting craft
attempted a boycott of the Miura herd, or at least double pay for
killing them. This was done secretly at first, since neither would open
confession redound to the credit of the "pig-tail," nor did it promise
favourable reception by the public.

At this conjuncture a notable _corrida_ occurred at Seville--six
_Miurenos_ being listed for the fight. Ricardo Torres (Bombita II.)
despatched his first with all serenity and valour; with his second, a
magnificent animal worthy of a royal pageant, he would doubtless have
comported himself with equal skill but for an extraneous incident. Upon
rushing into the arena this bull had at once impaled a foolhardy amateur
named Pepín Rodriguez who (quite against all recognised rule) had madly
sprung into the ring. The poor fellow was borne out only in time to
receive the last religious rite.

At the precise moment when Ricardo stepped forth to meet his foe, the
murmur reached his ear--Pepín was dead, and his superstitious soul sank
down to zero at that whisper from without. When the critical moment
arrived--the popular matador stood pale, nerveless, incapable. Then the
scorn of the mighty crowd burst forth in monstrous yells. Ricardo Torres
had fallen from the pinnacle of fame to the level of a clumsy beginner.
In a moment he was disgraced, his increasing reputation ruined for ever
under the eyes of all the world--and that by a _Miureno_ bull. From that
moment the fallen star organised his colleagues in open rebellion
against the victorious breed.

The line of action adopted was to abuse and libel the incriminated herd.
It was urged that the bulls lacked the true qualities of dash and valour
and only scored by treachery; and especially insinuated that the young
bulls were expressly taught at their _tentaderos_, or trials on the open
plains, to discriminate between shadow and substance--in other words,
to seek the man and disdain the lure--this naturally making the rôle of
matador more dangerous, and double pay was demanded. To outsiders it
would appear that on the day when bulls learn this, bull-fighting must
cease.

A storm burst that raged all winter--all classes taking part. Spain was
rent in twain; press and people, high and low, joined issue in this
unseemly wrangle. We cannot here enter into detail of the various
schemes, fair and unfair, whereby the bull-fighters' guild sought to
justify their action and their demands and to prejudice the terrible
_Miurenos_ in the public eye. They were seconded by most professionals
of renown, and soon all but seven had joined the league. But the
squabble with its resultant lawsuits and sordid financial aspect finally
disgusted the public.

Needless to add, a counter-association of bull-breeders had been forced
into existence, which eventually, despite varied and particular personal
interests unworthy of definition, united the opposition. Oh! it was a
pretty quarrel and one in its essence peculiar to Spain. But it held the
whole country engaged all winter in the throes of a semi-civil war!

At the first _corrida_ of the following season--held at Alicante January
18, 1909, and graced by the presence of King Alfonso XIII. in
person--the public delivered their verdict, filling the Plaza to
overflowing, although the whole of the six champions were of the
condemned Miura breed and the matadors, Quinito and Rerre, belonged to
the recalcitrant Seven. The bull-fighters' guild had received a fatal
blow.

Such was the situation, the mental equilibrium between the fiercely
contending factions, as the crucial period approached--the Easter
_corridas_ at Seville. The _impresarios_ of that function, having full
grip of the circumstance, engaged matadors of minor repute--Pepete,
Moréno de Alcalá, and Martin Vasquez. All three, although but of second
rank, were popular and regarded as coming men.

Flaming posters announced that six champions of the Miura breed would
face the swordsmen.

The occasion was unique, and D. Eduardo Miura rose to meet it,
presenting six bulls of incomparable beauty, magnificent in fine lines,
in dash, brute-strength, and valour, yet utterly devoid (as the event
proved) of guile or lurking treachery. Such animals as these six
demanded a Romero, a Montes, or a Guerrita as equals; instead, these
young _Toréros_ who faced them, courageous though they were, lacked
calibre for such an undertaking. This _corrida_ marked an epoch, but it
acquired the proportions of a catastrophe. The bye-word that "where
there are bulls there are no matadors" became that afternoon an axiom.

A _gettatura_, or atmosphere of superstition, surrounded the bulls and
unnerved or confounded their opponents. Pepete was caught by the first
bull, Moréno de Alcalá by the fourth, while Martin Vasquez (already
thrice caught) succumbed to the fifth.

The sixth bull thus remained unopposed champion of the Plaza--not a
matador survived to face him, and it became necessary to entice an
unfought bull (by means of trained oxen) to quit the arena--an event
unprecedented in the age-long annals of Tauromachy!

A typical incident, trivial by comparison, intervened. A youthful
spectator, frenzied to madness by the scene, had seized a sword, leapt
into the ring, and ... promptly met his death.

Every contention of the bull-fighters' guild had been falsified, and the
association collapsed. A Sevillian paper summed up the event thus:--

     The six bulls were each worthy to figure in toromaquian annals for
     their beautiful stamp, their lines, weight, bravery, and caste. We
     witnessed a tragedy when, on the death of the fifth bull, not a
     matador remained. But had that tragedy been caused by malice,
     wickedness, or treachery on the part of the bulls, surely a
     declaration of martial law in this city would have been demanded by
     not a few! But that was not so; each of the six competed in the
     qualities of bravery, nobility, and adaptability--such bulls are
     worthy of better swordsmen.

CHAPTER XX

SIERRA DE GRÉDOS

We met, our trio, on the platform of Charing Cross--not classic but
perhaps historic ground, since so many notable expeditions have started
therefrom, with others of less importance.

The heat in Madrid towards the end of August (1896) was not
excessive--less than we had feared. We enjoyed, that Sunday, quite an
excellent bull-fight, although the bulls themselves had been advertised
as of "only one horn" apiece (_de un cuerno_). There was no sign,
however, of any cornual deficiency as each magnificent animal dashed
into the arena, although with binoculars one could detect a slight
splintering of one horn-point, a defect which had caused the rejection
of that animal from the herd-list. For these bulls were, in fact, of
notable blood--that of Ybarra of Sevillian _vegas_--and none bearing
that name appear in first-class _corridas_ save absolutely perfect and
unblemished.

The point illustrates the keen appreciation of quality in the
fighting-bull, which in Spain goes without saying, yet may well deceive
the casual stranger. Thus an American party who breakfasted with us
(always keen to get the best, but not always knowing where to find it)
despised the "Unicorns" and reserved themselves instead for the opera.
We enjoyed an excellent fight with dashing bulls--two clearing the
barrier and causing a fine stampede among the military, the police, and
crowds of itinerant fruit-and water-sellers who occupy the
_Entre-barreras_.

These "Unicorns" proved really better bulls than at many of the formal
_corridas_. Three young and rising matadors despatched the animals--two
each. They were Galindo, Gavira, and Parrao--both the latter excellent.
Gavira looked as if he might take first rank in his order, while Parrao
displayed a coolness in the _lidia_ such as we had seldom before
seen--even to stroking the bull's nose--while in the final scene he
went in to such close quarters, "passing" the animal at half
arm's-length, that the whole 10,000 in the Plaza held their breath.
Parrao will become a first-flighter, unless he is caught, which
certainly seems the more natural event.

That evening we were hospitably entertained at the British Embassy,
where our host, the Chargé d'Affaires, regretted that the short
fourteen-days' Ortolan season had just that morning expired. Thus, quite
unconsciously, was an ornithological fact elucidated.

Next morning we were away by an early train, and after five hours'
journey joined our staff, as prearranged. But here we committed the
mistake of quartering in a country-town on the banks of the Tagus,
instead of encamping in the open country outside. Bitterly did we regret
having allowed ourselves to be thus persuaded. Long summer heats and
parching drought had destroyed what primitive system of natural drainage
may have existed in Talavera de la Reina and produced conditions that we
revolt from describing. Oh! those foul effluvia amidst which men live,
and feed, and sleep!

With intense delight, but splitting headaches, we left the plague-spot
at earliest dawn and set out for the mountain-land. For thirty odd miles
our route traversed a highland plateau; a group of five great bustard,
gasping in the noon-day heat, lay asleep so near the track that we tried
a shot with ball. Farther north, near Medina del Campo, we had also
observed these grand game-birds feeding on the ripening grapes in the
vineyards. Packs of sand-grouse (_Pterocles arenarius_) with musical
croak flew close around. Spanish azure magpies abounded wherever our
route passed through wooded stretches, and we also observed doves,
bee-eaters, stonechats, crested and calandra larks, ravens, and over
some cork-oaks wheeled a serpent-eagle showing very white below.

Towards evening the track began to ascend through the lower defiles of
the great cordillera that now pierced the heavens ahead. Presently we
entered pinewoods, resonant at dusk with the raucous voices of millions
of wingless grasshoppers or locusts (we know not their precise name)
that live high up in pines. Never before had we heard such strident
voice in an insect.

At 4000 feet we encamped beneath the pines by a lovely trout-stream.
This was the rendezvous whereat by arrangement we met with our old
friends the ibex-hunters of Almanzór--savage perhaps to the eye, yet
beyond all doubt radiantly glad to welcome back the foreigners after a
lapse of years. No mere greed of dollars inspired that enthusiasm, but
solely the bond of a common passion that bound us all--that of the
hunter. It was, however, but sorry hearing to listen to the reports they
told us around the camp-fire. Everywhere the ibex were yearly growing
scarcer, dwindling to an inevitable vanishing-point, former haunts
already abandoned--or, we should rather say, swept clean. Where but a
score of years before, 150 ibex had been counted in a single _montería_,
our friends reckoned that exactly a dozen survived. One remark
especially struck us. "There remained," with glee our friends assured
us, "one magnificent old goat, a ram of twelve years, out there on the
crags of Almanzór." _ONE!_ To _one_ sole big head had it dwindled?

