Wild Spain Part 24

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XXVII.

RAMON AND THE TWO BIG RAMS.

AN INCIDENT OF IBEX-STALKING.

For more than an hour we had been lying expectant, Ramon and I. Our position was in a tumble of rocks, which commanded the approach to a pa.s.s--a little _portillo_, the only one by which the beetling crags above were surmountable, even to an ibex. The pa.s.s was a narrow cleft or fissure, traversing transversely the whole height of the crags, whose sheer dolomite precipices otherwise presented an utterly unscaleable face. Our post was a favourable one, hence it was with a tinge of disappointment that we observed the appearance of one of our drivers on the heights of the opposite sky-line.

Ramon lay just in front of me on the narrow shelving ledge, his head considerably lower than his feet, his lithe body entwined around a projecting rock-b.u.t.tress, while his keen eye surveyed everything that moved in the panorama of wild rock-chaos beneath. During these hours of meditation I began more clearly to understand one, at least, of the _raisons d'etre_ for that remarkable acuteness of smell which is attributed to the ibex. The ibex-hunters invariably a.s.sured us that the goats relied more on their sense of smell than on that of sight--"they have more nose than eyes--_mas nariz que ojos_," in Spanish phrase.

This, I now realized, was not, after all, so inexplicable, for the skin-clad hunter before me was decidedly aromatic. It became easy of comprehension that his presence might be more readily perceptible to the nose than to the eyes; for, while Ramon's serpentine form, curving round a rock-angle, and appearing to fit into its sinuosities, was all but invisible, his whereabouts, even to human olfactory organs, might probably be detected at a considerable distance. No wonder the native hunter is careful to keep always under the lee of the breeze.

"Do you see where Guarro is now?" presently remarked Ramon, "crossing the ridge below the glacier-foot." After scanning for some minutes every inch of the spot indicated with a strong field-gla.s.s, I made out at length a minute moving dot that might be our friend Guarro y Guarro, the ruddy-faced goatherd, who was in charge of the _batida_.[61] "Well, that is where I shot the first of the two big _machos_ on Thursday--the other on these broken pinnacles lower down on the right." To kill two first-rate males, single-handed, in a day was no small feat, and Ramon's tale of the achievement was an interesting sporting episode.

"I was attending my goats," he said, "in the Arroyo del Cerradillo, the ravine above where we shot the small _macho_ yesterday; and as I came within sight of the high crags at its summit, I crept carefully forward, 'speering' round the rocks to see if any ibex chanced to be in them.

They are a favourite haunt of the goats during the day, and as there are some large males on that side, it is always worth while to be prepared and cautious. That morning there were two--both large ibex, with very long horns, as long as a man's arms. They were at first walking away, but soon lay down on a ledge where it was possible to crawl to within fifty or sixty yards of them. Unfortunately, part of the stalk was through soft snow, and, in consequence, the gun missed fire."

Ramon's gun, by the way, was an exceptionally rickety old weapon, with many signs of rude repairs, and bore on its single barrel, counter-sunk in golden letters, the inscription "Plasencia, 1841." No doubt it owed the Imperial exchequer of Spain something like fifty pounds sterling in respect of license duty during half a century, not one centime of which is ever likely to find its way into the Spanish Treasury.

Poor Ramon, though well provided with powder and ball, had but two caps; hence it was necessary, after the misfire, to draw the faithless charge in order to save intact the two precious _mitos_. "Meanwhile," continued Ramon, "the two ibex had moved up the rocks, and soon crossed the sky-line just above those snow-gullies. They did not appear much alarmed, never having seen me; so I followed round the shoulder of the main spur, as the goats had gone downwind. In the afternoon I came up with them, just where I showed you. There were now four of them--all big males, and as the two nearer were lying down in a favourable position, I got a good shot, killing the largest quite dead, with a bullet through chest and heart.

"The other three, still uncertain whence the shot had come, owing to the echo reverberating among the hills, hesitated a few moments, and then sprang downwards, one pa.s.sing so near that, had I had another gun, I might perhaps have killed him. My dog, which had followed me, and which was well accustomed to herding my own goats, now gave chase. I knew the ibex could not pa.s.s the ice-slope of Cerradillo [two miles away], and in the hope that I might cut off their retreat by the Garganta del Canchon, I set off, after reloading, to cross the two ravines." (This, by the way, would have taken an average Englishman at least an hour's difficult and laborious climbing.) "I reached those steeple-rocks on the second ridge just in the nick of time to meet the three ibex ascending on the other side. The dog was nowhere in sight, though he was still following.

