A Boat Came Off To Receive Those Passengers Whose
Destination Was San Lucar, And To Bring On Board About Half A Dozen
Who Were Bound For Cadiz:
I entered with the rest.
A young
Spaniard of very diminutive stature addressed some questions to me
in French as to what I thought of the scenery and climate of
Andalusia. I replied that I admired both, which evidently gave him
great pleasure. The boatman now came demanding two reals for
conveying me on shore. I had no small money, and offered him a
dollar to change. He said that it was impossible. I asked him
what was to be done; whereupon he replied uncivilly that he knew
not, but could not lose time, and expected to be paid instantly.
The young Spaniard, observing my embarrassment, took out two reals
and paid the fellow. I thanked him heartily for this act of
civility, for which I felt really grateful; as there are few
situations more unpleasant than to be in a crowd in want of change,
whilst you are importuned by people for payment. A loose character
once told me that it was far preferable to be without money at all,
as you then knew what course to take. I subsequently met the young
Spaniard at Cadiz, and repaid him with thanks.
A few cabriolets were waiting near the wharf, in order to convey us
to San Lucar. I ascended one, and we proceeded slowly along the
Playa or strand. This place is famous in the ancient novels of
Spain, of that class called Picaresque, or those devoted to the
adventures of notorious scoundrels, the father of which, as also of
all others of the same kind, in whatever language, is Lazarillo de
Tormes. Cervantes himself has immortalized this strand in the most
amusing of his smaller tales, La Ilustre Fregona. In a word, the
strand of San Lucar in ancient times, if not in modern, was a
rendezvous for ruffians, contrabandistas, and vagabonds of every,
description, who nested there in wooden sheds, which have now
vanished. San Lucar itself was always noted for the thievish
propensities of its inhabitants - the worst in all Andalusia. The
roguish innkeeper in Don Quixote perfected his education at San
Lucar. All these recollections crowded into my mind as we
proceeded along the strand, which was beautifully gilded by the
Andalusian sun. We at last arrived nearly opposite to San Lucar,
which stands at some distance from the water side. Here a lively
spectacle presented itself to us: the shore was covered with a
multitude of females either dressing or undressing themselves,
while (I speak within bounds) hundreds were in the water sporting
and playing; some were close by the beach, stretched at their full
length on the sand and pebbles, allowing the little billows to dash
over their heads and bosoms; whilst others were swimming boldly out
into the firth. There was a confused hubbub of female cries, thin
shrieks and shrill laughter; couplets likewise were being sung, on
what subject it is easy to guess, for we were in sunny Andalusia,
and what can its black-eyed daughters think, speak, or sing of but
amor, amor, which now sounded from the land and the waters.
Farther on along the beach we perceived likewise a crowd of men
bathing; we passed not by them, but turned to the left up an alley
or avenue which leads to San Lucar, and which may be a quarter of a
mile long. The view from hence was truly magnificent; before us
lay the town, occupying the side and top of a tolerably high hill,
extending from east to west. It appeared to be of considerable
size, and I was subsequently informed that it contained at least
twenty thousand inhabitants. Several immense edifices and walls
towered up in a style of grandeur, which can be but feebly
described by words; but the principal object was an ancient castle
towards the left. The houses were all white, and would have shone
brilliantly in the sun had it been higher, but at this early hour
they lay comparatively in shade. The tout ensemble was very
Moorish and oriental, and indeed in ancient times San Lucar was a
celebrated stronghold of the Moors, and next to Almeria, the most
frequented of their commercial places in Spain. Everything,
indeed, in these parts of Andalusia, is perfectly oriental. Behold
the heavens, as cloudless and as brightly azure as those of Ind;
the fiery sun which tans the fairest cheek in a moment, and which
fills the air with flickering flame; and O, remark the scenery and
the vegetable productions. The alley up which we were moving was
planted on each side with that remarkable tree or plant, for I know
not which to call it, the giant aloe, which is called in Spanish,
pita, and in Moorish, gursean. It rises here to a height almost as
magnificent as on the African shore. Need I say that the stem,
which springs up from the middle of the bush of green blades, which
shoot out from the root on all sides, is as high as a palm-tree;
and need I say, that those blades, which are of an immense
thickness at the root, are at the tip sharper than the point of a
spear, and would inflict a terrible wound on any animal which might
inadvertently rush against them?
One of the first houses at San Lucar was the posada at which we
stopped. It confronted, with some others, the avenue up which we
had come. As it was still early, I betook myself to rest for a few
hours, at the end of which time I went out to visit Mr. Phillipi,
the British vice-consul, who was already acquainted with me by
name, as I had been recommended to him in a letter from a relation
of his at Seville. Mr. Phillipi was at home in his counting-house,
and received me with much kindness and civility.
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