[Illustration: "MINOR GAME"]

The valley of the Tagus divides two geological periods, and perhaps at
one time divided Europe from a retiring Africa. Marked differences
distinguish the fauna on either side of the river, and that of the north
(with its 10,000 feet altitude) promised reward worthy the labours of
investigation. Not a yard of that great mountain-land of Grédos has been
trodden by British foot (save our own) since the days of Wellington.
Hence it was an object with us to secure, not only ibex heads, but
specimens of the smaller mammalia that dwell in those heights. Our
mountain friends assembled round the camp-fire--twenty-five in all--each
promised to take up this unaccustomed quest and to regard as game every
hitherto unconsidered _bicho_ of the hills, whether feathered, furred,
or scaled. If ibex failed us, at least a harvest in such minor game we
meant to assure.[34]

Three o'clock saw us astir, bathing in the dark burn while moonlight
still streamed through sombre pines. Camp meanwhile was broken up;
tents and gear packed on ponies and mules, breakfast finished--we were
off, heavenwards. Then, just as the laden pack-animals filed through the
burn, there rode up a man--he had ridden all night--and bore a message
that changed our exuberant joy to grief--bad news from home.

There could be no doubt--the writer must return at once. Within five
minutes I had decided to make for a point on the northern railway beyond
the hills and distant some sixty miles as the crow flies. Baggage and
battery were abandoned; a handbag with a satchel of provisions and a
wine-skin formed my luggage, and, leaving my companions in this wild
spot, I set forth in the grey dawn on a barebacked mule devoid of
saddle, bridle, or stirrups, and accompanied by two of our hill-bred
lads, one riding pillion behind or running alongside in turn.

Where the grey ramparts of the Risco del Fraile and the Casquerázo frown
on a rugged earth below I parted with my old pals, they to continue the
ibex-hunt, I on my mournful homeward way.

Bee-eaters poised and chattered, brilliant butterflies (whose names I
forgot to note), abounded as we rode along those fearful edges and
boulder-studded steeps. Six hours of this brought us to a rock-poised
hamlet of the sierra. The landlord of the _posada_ was also the
_Alcalde_ (mayor) of the district, and even then presiding over a
meeting of the council (_ayuntamiento_). Amidst dogs, children, fleas,
and dirt, along with my two goat-herd friends, we made breakfast.

Thence over the main pass of Navasomera--no road, not the vestige of a
track, and a tremendous ravine stopped us for hours, and for a time
threatened to prove impassable. By patience and recklessness we lowered
mule and ourselves down scrub-choked screes, and after some of the
roughest work of my life gained a goat-herd's track which led upwards to
the pass. After clearing the reverse slope we traversed for twenty miles
a dreary upland (6000 feet) till we struck the head-waters of the
Albirche river, where my lads tickled half-a-dozen trout and a _frog_!
Kites beat along the stony hills, where wheatears and stonechats
fluttered incessant, with dippers and sandpipers on the burn below.

We halted at a lonely _venta_ (wayside wine-shop), where assembled
goat-herds courteously made room, and passed me their wine-skin.
Presently one of them asked whither I went, remarking, "Your Excellency
is clearly not of this province." Three or four skinny rabbits hung on
the wall, and the landlord, after inquiring what his Excellency would
eat, assured me he had plenty of everything, was yet so strong in his
commendation of _rabbit_ that I knew those wretched beasties were the
only food in the place. Presently with my two lads, and surrounded by
mules, cats, dogs, poultry, wasps, and fleas, we sat down to dine on
trout, rabbits-_á-pimiento_, and _chorizo_ (forty horse-power sausage).
I believe my boys also ate the frog!

Two hours after dark we were still dragging along the upland, while the
outlines of the jagged cordillera behind had faded in gathering night. I
could scarce have sat much longer on that bony saddleless mule when a
light was descried far below, and, on learning that we were still twenty
miles from our destination, I decided to put up for the night at that
little _venta_ of Almenge, sleeping on bare earth alongside my boys, and
close by the heels of our own and sundry other mules.

At breakfast there sat down, besides ourselves and hostess, sundry
muleteers, all sympathetic and commiserate since my mission had become
known. I was hurrying homewards to distant Inglaterra--so Juanito had
explained--because my brother was _poco bueno_--not very well. The
hostess looked hard, and said, "Señor, it must be _muy grave_ (very
serious), or they would not have telegraphed for the _caballero_ to
return."

Many more hours of tedious mule-riding followed ere at last from
lowering spurs we could see the end of the hills and the white track
winding away till lost to view across the plain below.

Here in the highest growth of trees were grey shrikes (_Lanius
meridionalis_), adults and young, besides missel-thrushes, turtle-doves,
etc. On the level corn-lands below, which we now traversed for miles, we
observed bustards (these, we were told, retired to lower levels in
September)--nothing else beyond the usual larks and kestrels common to
all Spain.

[Illustration: SCENES IN SIERRA DE GRÉDOS.

MOREZÓN. CUCHILLAR DE NAVÁJAS. ALMANZÓR.

THE CIRCO DE GRÉDOS.

LAGUNA DE GRÉDOS.

A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW--SHOWS THE AMEÁL AND CUCHILLAR DEL GUETRE.]

LOOKING SOUTH ACROSS LAGUNA.

HERMANITOS--

CASQUERÁZO.]

It was past noon ere the long ride was completed, and we entered the
ancient city that boasts bygone glories, splendid temples, and memories
of mediæval magnificence, but which is now ... well, Avila. But one
feature of Avila demands passing note--its massive walls, withstanding
the centuries, full forty feet in height by fifteen feet broad. An hour
later the Sûd-express dashed up whistling into the station, to the
genuine alarm of my leather-clad mountain-lads, who recoiled in fear
from an unwonted sight. They, noticing that the officials of the train
also spoke a foreign tongue (French), asked me if such things (_i.e._
railway trains) were "only for your Excellencies"--meaning for
foreigners, _vos-otros_.

At Paris a reassuring telegram filled me with joy indescribable, but in
London and at York further messages intensified anxiety. On August 29 I
reached home, and on the evening of September 3 doubts were resolved,
and the silver cord was loosed.

The Plaza de Almanzór, with its immediate environment, presents a
panorama of mountain-scenery unrivalled, not only in the whole
cordillera of Grédos, but probably in all Spain--it may be questioned if
the world itself contains a more striking landscape than that known as
the "Circo de Grédos." Briefly put, a vast central amphitheatre of
rock--really four-square (though known as the "Circo") in the depths of
which nestle an alpine lake--is enclosed by stupendous rock-walls and
precipices of granite; some of these smooth and sheer, others rugged and
disintegrated or broken up by snow-filled gorges of intricacies that
defy the power of pen to describe. Three of these vast mural ramparts
stand almost rectangular, the fourth shoots out obliquely, traversing
the abysmal _enclave_ and all but closing the fourth side of its
quadrilateral. The rough sketch-map at p. 141 shows the configuration
better than written words, while the photos convey, so far as such can,
some idea of the scenery.[35]

The actual peak of Almanzór which dominates the whole "Circo," as viewed
from the north, culminates in a flattened cone, the summit being split
into two huge rock-needles or pinnacles separated by an unfathomed
fissure between. Only one of these needles--and that the lower--has yet
been scaled. The loftier of the pair, though it only surpasses its
fellow by a few yards in height, is so sheer, its surface so devoid of
crevice or hand-hold, that the ascent (without ropes and other
appliances) appears quite impracticable.

Will the reader seat himself in imagination at the spot marked (*) on
the map. Surveying the scene from this point, the whole opposite horizon
is filled by the Altos de Morezón--a jagged and turreted escarpment
pierces the sky, while its frowning walls dip down, down in endless
precipices to the inky-black waters of the Laguna far below.

Towards the left one's view is interrupted by an extraordinary mass of
upstanding granite, disintegrated and blackened by the ages, known as
the Ameál de Pablo--in itself a virgin mountain, as yet untrodden by
human foot. This colossus, glittering with snow-striæ, surmounts the
oblique ridge aforesaid, that of the Cuchillar del Guetre, which
traverses two-thirds of the "Circo," leaving but a narrow gap between
its own extremity and the opposite heights of Morezón.

Continuing towards the right, there rises to yet loftier altitudes the
black contour of the Risco del Fraile, beloved of ibex; while adjacent
on the north-west, but on slightly lower level, uprear from the
snow-flecked skyline three more unscaled masses--rectangular monoliths
like giant landmarks. This trio is distinguished as Los Hermanitos de
Grédos, their abruptness of outline almost appalling as set off by an
azure background.

Farther to the right (in the angle of the square) two more
mountain-masses--knife-edged, jagged, and embattled along the
crests--frown upon one another across a gorge rent through their very
bowels. These two are the Alto del Casquerázo and the Cuchillar de las
Navájas, while the interposed abyss--the Portilla de los Machos--cuts
clean through the great cordillera, forming a natural gateway between
its northern and its southern faces. As the name implies, this gorge is
the main route of the ibex from their much-loved Riscos del Fraile to
their second chief resort, the Riscos del Francés, which occupy the
southern face of the sierra whose snowfields defy even the heats of
August.