I had not gained the pa.s.s two minutes when the ibex crossed in front, travelling slowly over a patch of snow, where I shot the largest of the three at about eighty paces distant. He fell to the shot, floundering for some seconds in the loose snow, but recovered and went on some distance, till the dog at last came up with him and pulled him down."

On surveying the field of operations carefully through the binoculars, and estimating the distances traversed respectively by Ramon and his three opponents, we could only marvel at the wondrous feat he had performed in crossing that fearful gorge, with its miles of snow and rocks, in time to cut out the hunted and light-footed ibex. The latter, it is true, had something like four times the distance to cover, but even that, one would have thought, was far too light a handicap.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

These two ibex were both eight-year old males, and their horns measured, respectively:--

No. 1.--Length, 28-1/2 inches. Circ.u.mference, 9-1/4 inches.

No. 2.-- " 27-1/2 " " 9 "

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE IBEX-HUNTER'S BETROTHAL.

Bernal Gonzalvo was the smartest of all the shepherd-lads in the mountain village of Valdama, and universally acknowledged as the best shot and most successful ibex-hunter in that part of the sierra. But in his wanderings near the clouds, his thoughts of late had often strayed from his flock: other music than the tinkling of their many bells was sweeter to his ear. His thoughts would carry him a thousand times a day to the hamlet which nestled far below. In short, Bernal was in love; for the first time in his simple life of three-and-twenty years his spirit was made captive by a daughter of Eve. Concha, the pretty brunette of the _parador_, had heard the old, old story from his lips, and he had found favour in her eyes. Concha's good luck made her the envy of all the girls of the hamlet. For not only was Bernal a handsome lad of the sprightly, graceful type peculiar to the mountain region, but he was also rich--he owned over two hundred goats, and had inherited a two-roomed _choza_ and an acre of trailing vines.

Engagements in these primitive nooks of the world are not of long duration. The following week it was arranged his betrothal should be announced, and the _dichos_ declared--the custom of avowing publicly the mutual acceptance of nuptial obligations, which in Spain corresponds with our "calling the banns." On such occasions it is customary in Valdama for the bridegroom-elect to provide a feast whereat the friends of the _fiances_ a.s.semble after this preliminary ceremony. The marriage itself does not take place till some days later. After the _dichos_ the rest of that day is spent in conviviality.

Bernal owned plenty of goats, but, being a lad of some originality, he determined to give _his_ "novia" something different to the regulation marriage-feast of stewed kid. Concha's nuptials should mark an epoch in the annals of Valdama--nothing less than the venison of a wild ibex should betoken his plighted troth. He was a mighty hunter, and Concha's first offering at his hands should be one appropriate to his fame and skill with the rifle-ball.

The season was mid-winter and the snow lay deep and treacherous on all the great sierras that overhang his native village. Few are venturesome enough to brave the dangers and hard work that the pursuit of ibex in winter must entail. All the more reason why Bernal should distinguish himself, and all the more acceptable the gift.

On the morning before the ceremony of the _dichos_, he set out at daybreak; his gun slung on his shoulder, a crust of brown bread, some meat and olives in his "alforjas," and his favourite dog "Vasco" at his heel. As the earlier risers among the damsels of the hamlet wended their way towards the well for the day's supply of water, each with a big brown _cantaro_ poised on her head, they lingered to scan the hill and watch Bernal's retreating figure as he leaped upwards from rock to rock, ascending towards the snowy pinnacles of Las Lanzas. Soon he disappeared from view, turning off into the snow-filled gullet of the _Salto del lobo_--the wolfs leap.

The day was bright and glorious as a winter's day in Spain can be, but before dusk heavy cloud-banks had darkened the western horizon, and the sun sank in lurid light amidst gathering murk that boded ill for the night. Darkness had set in, but Bernal had not returned. Hour after hour pa.s.sed by without sign of him, and Concha's anxiety grew more and more intense. Not all the sympathy of her maiden friends could cheer her; but some consolation the poor girl tried to find in the a.s.surances of the rough hunters who came to comfort her--Bernal, they a.s.serted, was safe enough; he had been caught in those scudding snow-clouds, and, as many a belated herdsman had done before, had sought shelter for the night in some cave or crevice, awaiting the return of daylight before attempting the descent. Had he, as was probable, succeeded in shooting an ibex, it was natural that with such a burden he would find himself unable to return in the short winter's day. With these and similar a.s.surances poor Concha was fain to console herself.

