Tales of the Alhambra | Page 4

stout steeds were provided for our own mounting, and a
third for our scanty luggage and the conveyance of a sturdy Biscayan
lad, about twenty years of age, who was to be our guide, our groom,
our valet, and at all times our guard. For the latter office he was
provided with a formidable trabuco or carbine, with which he promised
to defend us against rateros or solitary footpads; but as to powerful
bands, like that of the "sons of Ecija," he confessed they were quite
beyond his prowess. He made much vainglorious boast about his
weapon at the outset of the journey, though, to the discredit of his
generalship, it was suffered to hang unloaded behind his saddle.
According to our stipulations, the man from whom we hired the horses
was to be at the expense of their feed and stabling on the journey, as
well as of the maintenance of our Biscayan squire, who of course was
provided with funds for the purpose; we took care, however, to give the
latter a private hint, that, though we made a close bargain with his
master, it was all in his favor, as, if he proved a good man and true,
both he and the horses should live at our cost, and the money provided
for their maintenance remain in his pocket. This unexpected largess,
with the occasional present of a cigar, won his heart completely. He

was, in truth, a faithful, cheery, kind-hearted creature, as full of saws
and proverbs as that miracle of squires, the renowned Sancho himself,
whose name, by the by, we bestowed upon him, and like a true
Spaniard, though treated by us with companionable familiarity, he
never for a moment, in his utmost hilarity, overstepped the bounds of
respectful decorum.
Such were our minor preparations for the journey, but above all we laid
in an ample stock of good humor, and a genuine disposition to be
pleased, determining to travel in true contrabandista style, taking things
as we found them, rough or smooth, and mingling with all classes and
conditions in a kind of vagabond companionship. It is the true way to
travel in Spain. With such disposition and determination, what a
country is it for a traveller, where the most miserable inn is as full of
adventure as an enchanted castle, and every meal is in itself an
achievement! Let others repine at the lack of turnpike roads and
sumptuous hotels, and all the elaborate comforts of a country cultivated
and civilized into tameness and commonplace; but give me the rude
mountain scramble; the roving, haphazard, wayfaring; the half wild, yet
frank and hospitable manners, which impart such a true game flavor to
dear old romantic Spain!
Thus equipped and attended, we cantered out of "Fair Seville city" at
half-past six in the morning of a bright May day, in company with a
lady and gentleman of our acquaintance, who rode a few miles with us,
in the Spanish mode of taking leave. Our route lay through old Alcala
de Guadaira (Alcala on the river Aira), the benefactress of Seville, that
supplies it with bread and water. Here live the bakers who furnish
Seville with that delicious bread for which it is renowned; here are
fabricated those roscas well known by the well-merited appellation of
pan de Dios (bread of God), with which, by the way, we ordered our
man, Sancho, to stock his alforjas for the journey. Well has this
beneficent little city been denominated the "Oven of Seville"; well has
it been called Alcala de los Panaderos (Alcala of the bakers), for a great
part of its inhabitants are of that handicraft, and the highway hence to
Seville is constantly traversed by lines of mules and donkeys laden
with great panniers of loaves and roscas.

I have said Alcala supplies Seville with water. Here are great tanks or
reservoirs, of Roman and Moorish construction, whence water is
conveyed to Seville by noble aqueducts. The springs of Alcala are
almost as much vaunted as its ovens; and to the lightness, sweetness,
and purity of its water is attributed in some measure the delicacy of its
bread.
Here we halted for a time, at the ruins of the old Moorish castle, a
favorite resort for picnic parties from Seville, where we had passed
many a pleasant hour. The walls are of great extent, pierced with
loopholes; inclosing a huge square tower or keep, with the remains of
masmoras, or subterranean granaries. The Guadaira winds its stream
round the hill, at the foot of these ruins, whimpering among reeds,
rushes, and pond-lilies, and overhung with rhododendron, eglantine,
yellow myrtle, and a profusion of wild flowers and aromatic shrubs;
while along its banks are groves of oranges, citrons, and pomegranates,
among which we heard the early note