From our present standpoint the southern wall of the Circo--the
Cuchillar de las Navájas--is not visible. This section of the
quadrilateral is equally abrupt and intricate, dropping in massive
bastions towards the level of the lake. Just beyond the Plaza de
Almanzór a second deep gorge or "pass"--the Portilla Bermeja--unites the
northern and the southern faces.

Behind where we sit lies yet another panorama of terrible wildness,
again dominated by rock-walls of fantastic contour--the valley of Las
Cinco Lagunas. But right here our rock-descriptive powers give out--we
can only refer to the map.

[Illustration: GRIFFON VULTURE AND NEST]

CHAPTER XXI

SIERRA DE GRÉDOS (_Continued_)

IBEX-HUNTING

Why try to describe the distress of that morning or the efforts it cost,
during fourteen hours, to gain the summits of Grédos? Again and again
what we had taken for our destination proved to be some intervening
ridge with another desperate gorge beyond. Suffice it that it was an
hour after dark ere we finally lifted the cargoes from the dead-beat
beasts. Presently the moon arose, and against her pale effulgence
towered the gnarled and pinnacled peaks of Almanzór, piercing the very
skies--a lovely but to me an appalling scene. Their altitude is 8800
feet.

Our whole plan and ambitions in this expedition were to find and stalk
the ibex--the very undertaking which had proved beyond our powers during
two strenuous efforts in former years as readers of _Wild Spain_ already
know.

Now in all stalking it must be obvious even to non-technical readers
that the first essential is to bring under survey of the binoculars a
very considerable extent of game-country every day; but here, in the
chaotic jumble of perpendicular or impending precipice or smooth
rock-faces inclined at angles that we dare not traverse, any such
extensive survey is a sheer impossibility. Alpine climbers or others in
the fullest enjoyment of youth and activity might get forward at a
reasonable speed. To us, already past that stage, the feat was
impossible, _i.e._ by our own sole exertions. That we, of course, knew
in advance; but our plan was to supplement our own powers by availing
the splendid rock-climbing abilities of our friends, the goat-herds of
Almanzór, on whom we relied for at least finding the game in the first
instance.

[Illustration: "AT THE APEX OFF ALL THE SPAINS."

(IBEX ON THE PLAZA DE ALMANZÓR.)]

Ramón and Isidóro were away by the first glint of dawn, disappearing
in opposite directions so as to encompass both the surrounding
rock-ranges and to mark ibex in stalkable positions. We awaited their
return in camp, not only with anxiety, but with some impatience, since
the temperature had fallen so low that no wraps or blankets served to
keep us warm while inactive.

After a fruitless search of four hours, the scouts returned; no better
results attended a second morning and a third--nor our impatience.
Clearly the second resource, that of "driving," must now be tried. It
was only ten o'clock that third morning, and already the drivers, who
had left at dawn so as to reach agreed positions in case of the failure
of resource No. 1, would be approaching the fixed points four miles away
on the encircling heights, whereat, by signal, they would know whether
to proceed with the "drive" or to return by the circuitous route they
had gone. Meanwhile we have ourselves to reach the "passes" in the
heights above, and the scramble and struggle which that ascent involved
we must leave readers to imagine. Bertram gets through such work fairly
well, but the writer, a generation older, is fain to choose a lower
place, reputed a likely "pass." Here, after waiting an hour, we descried
the drivers showing-up at different points of those encircling Riscos de
Morezón, climbing like flies down perpendicular faces, disappearing in
gorges, and doing all that specialised hunters can. But not an ibex came
our way. When we reassembled, it proved that three goats had been seen,
one a ram. Thus ended that day--cruel work amidst lovely though terrible
scenery--and never a wild-goat within our sight.

On the morrow our selected positions were to be yet nearer the heavens
above than those of yesterday--along the highest skylines of Grédos,
between the Plaza de Almanzór and the Ameál. From our camp my own post
was pointed out, a niche in that far-away impossible ridge. How long, I
asked Ramón, do you imagine it will take me to reach it? Our friends,
who, lean and lythe of frame, a specialised race of mountaineers, mock
mountain-heights and appreciate too little (though they recognise) our
relative weakness, reply, "Two hours." But at that precise moment, while
I yet scanned with binoculars the scene of this supreme effort,
examining in a species of horror that infinity of piled rock-masses,
their details cruelly developed in a blazing sunlight, just then, across
the field of the glass soared a single lammergeyer. Now I know that
these giant birds-of-prey span some ten feet from wing to wing, and the
tiny speck that this one, reduced by distance, appeared on the
object-glass helped me to gauge what lay before us.

A black point that from camp I had mentally noted as a landmark proved
to be a mass of dolomite seamed with interjected striæ of glistening
felspar, big as a village church!

[Illustration: "THE WAY OF AN EAGLE IN THE AIR"

(LAMMERGEYER--_Gypaëtus barbatus_)]

I had demanded four hours, and precisely within that period reached my
celestial pinnacle. Bertram was beyond and higher still--where, I could
not see. But my own post seemed to me as sublime as even an ibex-hunter
could desire, at the culminating apex of the Spains and the centre of
dispersal of four giant gorges each bristling with bewildering chaos of
crags and rock-ruin, while above, to right and left, towered yet loftier
_riscos_.

At these serene altitudes life appeared non-existent. The last signs of
a cryptogamic vegetation we had left below, and I could now see eagles
or vultures soaring almost perpendicularly beneath and reduced by
distance to moving specks.

Yet shortly before reaching our posts, along one of those awesome
shelves with a 500-feet drop below, a touch from Ramón drew my attention
to a truly magnificent old ibex-ram in full view, quietly skipping from
crag to crag some 300 yards above. So slow and deliberate were his
movements, with frequent halts to gaze, that time was allowed to gain a
rational position and to enjoy for several minutes a glorious view
through binoculars. Twice he halted in front of small snow-slopes,
against which those curving horns were set off in perfect detail. Then
with measured movements, making good each foot-hold, alternated by
marvellous bounds to some rock-point above, the grand wild-goat vanished
from view. His course led into a rock-region that already our drivers
were encompassing, hence we had strong hopes that we might not have seen
the last of him.

Two herds of ibex, it transpired, were enclosed in this beat; one
comprising nine females and small beasts, the second two with a
two-year-old ram; but our big friend was seen no more.

I had, however, enjoyed a scene that went far to compensate for the
tribulations it had cost.

Late that night the two lads who had accompanied A. returned to camp.
After riding fifteen hours on Wednesday, he could do no more, slept at a
_venta_, and reached Avila (which he considers twenty leagues from
Ornillos, the spot where he left us) at noon on Thursday, where he
caught the Sûd-express, and to-night will be in Paris. He sent us a few
pencilled words, urging us to utmost endeavours with the wild-goats, as
this will be in all probability our _last chance_. I agree, for the
natives kill off male and female alike, only a few wily old rams remain,
a mere fraction of the stock which formerly existed. The shepherds who
come to these high tops to pasture their herds for a few weeks each
summer have chances to kill the ibex which they do not neglect. When Don
Manuel Silvela, the statesman, was here twenty years ago, some 150 ibex
were driven past his post above the Laguna de Grédos. Not a quarter of
that number now survive in all the range.

_August 26._--Everything outside the tents was frozen solid last night,
but with sunrise the temperature goes up with a bound. We had trout for
breakfast, caught by hand from the burn below. To-day the work was
easier, for the two beats were both small and more or less on the same
level as our camp. The first lasted five hours, but gave no result. We
then moved to the west, always rising till we found ourselves on the
summit of another ridge looking down into a mighty gorge and upon the
mysterious rock-cradled Cinco Lagunas de Grédos. The plains of Castile
lay beneath us like a map, towns and villages distinguishable through
the glass though not without. Bertram was placed in a "pass," about 100
yards wide, piercing the topmost peaks, myself in a similar _portilla_
rather lower down. An hour later Dionýsio, who had climbed the crag
above me, whence he could see into the abyss beneath, signalled as he
hung over the edge of his eyrie that something was coming. Then he slid
down to my side to tell me that three goats were moving slowly up the
gorge. Dionýsio returned to his ledge, and for half an hour I enjoyed
that state of breathless suspense when one expects each moment to be
face to face with a coveted trophy. The three goats, I perceived, must
pass through this _portilla_ on one side or the other of the rock behind
which I lay expectant. At last there caught my ear the gentle patter of
horned hoofs on rocks, but oh!... it was succeeded by the bang of a gun.
Dionýsio had fired from his ledge twenty yards above me. The three ibex
had come on to within ten yards of where I lay, looking, as it were,
down a tunnel. The wind had been right enough, but it appeared an
erratic puff had elected to blow straight from us to them. They caught
it, and in a flash disappeared down the ravine, Dionýsio, as he hung
from the ledge, giving them a parting shot. That was friend Dionýsio's
version of the event. What actually occurred, all who are experienced in
this wild-hunting will divine without our telling. I ran from my post
along the lip of the abyss--luckily there was a bit of fairly good
going--hoping to get a chance as the game turned upwards again; for at
once, on hearing a shot, the beaters far below joined in a chorus of
wild yells to push them upwards. This they succeeded in doing, but the
goats passed beyond my range. I now saw there were four in all--three
females and a handsome ram. Dionýsio made a further effort to turn them,
which so far succeeded that the ram separated and bounded up the rocks
towards the higher pass, where he ran the gauntlet of Bertram within
thirty yards. Now the whole stress and burden of a laborious expedition
fell upon the youngest shoulders, for B. was barely out of his teens,
and more skilled with shot-gun than with ball. The responsibility proved
almost too great--almost, but not quite; for one bullet had taken
effect, and the rocks beyond the little "pass" were sprinkled with
blood. The late hour, 4 P.M., and the long scramble campwards forbade
our following the spoor that night, but the ram was recovered some two
miles beyond the point where we had last seen him--horn measurements
24-1/8 inches, by 8-1/4 inches basal circumference.