Before midnight the threatened storm burst: the gale howled through the gorges of the sierra and along the narrow street of Valdama. Thickly, too, fell the snow; before dawn the whole landscape lay enveloped in the white mantle, and the bye-ways of the hamlet were choked to the lintels.

Snow-wreaths hung in majestic forms over each prominent escarpment, threatening destruction to the villagers' stock of olives, figs, and vines which grew beneath. The older men gathered in knots discussing Bernal's chances of escape from the higher regions; no help was possible, and the general opinion was that till the gale had partially swept the dry powdery snow into the ravines and hollows, his descent would be perilous, even if possible. Again the day pa.s.sed by without sign of the missing bridegroom. The _dichos_ were postponed, and the hamlet slept with a heavy load of doubt and fear oppressing its mind.

Thus pa.s.sed two days--three since the adventurous hunter had set forth, but on the fourth morning it was thought an ascent might be attempted.

Three search parties, each composed of three mountaineers, started in different directions, but at nightfall they returned without news or trace of lost Bernal.

Next morning the search was renewed. Towards noon the party, led by our friend Claudio, descried among the bare rocks of a ridge high above them a moving object. Their cries and shots attracted attention, and presently poor Vasco, Bernal's faithful companion, struggled to reach them. The three men decided to continue calling out Bernal's name, in order to convey to the dog the idea that they were in search of his master; but this the wise beast seemed to have intuitively understood, for he immediately set out in the direction whence he had come. Claudio and his two companions followed Vasco's lead for nearly a league, when the dog stopped and commenced scratching away the snow from below a projecting rock. Here were found the "alforjas" (wallet) of the lost man, still containing the bread and olives with which he had set out.

Vasco at once continued his course, leading the way to one of the deepest and most magnificent _canons_ of the whole sierra. Here, on the very verge of a precipice of a thousand feet sheer, the dog directed the rescuers to his master's gun, which lay buried in the snow within a foot of the abyss. The gun was _c.o.c.ked_--a sure sign to the _serranos_ that at the moment of leaving it Bernal had been in presence of game, momentarily expecting a shot. Further the dog would not, or could not, go; yet no sign of Bernal could be seen on the crag-top. Clearly he must have slipped, fallen over into the tremendous abyss beneath. The men separated, two going to right and left to seek some spot, some cleft or ledge, by which the crag might be descended, the third remaining above to guide the search. It was a perilous service on those slippery, ice-clad rocks. After an hour's labour, Claudio managed to reach a ledge midway down the precipice, just beneath the spot where Guarro remained on the height above: and here the dog (which had steadily followed the climber whose course at the moment led in the right direction) at once indicated a point above some big boulders which lay balanced on the narrow shelf. Here, beneath the frozen snow, lay poor Bernal Gonzalvo, almost every bone in his once shapely form smashed into splinters by that terrible fall of 500 feet. And there, on that dizzy ledge, his remains lie still. There they had to be left; for it was found impossible to remove the body, or to carry it along the ledges and "chimneys" by which the rescue party had descended. It was, after all, an appropriate resting-place for the luckless ibex-hunter. The three men heaped up a pile of stones to protect his remains from the maw of vulture or prowling wolf, and there we may leave him in peace.

Perhaps it would be wiser to leave the story, too, at this point; but we are simply historians without aspiration for the novelist's _role_, and are impelled to complete faithfully this sad little story of the sierra.

Concha was, of course, almost beside herself with grief. During the long winter months, while the snow whirled round the ravines of Valdama, the poor girl remained inconsolable. But time is a wondrous restorer. When spring came round, and the vines and chestnuts unfolded their shoots, making Valdama all green and beautiful, then youth and buoyant spirits rea.s.serted their power, and, less than a twelve-month afterwards, Concha had found consolation. Friend Claudio, the discoverer of her lost lover's remains, and to whom we are indebted for this little tale, had meanwhile become her husband.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Plate x.x.xVI.

GATEWAY AND VINEYARD.

Page 325.]

CHAPTER XXIX.

