Tales of the Alhambra | Page 5

of the nightingale.
A picturesque bridge was thrown across the little river, at one end of
which was the ancient Moorish mill of the castle, defended by a tower
of yellow stone; a fisherman's net hung against the wall to dry, and hard
by in the river was his boat; a group of peasant women in
bright-colored dresses, crossing the arched bridge, were reflected in the
placid stream. Altogether it was an admirable scene for a landscape
painter.
The old Moorish mills, so often found on secluded streams, are
characteristic objects in Spanish landscape, and suggestive of the
perilous times of old. They are of stone, and often in the form of towers
with loopholes and battlements, capable of defence in those warlike
days when the country on both sides of the border was subject to
sudden inroad and hasty ravage, and when men had to labor with their
weapons at hand, and some place of temporary refuge.
Our next halting place was at Gandul, where were the remains of
another Moorish castle, with its ruined tower, a nestling place for storks,
and commanding a view over a vast campina or fertile plain, with the
mountains of Ronda in the distance. These castles were strong-holds to

protect the plains from the talas or forays to which they were subject,
when the fields of corn would be laid waste, the flocks and herds swept
from the vast pastures, and, together with captive peasantry, hurried off
in long cavalgadas across the borders.
At Gandul we found a tolerable posada; the good folks could not tell us
what time of day it was--the clock only struck once in the day, two
hours after noon; until that time it was guesswork. We guessed it was
full time to eat; so, alighting, we ordered a repast. While that was in
preparation we visited the palace once the residence of the Marquis of
Gandul. All was gone to decay; there were but two or three rooms
habitable, and very poorly furnished. Yet here were the remains of
grandeur: a terrace, where fair dames and gentle cavaliers may once
have walked; a fish-pond and ruined garden, with grape-vines and
date-bearing palm-trees. Here we were joined by a fat curate, who
gathered a bouquet of roses and presented it, very gallantly, to the lady
who accompanied us.
Below the palace was the mill, with orange-trees and aloes in front, and
a pretty stream of pure water. We took a seat in the shade, and the
millers, all leaving their work, sat down and smoked with us; for the
Andalusians are always ready for a gossip. They were waiting for the
regular visit of the barber, who came once a week to put all their chins
in order. He arrived shortly afterwards: a lad of seventeen, mounted on
a donkey, eager to display his new alforjas or saddle-bags, just bought
at a fair; price one dollar, to be paid on St. John's day (in June), by
which time he trusted to have mown beards enough to put him in funds.
By the time the laconic clock of the castle had struck two we had
finished our dinner. So, taking leave of our Seville friends, and leaving
the millers still under the hands of the barber, we set off on our ride
across the campina. It was one of those vast plains, common in Spain,
where for miles and miles there is neither house nor tree. Unlucky the
traveller who has to traverse it, exposed as we were to heavy and
repeated showers of rain. There is no escape nor shelter. Our only
protection was our Spanish cloaks, which nearly covered man and
horse, but grew heavier every mile. By the time we had lived through

one shower we would see another slowly but inevitably approaching;
fortunately in the interval there would be an outbreak of bright, warm,
Andalusian sunshine, which would make our cloaks send up wreaths of
steam, but which partially dried them before the next drenching.
Shortly after sunset we arrived at Arahal, a little town among the hills.
We found it in a bustle with a party of miquelets, who were patrolling
the country to ferret out robbers. The appearance of foreigners like
ourselves was an unusual circumstance in an interior country town; and
little Spanish towns of the kind are easily put in a state of gossip and
wonderment by such an occurrence. Mine host, with two or three old
wiseacre comrades in brown Cloaks, studied our passports in a corner
of the posada, while an Alguazil took notes by the dim light of a lamp.
The passports were in foreign languages and perplexed them, but our
Squire Sancho assisted them in their studies, and magnified our
importance with the grandiloquence of a Spaniard. In the mean