[Illustration: TWO SPANISH IBEX SHOT IN SIERRA DE GRÉDOS, JULY, 1910.

MARQUÉS DE VILLAVICIOSA DE ASTEREAS.

MARQUÉS DE VIANA.

TWO SPANISH IBEX SHOT IN SIERRA DE GRÉDOS, JULY, 1910.]

The beaters reported having seen several ibex during this drive, two
small rams, females, and kids--thirteen in all. We devoted a couple more
days to this section of the sierra, but both proved unsuccessful so far
as regards the one grand ibex-ram which we had seen. Here, on the Riscos
del Fraile, and later on at Villarejo, we each spared small beasts; but
at last were fain to be content with a three-year-old goat, whose head
adorns our walls.

Before daylight we were aroused by the breaking-up of camp, and by seven
o'clock had taken a downward course from that lofty eyrie which we had
occupied for ten days. It was a lovely ride with bright sunlight
lighting up every detail of the mountain scenery, while every mile
brought evidence of the lowering altitude--first, in green herbage, then
in brushwood and stunted trees, till at mid-day we reached the region of
pines in the cool valley of the river Tormes. Here we halted, and while
lunch was being prepared, enjoyed a swim in those crystal torrents. That
afternoon was devoted to trout, but with meagre results. The stream
gleamed like polished steel, everything that moved in the waters could
be seen, and doubtless its denizens enjoyed a similar advantage as
regards things in the other element. At any rate, none save the smaller
trout would look at a fly; so we continued our journey, following the
river-side in the direction of the mountains of Villarejo.

Dionýsio and Caraballo had gone to a hamlet lower down for bread and
wine. There was no bread, and having to wait till it was baked, delayed
the march. Meanwhile, we wandered on through pine-woods with the
beautiful stream fretting and foaming, and collecting a few
bird-specimens, though none of much interest. We did, however, come
across two gigantic nests of the black vulture, flat platforms of
sticks, each superimposed on the summit of a lofty pine. Even in these
uplands the black vulture nests in March, when the whole land is yet
enveloped in snow, and while frequent snowstorms sweep down the valleys.
So closely does the parent vulture incubate, that she allows herself to
be completely buried on her nest beneath the drifting snow. On these
hanging steeps the eyries are overlooked from above, yet not a vestige
of the sitting vulture can be seen until she is disturbed by a blow from
an axe on the trunk, or by a shot fired--then off she goes, dislodging a
cloud of snow from her three-yard wings as she launches into space.

[Illustration: BLACK VULTURE (_Vultur monachus_)]

The black vulture lays but one huge egg, often boldly marked and
suffused with dark-brown and rusty blotches and splashes, in contrast
with the eggs of the griffon vulture, which are usually colourless or,
at most, but faintly shaded.

The latter, so abundant in Andalucia, is remarkably scarce in Grédos,
where we saw rather more eagles than vultures. The chief bird-forms of
the high sierra were ravens and choughs, ring-ouzels, rock-thrush and
black-chat (_Dromolaea leucura_). The alpine accentor (_Accentor
collaris_) and alpine pipit (_Anthus spipoletta_) also reach to the
highest summits; the blue thrush lower down.

In the valley of the Tormes and among the pines many British species
were at home, such as blackbirds and thrushes, redstarts, nuthatches,
and Dartford warblers; besides the two southern wheatears, since found
to be but _one_ dimorphic form!

THE RISCOS DE VILLAREJO

Three hours later the mule-train overtook us, and we pursued the track
upwards towards the Riscos de Villarejo till darkness obliged us to
encamp. The jagged outline ahead, marking our destination, looked far
away; we could go no nearer to-night, and outspanned on a tiny lawn on
the mountain-slope. Once more we had left tree and shrub far below, but
the dry _piorno_-scrub made fire enough to cook a frugal supper. The
hunters, with their stew-pots balanced on stones, sat round us in a
circle.

Next morning we were alert, as usual, before the dawn--called at 4
A.M.--and off again on another terrible climb towards the summits. It is
no mild trudge through turnips this 1st of September, but one more
effort to interview in his haunts the Spanish mountain-ram.

At 6000 feet we reached a point beyond which no domestic beast can go.
Here, leaving our own men to encamp, the upward climb with the hunters
begins. This day and each of the two following were devoted solely to
stalking, each of us separately with his guide taking a diverging course
along two of the lower ridges of the sierra. Two female ibex were
descried in a position which might without difficulty have been stalked.
These, however, we left in peace; though, as it proved, they were the
only animals seen before we regained camp, an hour after dark, tired out
and empty-handed once more. On the fourth day we drove this same
rock-region, but without success, only two goats, both small males,
being seen. The entire failure of this venture was a disappointment, as
ibex were known to frequent these reefs. An explanation was suggested
that a herd of domestic goats had approached too near their exclusive
wild congeners, which had fled to a neighbouring mountain. That
mountain, we arranged, should be explored at daylight on the morrow by
two of our hunters. The cold at night in camp was intense, and our
Andalucian retainers complained bitterly, although they kept an enormous
fire going; yet during the day the heat had been excessive, and the sun
burns terribly at these altitudes.

The following morning we tried a comprehensive drive encompassing two
gorges composed of sublimely grand rocks. As I look over the edge of the
black pinnacle that forms my post the sheer drop below is appalling, and
above me tower similar masses in rugged and frowning splendour. But not
a goat was seen till quite late in the afternoon, when two females
slowly approaching were descried. For a mile we watched them, so
deliberate was their progress, till they disappeared through the very
"pass" where A. had shot his some five years before.

_September 6._--Our scouts returned last night, having failed to locate
ibex on the opposite mountain; so we made a final effort on the Riscos
of Villarejo--again blank. Well! we have done our best for six days on
those terrible rocks, on which we must now turn our backs for the
present.

At the village of Arénas de San Pedro we bade good-bye to all our
people; even their wives (clad in the same short skirts of greens and
other brilliant hues we had noticed in '91, for fashions change slowly
in the sierra) came down from Guisando to say farewell to the Ingléses.
Here Ramón brought in the head of Bertie's ibex shot the week before;
Ramón presented me with his powder-horn and bullet-pouch as a keepsake,
and Juanito with a mountain-staff. Our visit had marked an epoch in the
simple annals of the sierra and of its honest and primitive inhabitants.

To-day we rejoice to add that, as already fully set forth at pp.
141-142, wild-goats may be counted in troops on the erewhiles
ibex-denuded crags of Almanzór.

CHAPTER XXII

AN ABANDONED PROVINCE

(ESTREMADURA)

Can this really be Europe--crowded Europe? For four long days we have
traversed Estremenian wilds, and during that time have scarce met a
score of folk, nor seen serious evidence of effective human occupation.
At first our northward way led through rolling undulations, the western
foothills of the long Sierra Moréna, clad with the everlasting
gum-cistus, with euonymus, a few stunted trees, and the usual aromatic
brushwood of the south. Only at long intervals--say a league or two
apart--would some tiny cot, of woodcutter perhaps, or goat-herd, gleam
white amidst the rolling green monotone. Here and there wild-thyme
(_cantuéso_) empurpled the slopes as it were August heather, but the
chief beauty-spot was the rose-like flower of the cistus, now (May) in
fullest bloom--waxy white, with orange centre and a splash like black
velvet on each petal. Next, for a whole day we ride through open forest
of evergreen oak and wild-olive, the floor carpeted with tasselled
grasses, tufty broom, and fennel. We encamp where we list and cut
firewood, none saying us nay or inquiring by what authority we do these
things.

One evening while we investigated an azure magpie's nest in an ilex hard
by the tents, four donkey-borne peasants appeared. Though they rode
close by, yet they showed no sign, passing silent and incurious. The few
natives we met hereabouts all seemed listless, apathetic,
uncommunicative, in striking contrast with their sprightly southern
neighbours beyond the hills in Andalucia. We read that Estremadura is a
"paludic" province and unhealthy; possibly the malarial microbe has
sapped energy.

To forest, next day succeeded more rolling hills with ten-foot bush and
scattered trees. From a crag-crowned ridge, the culminating point of
these, there fell within view three human habitations--_three_, in a
vista of thirty miles--two tall castles perched in strong places, the
third apparently a considerable farm. The landscape is often lovely
enough, park-like, with infinite sites for country halls; yet all, all
seems abandoned by man and beast. The few wild creatures observed
included common and azure magpies, hoopoes, and bee-eaters, rollers,
doves, kestrels, with a sprinkling of partridge and an occasional hare.

A landowner in this province (Badajoz) endeavoured to preserve the game
on his estate. At first all went well. As their enemies decreased,
partridge rapidly multiplied. But thereupon occurred an influx of
extraneous vermin (foxes and wild-cats) from adjacent wilds, and Nature
restored her former exiguous balance of life.