ON VITICULTURE IN SPAIN AND PORTUGAL

It is a pleasant contrast in the blazing month of July, when one pa.s.ses from the parched stubbles of the corn-land, or the arid half-shade of the _olivar_, and enters upon the green luxuriance of the vineyard. Eye and mind are refreshed by that broad expanse of spreading vines clothing hill and valley with their close-set trailing verdure.

Before us stands the somewhat pretentious gateway in the fence of p.r.i.c.kly-pear which surrounds the property--a handsome wrought-iron lattice gate swung on stone pillars which bear the inscription "Nuestra Senora de Piedad,--de Caridad," "Cruz Santa," or some such t.i.tle.

Pa.s.sing through, one walks waist-deep along a narrow pathway amidst green vines. No need to ask which is Nature's most favoured plant in this sunny land. Stand on one of the Jerez hills at this season and look across the districts of the Marcharnudo or Carrascal and see the triumph of the vine. All other vegetation pants beneath the pitiless sun; tree, shrub, and bush droop withered and lifeless; the gra.s.s and wild-flowers have disappeared from off the face of the calcined earth, not a blossom remains; the bees have lost their employment, and already their persecutors, the Bee-eaters, are departing for less torrid regions. Yet all around lie thousands of acres of vines in the full exuberance of life and vigour, drinking in growth and increase from the very rays that are fatal to all beside. Vine roots reach down very great depths into the earth--often twenty feet and more, the tap-roots threading their way through the slightest cracks or cleavages of what _appears_ solid rock, thickening out again as they reach a wider fissure of "fatter" soil, as may be seen in road or railway-cuttings.

Nothing can be a greater contrast than the appearance of the vines at Christmas or in January when not even a branch survives, each vine then being cut back, till nothing remains but a gnarled, k.n.o.bby stump some two feet high, limbless and lifeless. The vineyards then a.s.sume a barren hungry look, a grey expanse studded with rows of the inanimate stocks.

During early spring much care and labour are devoted to the vineyards.

The soil around each vine is drawn back with hoes and small adze-shaped spades, the blades of which are turned inwards, till the plant stands in the centre of a hollowed square, the heaped-up earth around serving to catch and direct the moisture towards its roots. For a time the vineyards resemble huge chess-boards, till in April the spreading tendrils and bright green leaves once more hide the face of the earth from view.

[Ill.u.s.tration: VINES IN MARCH.]

The workmen who are employed upon these operations have a.s.signed to them a large barn-like room on the ground-floor of the _casa de vinas_, dest.i.tute of any semblance of furniture or fittings. In this they cook their _pucheros_, smoke infinite cigarettes, and when times are peaceful, wind up the day with a few touches on the guitar and weird Andalucian melodies; but during the troublous periods of anarchy and discontent so frequent in unhappy Spain, politics supplant music and fierce discussions rage far into the night. Well do we remember the violence of these disputes during the _mano negra_ fever, and earlier, in the spring of 1872, when living at a vineyard with only a floor between us and the peasant politicians. Amidst the babel of contending voices one heard perpetually bandied about the names of Zorilla, Castelar, Sagasta, and others of the _haute politique_ of Spain. The lot of the Spanish labourer is none of the happiest, certainly; but it may be doubted if they will mend it by argument and wordy warfare any more than by force. Poor fellows! they are the raw material which the high-falutin' scoundrels who promote rebellions by popular "cries" and _p.r.o.nunciamentos_ use for their own ends, and then abandon to the bullets of _guardas civiles_ or the sabres of the cavalry. But, good times or bad, the guitar or the revolutionary rag--whichever it may be--are at length laid aside, they stretch themselves in rows on their gra.s.s-woven mats, like sardines in a keg, and in sleep the troubled spirits are at rest.

The vineyards, some of which (especially those in the Ca.n.a.leja, Badalejo, and Caulina districts) have pedigrees that can be traced back for upwards of six hundred years, are mostly interspersed with fields of corn and groves of olive-trees, and intersected by sandy roads bordered with hedges of cane and cactus. Occasional avenues lead to picturesque villas embowered in flowering shrubs and trees, among which the adelfa, or rose-laurel, the acacia, eucalyptus and cypress are conspicuous. The hill-tops are generally crowned with snow-white _casas de vinas_, and among the vines there rise little huts of esparto called _bien-te-veos_, perched on four tall aloe-poles. These are the look-outs for the guards who, armed with old-fashioned fire-locks, keep watch and ward over the ripening grapes and grain.