[Illustration: ROLLER (_Coracias garrula_)]

The scene changes. For the next twenty miles there is not a tree or a
bush, hardly a living thing on those dreary levels save larks and
bustards. The hungry earth shows brown and naked through its scanty
herbage, stript by devouring locusts.

Travelling by rail the abandonment seems yet more striking, since thus
we cover more ground. True, along the line cluster some slight attempts
at cultivation elsewhere absent; but these amount to nothing--a few
patches of starveling oats, six to eighteen inches high, with scarce a
score of blades to the yard! Two men are reaping with sickles. Each has
his donkey tethered hard by, and at nightfall will ride to his distant
village, a league away maybe, hidden in some unnoticed hollow. Scarce a
village have we seen.

The monotony wearies. The abject barrenness of Estremadura, its
lifelessness, is actually worse, more pronounced and depressing, than we
had anticipated. Now the far horizon on the north bristles with
battlements, towers, and spires--that is Trujillo, an old-world fortress
of the Caesars, crowning a granite koppie in yon everlasting plain. The
ten leagues that yet intervene recall, in colour and contour, a
mid-Northumbrian moor, wild and bleak--here the home of bustards,
stone-curlew, sand-grouse, ... and of locusts.

From the topmost turrets of Trujillo let us take one more survey of this
Estremenian wilderness ere yet we pronounce a final judgment.

[Illustration: TRUJILLO]

Ascend the belfry of Santa Maria la Mayor and you command an unrivalled
view. Spread out beneath your gaze stretch away tawny expanses of waste
and veld to a radius averaging forty miles, and everywhere girt-in by
encircling mountains. To the north Grédos' snowy peaks pierce the
clouds, 100 kilometres away, with the Sierra de Gata on their left,
Bejar on the right. To the eastward the Sierra de Guadalupe,[36]
far-famed for its shrine to Our Lady of that ilk, closes that horizon;
while to westward the ranges of Sta. Cruz and Montánches shut in the
frontier of Portugal. What a panorama--a circle eighty miles across!

Yet in all that expanse you can detect no more evidence of human
presence than you would see in equatorial Africa--surveying, let us say,
the well-known Athi Plains from the adjoining heights of Lukénia.

We are aware that already, in describing La Mancha, we have employed an
African simile; but here, in Estremadura, the comparison is yet more
apposite and forceful than in the wildest of Don Quixote's country. We
will vary it by likening Estremadura rather to the highlands of
Transvaal--the land of the back-veld Boer--than to Equatoria. Here, as
there, rocky koppies stud the wastes, and (differing from La Mancha)
water-courses traverse them, with intermittent pools surviving even in
June, stagnant and pestilent. Such in Africa would be
jungle-fringed--worth trying for a lion! Here their naked banks scarce
provide covert for a hare.

[Illustration: "SCAVENGERS"]

An index of the poverty-stricken condition of Estremadura is afforded by
the comparative absence of the birds-of-prey. Never do the soaring
vultures--elsewhere so characteristic of Spanish skies--catch one's eye,
and very rarely an eagle or buzzard. A province that cannot support
scavengers promises ill for mankind.

In his mirror-like "Notes from Spain," Richard Ford suggested that the
vast unknown wildernesses of Estremadura would, if explored, yield store
of wealth to the naturalist, and each succeeding naturalist (ourselves
included) followed that clue. Therein, however, lurked that old human
error, _ignotum pro mirabili_. Deserted by man, the region is equally
avoided by bird and beast. We write generally and in full sense of local
exceptions--that wild fallow-deer, for example, find here one, possibly
their only European home;[37] that red deer of superb dimensions, roe,
wolves, and wild-boars abound on Estremenian sierra and _vega_. Then,
too, there may well be isolated spots of interest in 20,000 square
miles, but which escaped our survey. Yet what we write represents the
essential fact--Estremadura is a barren lifeless wilderness and offers
no more attraction to naturalist than to agriculturist.

The cause of all this involves questions not easily answered. In earlier
days the case may have been different. Obviously the Romans thought
highly of Estremadura and meant to run it for all it was worth. The
Caesars were no visionaries, and such colossal works as their reservoirs
and aqueducts at Merida, the massive amphitheatre and circus at the same
city (a half-completed bull-ring stands alongside in pitiful contrast),
besides their construction of a first-class fortress at Trujillo, all
attest a matured judgment. After the Romans came the Goths, and they,
too, have left evidence of appreciation (though less conspicuous) alike
in city and country. Four hundred years later the Arabs overthrew the
Goths on Guadalete (A.D. 711), and within two years had overrun
two-thirds of Spain. But the Moor (so far as we can see) despised these
barren uplands, or perhaps assessed them at a truer value--a single
strong outpost (Trujillo) in an otherwise worthless region.

Much or little, however, each of those successive conquerors found
_some_ use for Estremadura. A totally different era opened with the fall
of Moslem dominion. After the _Reconquista_ and subsequent extermination
of the Moors (seventeenth century), Estremadura was utterly abandoned,
by Cross and Crescent alike, till the highland shepherds of the Castiles
and of León, looking down from its northern frontier, saw in these
lower-lying wastes a useful winter-grazing. Then commenced seasonal
nomadic incursions thereto, pastoral tribes driving down each autumn
their flocks and herds, much as the Patriarchs did in Biblical days--or
the Masai in East Africa till yesterday.

Though the land itself was ownerless, shadowy prescriptive rights
gradually evolved, and under the title of _Mestas_ continued to be
recognised by the pastoral nomads till abolished by Royal Decree in the
sixteenth century. From that date commenced the subdivision of
Estremadura into the present large private estates--again recalling the
back-veld Boers, who hate to live one within sight of another, except
that here owners are non-resident.

All this may explain superficially the existing desolation. The
essential causes, however, are, we believe, (1) barrenness of soil; and
(2) an enervating climate, fever-infected by stagnant waters, dead
pools, and ubiquitous shallow swamps that poison the air and produce
mosquitoes in millions.

Gazing in reflective mood upon those magnificent memorials of Roman rule
at Merida, one is tempted to wonder whether, after all, the silent ruins
(with a stork's nest on each parapet) do not yet point the true way to
Estremenian prosperity--IRRIGATION (plus energy--a quality one misses in
Estremadura).

TRUJILLO

Founded 2000 years back (by Augustus Caesar), this out-of-the-world city
has a knack of periodically dropping out of history--skipping a few
centuries at a time--meanwhile presumably dragging on its own dreamy
unrecorded existence, "by the world forgot," till some fresh incident
forces it on the stage once more. There were stirring times here while,
for near a thousand years, the upland vegas were swept and ravaged by
three successive waves of foreign invasion. Then Trujillo relapsed into
trance, skipped the middle ages, and awoke to find at its gates another
foreign foe--this time the French.

And the city reflects these vicissitudes. The Roman fortress,
magnificent in extent and military strength, completely covers the
rugged granite heights, imposing still in crumbling ruin. Forty-foot
ramparts with inner and outer defences, bastions and flanking towers,
machicolated and pierced for arrow fire, crown the whole circuit of the
koppie. Signs of ancient grandeur everywhere meet one's eye; but
contrasts pain at every turn. For filthy swine to-day defile palaces;
donkeys are stalled in sculptured _patios_ whence armoured knight on
Arab steed once rode forth to clatter along the stone-paved ravelins
that led to the point of danger. From mullioned embrasures above, whence
the Euterpes and Lalagés of old waved tender adieux, now peer slatternly
peasants; crumbling battlements form homes for white owls and bats,
kestrels, hoopoes, and a multitude of storks such as can nowhere else be
seen congregated in a single city. The sense of desolation is
accentuated by finding such feathered recluses as blue rock-thrush and
blackchat actually nesting in the very citadel itself.

The citadel marks the era of war. The Goths followed and despised
fortifications. Their ornate palaces, enriched with escutcheons and
sculptured device, lie below, outside the Roman walls.

After the Goths and after the Moors, Trujillo enjoyed a transient
awakening when Pizarro, son of an Estremenian swine-herd, with Cortez
(also born hard by), swept the New World from Mexico to the Andes, and
the glory of her sons, with the gold of the Incas, poured into the city.
Thereafter destiny altered. Instead of consolidating new-won dominions
by fostering commerce, exploiting their resources by establishing forts
and factories, plantations, harbours, and the like, Spain directed her
energies to missionising. Instead of commercial companies with fleets of
merchantmen, she sent out sacred Brotherhoods, friars of religious
orders, and studded the New World with empty names, all acts right
enough and laudable in their own proper time and place.

Trujillo boasts an industry in the manufacture of a rough red-brown
earthenware, chiefly tall water-jars, amphora-shaped, which damsels
carry upright on their heads with marvellous balance; and iron-spiked
dog-collars as here represented. These are not suitable for lap-dogs,
but for the huge mastiffs employed in guarding sheep and which, without
such protection, would be devoured by wolves!

[Illustration: WOLF-PROOF DOG-COLLAR

(Six-inch diameter.)]

Hitherto our journeys have led us chiefly through the Estremenian plain,
but after passing Plasencia the country changes. We enter the outliers
of those great sierras that shut out Estremadura from León and Castile,
from Portugal--and the world! Here one quickly perceives signs of
greater prosperity, due in part to the heavier rainfall from the hills,
to a slightly richer soil, but mainly to the superior energy of
hill-folk. Wherever the soil warrants it, cultivation is pushed right up
amidst the jungled slopes of the hills.

In the folds of the sierra grow magnificent woods of Spanish chestnut
with some walnut trees, and among these we observed many fresh species
of birds, including:--nuthatch (not seen elsewhere in Spain), green
woodpecker, common (but no azure) magpies, golden orioles, pied and
spotted fly-catchers, grey and white wagtails (breeding), whitethroats
and nightingales, longtailed tits, woodlarks, corn-buntings,
rock-sparrows, and quite a number of warblers (spectacled, rufous, and
subalpine, Bonelli's and melodious willow-warblers), besides the usual
common species--serins, chaffinches, robins, wrens, and so on. On the
sterile upland plateaux, both here and in Castile, the black-bellied
sand-grouse breeds, as well as stone-curlew, bustard, and the usual
larks and chats.

GRANADILLA

At the extreme northern verge of the plain one encounters a singular
survival of long-past and forgotten ages, the "fenced city" of
Granadilla, so absolutely unspoilt and unchanged by time that one
breathes for a spell a pure mediæval air. Granadilla is mentioned in no
book that we possess; but it stands there, nevertheless, perched on a
rocky bluff above the rushing Alagón, and entirely encompassed by a
thirty-foot wall. Not a single house, not a hut, shows up outside that
rampart, and its single gate is guarded by a massive stone-built tower.

This tower, we were told by a local friend, was erected after the
"Reconquest" (which here occurred about 1300), but the bridge which
spans the Alagón, immediately below, is attributed to the Romans--more
than a thousand years earlier! and the town itself to the Moors--a
pretty tangle which some wandering archaeologist may some day
unravel.[38] That the Moors established a settlement here, or hard by,
we are confident owing to the existence of extensive _huertas_
(plantations) a few miles up the banks of Alagón. This is just one of
those _enclaves_ of rich soil for which the Arabs always had a keen eye;
and ancient boundary-walls, with evidence of extreme care in irrigation
and cultivation, all bespeak Moorish handiwork. These _huertas_ are
planted with fig, pomegranate, cherry, and various exotic fruit-trees,
besides cork-oak and olive; every tree displaying signs of extreme old
age--though that strikes one in most parts of Spain. Never have we seen
more luxuriant crops of every sort than in those ancient _huertas_. Yet
they are inset amid encircling wastes!

Granadilla (its name surely suggests cherished memories in its founders
of the famous Andalucian _vega_) lies at the gate of that strange wild
mountain-region called Las Hurdes.

CHAPTER XXIII

LAS HURDES (ESTREMADURA) AND THE SAVAGE TRIBES THAT INHABIT THEM

Isolated amidst the congeries of mountain-ranges that converge upon
León, Castile, and Estremadura, lies a lost region that bears this name.
The Hurdes occupy no small space; they represent no insignificant nook,
but a fair-sized province--say fifty miles long by thirty broad--severed
from the outer world; cut off from Portugal on the one side, from Spain
on the other; while its miserable inhabitants are ignored and despised
by both its neighbours.

[Illustration: SKETCH-MAP OF LAS HURDES]

Who and what are these wild tribes (numbering 4000 souls) that, in a
squalor and savagery incredible in modern Europe, cling, in solitary
tenacity, to these inhospitable fastnesses?

Possibly they are the remnants of Gothish fugitives who, 1200 years ago,
sought shelter in these hills from Arab scimitars; other theories trace
their origin back to an earlier era. But whether Goths or Visigoths,
Vandals or other, these pale-faced Hurdanos are surely none of swarthy
Arab or Saracenic blood; and equally certainly they are none of Spanish
race. The Spanish leave them severely alone--none dwell in Las Hurdes.
Being neither ethnologists nor antiquaries, nor even sensational
writers, the authors confine themselves to their personal experience,
stiffened by a study of what the few Spanish authorities have collated
on the subject.

Whatever their origin may have been, the Hurdanos of to-day are a
depraved and degenerate race, to all intents and purposes savages, lost
to all sense of self-respect or shame, of honesty or manliness. Too
listless to take thought of the most elementary necessities of life,
they are content to lead a semi-bestial existence, dependent for
subsistence on their undersized goats and swine, on an exiguous and
precarious cultivation, eked out by roots and wild fruits such as
acorns, chestnuts, etc., and on begging outside their own region.

First, as to their country. Picture a maze of mountains all utterly
monotonous in uniform configuration--long straight slopes, each skyline
practically parallel with that beyond, bare of trees, but clad in
shoulder-high scrub. On approaching from the south, the hills are lower
and display delightful variety of heaths (including common heather); but
as one penetrates northwards, the bush is reduced to the everlasting
gum-cistus, and elevations become loftier and more precipitous till they
culminate in the sheer rock-walls of the Sierra de Gata. Here, in remote
glens, one chances on groves of ilex and cork-oak, whose gnarled boles
attest the absence of woodcutters, while huge trunks lie prostrate,
decaying from sheer old age. Here and there one sees an ilex enveloped
to its summit in parasitic growths of creepers and wild-vine, whose
broad, pale-green leaves contrast pleasingly with the dusky foliage and
small leaf of its host.

In the deep gorges or canyons of these mountains are situate the
settlements, called _Alquerías_, of the wild tribes, most of them
inaccessible on horseback. That of Romano de Arriba, for example, is
plunged in such an abyss that from November to March no ray of sunshine
ever reaches it. A similar case is that of Casa Hurdes, which, as seen
from the bridle-track leading over the Sierra de Portéros into Castile,
appears buried in the bottom of a crevasse. Others, in the reverse, are
perched on high, amidst crags that can only be surmounted by a severe
scramble up broken rock-stairways.

These _alquerías_--warrens we may translate the word--consist of
den-like hovels straggling without order or huddled together according
as the rock-formation may dictate--some half-piled one on another,
others separate. Many are mere holes in the earth--lairs, shapeless as
nature left their walls, but roofed over with branches and grass held in
place by schistose slabs that serve for slates. Hardly, in some cases,
can one distinguish human dwellings from surrounding bush, earth, or
rock. As our companion, a civil guard, remarked of one set of eyries
that adhered to a cliff-face, they rather resembled "the nests of
crag-martins" (_nidos de vencéjos_) than abodes of mankind.

Within are two tiny compartments, the first occupied by goats or swine,
the second littered with bracken on which the whole family sleep,
irrespective of age or sex. There is no light nor furniture of any
description; no utensils for washing, hardly even for cooking. True,
there is in some of the lairs a hollowed trunk which may serve as a bed,
but its original design (as the name _batane_ imports) was for pressing
the grapes and olives in autumn. No refuse is ever thrown out; even the
filthy ferns are retained for use as manure for the orchards--in a word,
these poor creatures habitually sleep on a manure-heap. Even wild
beasts, the wolves and boars, are infinitely more attentive to domestic
cleanliness and purity.

Another _alquería_ visited by the authors, that of Rubiáco, consisted of
a massed cluster of sties embedded on the slopes of a low ridge bordered
on either side by crystal-bright mountain streams. So timid and shy are
the natives that several were descried actually taking to the hill on
our appearance. A distribution of tobacco, with coloured handkerchiefs
for the women, restored a measure of confidence, and we succeeded in
collecting a group or two for the camera. The day, however, was dull and
overcast, and rain, unluckily, fell at that precise moment.

These people, clad in patch-work of rags, leather and untanned skins,
were undersized, pallid of complexion, plain (though we would scarce say
repulsive) in appearance, with dull incurious eyes that were instantly
averted when our glances met. The men, otherwise stolid and
undemonstrative, affected a vacuous grin or giggle, but utterly devoid
of any spark of joy or gladness. Many (though by no means all) displayed
distinctly flattened noses, somewhat of the Mongolian type; and not even
among the younger girls could a trace of good looks be detected. All
went bare-foot, indeed bare-legged to the knee.

On opening the door of a den--an old packing-case lid, three feet high,
secured by a thong of goatskin--two pigs dashed forth squealing, and at
the first step inside the writer's foot splashed in fetid moisture
hidden beneath a litter of green fern. It being dark within, and too low
to stand upright, I struck a match and presently became aware of a
living object almost underfoot. It proved to be a baby, no bigger than a
rabbit, and with tiny black bead-like eyes that gleamed with a wild
light--never before have we seen such glance on human face. While
examining this phenomenon, a sound from the inner darkness revealed a
second inmate. We crept into this lair, scrambling up two steps in the
natural rock, and from the fern-litter arose a female. She stood about
three feet high, had the same wild eyes, unkempt hair, encrusted brown
with dirt, hanging loose over her naked shoulders--a merciful darkness
concealed the rest. She appeared to be about ten years old, and dwarfed
and undersized at that; yet she told us she was fourteen, and the mother
of the rabbit-child, also that its father had deserted her a month
ago--ten days before its birth. The lair contained absolutely no
furniture, unless dead fern be so styled. Can human misery further go?

The next hovel did contain a _batane_, or hollowed tree, in which lay
some scanty rags like fragments of discarded horse-cloths. So lacking
are these poor savages in any sufficient clothing, whether for day or
night, that the children, we were assured, were habitually laid to sleep
among the swine, in order to share the natural warmth of those beasts.
In one abode only did we discover such convenience as a wooden chest. It
contained a handful of potatoes, some chestnuts, and a broken iron
cooking-pot. We examined another den or two--practically all were alike.
If anything was there that escaped our attention we had an excuse--the
aroma (personal, porcine, and putrid) was more than the strongest could
endure for many minutes on end.

We turned away. Mingled feelings of loathing, of pity, and of despair at
the utter hopelessness of it all filled our minds. There, not a hundred
yards away, a contrasted sight met our eyes, one of humbler nature's
most perfect scenes: a fledgeling brood of white wagtails tripped gaily
along the burnside--types of pure spotless beauty, overflowing with high
spirits and the joy of life. A few minutes later, and a pair of
ring-plovers (_Aegialitis curonica_) on the river accentuated the same
pitiful contrast.

Such small cultivation as exists in the Hurdes is carried on under
supreme difficulty. The hills themselves are uncultivable, and the only
opportunities that present themselves are either chance open spaces
amidst interminable rock, or such rare and narrow strips of soil as can
exist between precipitous slopes and the banks of the streams. Here
little garden-patches, thirty or forty feet long by a dozen in width,
are reclaimed; but the very earth is liable to be swept away by
winter-floods pouring down the mountain-sides, and has to be replaced by
fresh soil carried--it may be long distances--on men's shoulders. Here a
few potatoes may be raised and in the broader valleys scant crops of
rye. The few fruit trees are neglected, and therefore give short yield,
though what little is produced is of exquisite flavour, comprising figs,
cherries, a sort of peach (_pavia_), olives, and vines. All crops are
subject to the ravages of wild-boars, which roam in bands of a dozen to
a score, fearless of man and molested by none; while wolves take toll of
the flocks.

[Illustration: WHITE WAGTAIL]

Red deer also wander freely and unpreserved over these ownerless
hills--possibly the only place in Europe where such is the case. We
inquired whether many were shot, but were told that such an event
occurred rarely, though the Hurdano gunner might often approach within
close range. "We are not _enseñados_ [instructed] in the arts of chase,"
explained our informant. A few partridges and hares are found, with
trout in the upper waters.

Despite their degradation, the Hurdanos, we were assured, display no
criminal taint such as is inherent among Gipsies.

As regards the habits and customs of these people, we here roughly
transcribe from the work of Pascual Madoz[39] some selected extracts
that appear to be as accurate to-day as when they were written some
sixty years ago.

     The food of the Hurdanos is as noxious as it is scanty. The potato
     is the general stand-by, either boiled or cooked with crude goat's
     suet; sometimes beans fried in the same grease, and lastly the
     leaves of trees, boiled; with roots, the stalks of certain wild
     grasses, chestnuts, and acorns. Bread is practically unknown--all
     they ever have is made of coarse rye and such crusts as they obtain
     by begging outside their district. Only when at the point of death
     is wheaten bread provided.

     Their clothing consists of a shapeless garment reaching from the
     hip to the knee, a shirt without collar, fastening with one button,
     and a sack carried over the shoulder. They have no warm clothing
     and all go bare-foot. The women are even less tidy and dirtier than
     the men. Never have they a vestige of anything new--nothing but
     discarded garments obtained by begging, or in exchange for
     chestnuts, at the distant towns. Their usual "fashion" is never to
     take off, to mend, or to wash any rag they have once put on--it is
     worn till it falls off through sheer old age and dirt. They never
     wash nor brush their hair, and go bare-legged like the men.

     [Illustration: A WOLF-PROOF SHEEPFOLD ON THE ALAGÓN, NORTH
     ESTREMADURA

     Walls 10 feet high: note the shepherd's dwelling alongside. Within
     are sheep.]

     These, moreover, are the richest; the majority being clad in
     goatskins (untanned) that they kill or that die. These skins the
     men fix round their necks, girt at waist and round the knees with
     straps; the women merely an apron from the waist downward.

     Men and women alike are dwarfed in stature and repugnant in
     appearance, augmented by their pallor and starveling look. On the
     other hand, they are active and expert in climbing their native
     mountains. There is no outward difference in the sexes as regards
     their lives and means of subsistence.

     All their environment tends to make them untractable and savage
     (_sylvaticos_), shunning contact with their kind, even fleeing at
     sight and refusing to speak. They have no doctors nor surgeons,
     relying on certain herbs for medicines; yet they live long lives.
     They only recognise the passing seasons by the state of vegetation
     and of the atmosphere. They sow and reap according to the phases of
     the moon, of which they preserve an accurate observation. Religion
     and schools alike are unknown. They glory in their freedom from all
     moral suasion, and rejoice in the most brutal immorality and
     crime--including parricide and polygamy. There are _alquerías_
     wherein no priest has set foot, nor do they possess the faintest
     sense of Christian duties.

     It seems incredible that in the midst of two provinces both wealthy
     and well reputed there should exist a plague-spot such as we have
     painted, unknown as the remotest kraals of Central Africa.

Thus Pascual Madoz in 1845, and but little external change has become
apparent in sixty-five subsequent years.[40] Churches, it is true, have
been erected, priests and schoolmasters appointed. Amelioration,
however, by such means can only come very slowly--if at all. The
physical and domestic status of these poor savages must first be raised
before they are mentally capable of assimilating the mysteries of
religion. Spain, however, owes them something. They are heavily
taxed--beyond their power to pay in cash. Thus they are cast into the
power of usurers. In each _alquería_, we were told, is usually found one
man more astute than the rest, and he, in combination with some sordid
scoundrel outside, exploits the misery of his fellows. A species of
semi-slavery is thus established--in some ways analogous to the baneful
system of _Caciquismo_ outside.

The Hurdanos are also subject to the conscription and furnish forty to
fifty recruits yearly to the Spanish army. Curiously, time-expired men
all elect to return to their wretched lot in the mountains. On our
asking one of these (he had served at Melilla), "Why?" his reply was,
"for liberty."[41]

There is a villainous custom in vogue that hurls these poor wretches yet
farther down the bottomless pit. This abomination rages to-day as it did
a hundred years ago: we therefore again leave old Pascual Madoz to tell
the tale in his own words:--

     Many women make a miserable livelihood--it is indeed their only
     industry--by rearing foundling infants from the hospitals of Ciudad
     Rodrigo and Placencia. So keen are they of the money thus obtained
     that one woman, aided by a goat, will undertake to rear three or
     four babes--all necessarily so ill-tended and ill-fed as rather to
     resemble living spectres than human beings. Cast down on beds of
     filthy ferns and lacking all maternal care, the majority perish
     from hunger, cold, and neglect. The few that reach childhood are
     weaklings for life, feeble and infirm.

This repulsive "industry" continues to-day, a sum of three dollars a
month being paid by the authorities of the cities named to rid
themselves of each undesired infant. The effect--direct and
incidental--upon morals and sexual relationship in the _alquerías_ of
the Hurdes may (in degree) be deduced--it cannot be set down in words.
Thus the single point of contact with civilisation serves but to
accentuate the degradation.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE GREAT BUSTARD

Over the vast expanse of those silent solitudes, the corn-growing
steppes of Spain--all but abandoned by human denizens--this grandest and
most majestic of European game-birds forms the chief ornament. When the
sprouting grain grows green in spring, stretching from horizon to
horizon, you may form his acquaintance to best advantage. And among the
things of sport are few more attractive scenes than a band of great
bustards at rest. Bring your field-glass to bear on the gathering which
you see yonder, basking in the sunshine in full enjoyment of their
mid-day siesta. There are five-and-twenty of them, and immense they look
against the green background of corn that covers the landscape--well may
a stranger mistake the birds for deer or goats. Many sit turkey-fashion,
with heads half sunk among back-feathers; others stand in drowsy yet
ever-suspicious attitudes, their broad backs resplendent with those
mottled hues of true game-colour, their lavender necks and well-poised
heads contrasting with the snowy whiteness of the lower plumage.[42] The
bustard are dotted in groups over an acre or two of gently sloping
ground, the highest part of which is occupied by a single big
_Barbudo_--a bearded veteran, the sentinel of the pack. From that
elevated position he estimates what degree of danger each living thing
that moves on the open region around may threaten to his company and to
himself. Mounted men cause him less concern than those on foot. A
horseman slowly directing a circuitous course may even approach to
within a couple of hundred yards ere he takes alarm. It was the head and
neck of this sentry that first appeared to our distant view and
disclosed the whereabouts of the game. He, too, has seen us, and is
even now considering whether there be sufficient cause for setting his
convoy in motion. If we disappear below the level of his range, he will
settle the point negatively, setting us down as merely some of those
agricultural nuisances which so often cause him alarm but which his
experience has shown to be generally harmless--for attempts on his life
are few and far between.

[Illustration: THE GREAT BUSTARD]

Another charming spectacle it is in the summer-time to watch a pack of
bustard about sunset, all busy with their evening feed among the
grasshoppers on a thistle-clad plain. They are working against time, for
it will soon be too dark to catch such lively prey. With quick darting
step they run to and fro, picking up one grasshopper after another with
unerring aim, and so intent on pursuit that the best chance of the day
is then offered to a gunner, when greed for a moment supplants caution
and vigilance is relaxed. But even now a man on foot stands no chance of
coming anywhere near them. His approach is observed from afar, all heads
are up above the thistles, every eye intent on the intruder; a moment or
two of doubt, two quick steps and a spring, and the broad wings of every
bird in the pack flap in slowly rising motion. The tardiness and
apparent difficulty in rising from the ground which bustards exhibit is
well expressed in their Spanish name _Avetarda_[43] and recognised in
the scientific cognomen of _Otis tarda_. Once on the wing the whole
band is off with wide swinging flight to the highest ground in the
neighbourhood.

The chase of the great bustard presents characteristics and attractions
peculiar to itself and differing from that of all other winged game.
Rather it resembles the scientific pursuit of big game; for this is a
sport in which the actual shot becomes of secondary importance, merely a
culminating incident--the consummation of previous forethought,
fieldcraft, and generalship. Success in bustard-shooting--alike with
success in stalking--is usually attributable to the leader, who has
planned the operation and directed the strategy, rather than to the man
who may have actually killed the game. We here refer exclusively to what
we may be permitted to call the scientific aspect of this chase, as
practised by ourselves and as distinguished from other (and far more
deadly) methods in vogue among the Spanish herdsmen and peasantry.
Before describing the former system, let us glance at native methods of
securing the great bustard.

During the greater part of the year bustard are far too wary to be
obtained by the farm-hands and shepherds who see them every day--so
accustomed are the peasantry to the sight of these noble birds that
little or no notice is taken of them and their pursuit regarded as
impracticable. There is, however, one period of the year when the great
bustard falls an easy prey to the clumsiest of gunners.

During the long Andalucian summer a torrid sun has drunk up every brook
and stream that crosses the cultivated lands; the chinky, cracked mud,
which in winter formed the bed of shallow lakes and lagoons, now yields
no drop of moisture for bird or beast. The larger rivers still carry
their waters from sierra to sea, but an adaptive genius is required to
utilise these for purposes of irrigation. All water required for the
cattle is drawn up from wells; the old-world lever with its bucket at
one end and counterpoise at the other has to provide for the needs of
all. These wells are distributed all over the plains. As the herdsmen
put the primitive contrivance into operation and swing up bucketful
after bucketful of cool water, the cattle crowd around, impatient to
receive it as it rushes down the stone troughing. The thirsty animals
drink their fill, splashing and wasting as much as they consume, so that
a puddle is always formed about these _bebideros_. The moisture only
extends a few yards, gradually diminishing, till the trickling streamlet
is lost in the famishing soil.

These moist places are a fatal trap to the bustard. Before dawn one of
the farm-people will conceal himself so as to command at short range all
points of the miniature swamp. A slight hollow is dug for the purpose,
having clods arranged around, between which the gun can be levelled with
murderous accuracy. As day begins to dawn, the bustard will take a
flight in the direction of the well, alighting at a point some few
hundred yards distant. They satisfy themselves that no enemy is about,
and then, with cautious, stately step, make for their morning draught.
One big bird steps on ahead of the rest; and as he cautiously draws
near, he stops now and again to assure himself that all is right and
that his companions are coming too--these are not in a compact body, but
following at intervals of a few yards. The leader has reached the spot
where he drank yesterday; now he finds he must go a little nearer to the
well, as the streamlet has been diverted; another bird follows close;
both lower their heads to drink; the gunner has them in line--at twenty
paces there is no escape; the trigger is pressed, and two magnificent
bustards are done to death. Should the man be provided with a second
barrel (which is not usual), a third victim may be added to his
morning's spoils.

Comparatively large numbers of bustard are destroyed thus every summer.
It is deadly work and certain. Luckily, however, the plan enjoys but a
single success, since bands, once shot at, never return.

A second primitive method of capturing the great bustard is practised in
winter. The increased value of game during the colder months induces the
bird-catchers, who then supply the markets with myriads of ground-larks,
linnets, buntings, etc., occasionally to direct their skill towards the
capture of bustard by the same means as prove efficacious with the small
fry--that is, the _cencerro_, or cattle-bell, combined with a dark
lantern.

As most cattle carry the cencerro around their necks, the sound of the
bell at close quarters by night causes no alarm to ground-birds. The
bird-catcher, with his bright lantern gleaming before its reflector and
the cattle-bell jingling at his wrist, prowls nightly around the
stubbles and wastes in search of roosting birds. Any number of
bewildered victims can thus be gathered, for larks and such-like birds
fall into a helpless state of panic when once focussed in the rays of
the lantern.

When the bustard is the object of pursuit, two men are required, one of
whom carries a gun. The pack of bustard will be carefully watched during
the afternoon, and not lost sight of when night comes until their
sleeping-quarters are ascertained. When quite dark, the tinkling of the
_cencerro_ will be heard, and a ray of light will surround the devoted
bustards, charming or frightening them--whichever it may be--into still
life. As the familiar sound of the cattle-bell becomes louder and
nearer, the ray of light brighter and brighter, and the surrounding
darkness more intense, the bustards are too charmed or too dazed to fly.
Then comes the report, and a charge of heavy shot works havoc among
them. As bands of bustards are numerous, this poaching plan might be
carried out night after night; but luckily the bustards will not stand
the same experience twice. On a second attempt being made, they are off
as soon as they see the light approaching.

[Illustration: CALANDRA LARK

A large and handsome species characteristic of the corn-lands.]

The third (and by far the most murderous) means of destruction is due,
not so much to rural peasantry as to _cazadores_--shooters from
adjoining towns--men who should know better, and whom, in other
respects, we might rank as good sportsmen; but who, alas! can see no
shame in shooting the hen-bustards with their half-fledged broods in the
standing corn during June and July--albeit the deed is done in direct
contravention of the game-laws! Dogs, especially pointers, are employed
upon this quest when the mother-bustards, being reluctant to leave their
young, lie as close as September partridges in a root-crop; while the
broods, either too terrified or too immature to fly, are frequently
caught by the dogs. We regret that there are those who actually descant
with pride upon having slaughtered a dozen or more of these helpless
creatures in a day; while others are only restrained from a like crime
by the scorching solar heats of that season.

More bustards are killed thus than by all the other methods combined--a
hundred times more than by our scientific and sportsmanlike system of
driving presently to be described.

Except for this unworthy massacre of mothers with their broods in
summer, and the two clumsy artifices before mentioned, the bustards are
left practically unmolested--their wildness and the open nature of their
haunts defy all the strategy of native fowlers. The hen-bustard deposits
her eggs--usually three, but on very rare occasions four--among the
green April corn; incubation and the rearing of the young take place in
the security of vast silent stretches of waving wheat. The young
bustards grow with that wheat, and, ere it is reaped (unless prematurely
massacred), are able to take care of themselves. A somewhat more
legitimate method of outwitting the great bustard is practised at this
season. During harvest, while the country is being cleared of crops, the
birds become accustomed to see bullock-carts daily passing with creaking
wheel to carry away the sheaves from the stubble to the _era_, or
levelled threshing-ground, where the grain is trodden out, Spanish
fashion, by teams of mares. The loan of a _carro_ with its pair of oxen
and their driver having been obtained, the cart is rigged up with
_estéras_--that is, esparto-matting stretched round the uprights which
serve to hold the load of sheaves in position. A few sacks of straw
thrown on the floor of the cart save one, in some small degree, from the
merciless jolting of this primitive conveyance on rough ground. Two or
three guns can find room therein, while the driver, lying forward,
directs the team with a goad.

This moving battery fairly resembles a load of sheaves, and well do we
remember the terrible, suffocating heat we have endured, shut up for
hours in this thing during the blazing days of July and August. The
result, nevertheless, repays all suffering. We refer to no mere
cynegetic pride but to the enduring joy of observing, at close quarters
and still unsuspicious, these glorious game-birds at home on their
private plains. The local idea is to fire through a slit previously made
in the _estéras_; but somehow, when the cart stops and the game
instantly rises, you find (despite care and practice) that the birds
always fly in a direction you cannot command or where the narrow slit
forbids your covering them. Hence we adopted the plan of sliding off
behind as the cart pulled up, thus firing the two barrels with perfect
freedom. We have succeeded by this means in bringing to bag many pairs
of bustard during a day's manoeuvring.

[Illustration: SPANISH THISTLE AND STONECHAT]

We now come to the system of bustard-driving, which we regard as
practically the only really legitimate method of dealing with this grand
game. From the end of August onwards the young bustards are perfectly
capable of taking care of themselves. The country is then cleared of
crops, and while this precludes the birds being "done to death" as in
the weeks immediately preceding, yet the ubiquitous thistles (often of
gigantic size, ten or twelve feet in height), charlock, and _viznagas_
provide welcome covert for concealing the guns, while the heat still
renders the game somewhat more susceptible to the artifices of the
fowler. This is the easiest period.

As the season advances the hunter's difficulties increase. The brown
earth becomes daily more and more naked, while files of slow-moving
ox-teams everywhere traverse the stubble, ploughing league-long furrows
twenty abreast. These factors combine to aid the game and stretch to its
utmost limit the venatic instincts of the fowler.

Let us now attempt to describe a day's bustard-driving on scientific
lines. The district having being selected, it is advisable to send out
the night before a trustworthy scout who will sleep at the _cortijo_ and
be abroad with the dawn in order to locate precisely the various
_bandadas_, or troops of bustard, in the neighbourhood. The
shooting-party (three or four guns for choice, but in no case to exceed
six[44]) follow in the morning--riding, as a rule, to the rendezvous;