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A CHOZA: THE HOME OF THE ANDALUCIAN PEASANT.

As the sinuous, ill-defined mule-track leaves the plain and strikes the rising ground, the signs of man's presence become rapidly scarcer; for none, save the very poorest, live outside the boundaries of town or village. For mile after mile the track traverses the thickets of wild olive and lentiscus; here a whole hillside glows with the pink bloom of rhododendron, or acres of asphodel clothe a barren patch; but not so much as a solitary choza, the rude reed-built hut of a goatherd, can be seen. Now the path merges in the bed of some winter torrent, rugged and boulder-strewn, but shaded with bay and laurestinus, and a fringe of magnificent oleanders; anon we flounder through deep deposits of alluvial mud bordered by waving brakes of giant canes and briar, presently to strike again the upward track through evergreen forests of chestnut and cork-oak.

The silence and solitude of hours—that perfect loneliness characteristic of highland regions—is broken at last by a human greeting so unexpected and startling, that the rider instinctively checks his horse, and grasps the gun which hangs in the slings by his side. But alarm is soon allayed as a pair of Civil Guards on their well-appointed mounts emerge from some sheltering thicket, and command the way. The guardias civiles patrol the Spanish hills in pairs by day and night, for it is through the passes of the sierra that the inland towns are supplied with contraband from the coast, and all travellers are subject to the scrutiny of these sharp-eyed cavalry. Yet, despite the vigilance of this fine corps and their coadjutors the carbineers, the smuggler manages to live and to drive a thriving trade. Possessing a beast of marvellous agility and tried endurance, he carries his cargo of cottons or tobacco—the unexcised output of Málaga or Gibraltar—across the sierras, by devious paths and break-neck passes which would appear impracticable, save to a goat; and this, too, generally by night.

Towns are few and far between among the mountains, and the rare villages often cluster picturesquely on the ridge of some stupendous crag like eagles' eyries: positions chosen for their strength centuries ago, and nothing changes in Spain. It is not considered safe for well-to-do people to live on their possessions of cork-woods and cattle-runs, and few of that class are ever to be seen in the sierras, while those whom business or necessity takes from one town to another naturally choose the route which is, as they term it, "más acompañado," i.e., most frequented, even though it be three times as long—in Spanish phrase, "no hay atajo sin trabajo." A wanderer from these veredas is looked upon with a suspicion which experience has shown is not ill-founded.

Plate III. PAIR OF CIVIL GUARDS—JEREZ. Page 14.

One evidence of human presence is, however, inevitably in sight—the blue, curling smoke of the charcoal-burners, the sign of a wasteful process that is ruthlessly destroying the silent beauties of the sierra. Every tree, shrub, or bush has to go to provide fuel for the universal puchero. No other firing is used for kitchen purposes; no houses, save a few of the richest, have fireplaces or cooking-apparatus other than the charcoal anafe—with its triple blow-holes, through which the smouldering embers are fanned with a grass-woven mat (see cut at p. 22)—and its accompaniments, the casuela and clay olla. The mountain forest is his only resource: yet the careless Andaluz never dreams of the future, or of planting trees to replace those he burns to-day.

Hence year by year the land becomes ever more treeless, barren, and naked; whole hill-ranges which only twenty years ago were densely clad with thickets of varied growth, the lair of boar and roe, are now denuded and disfigured. The blackened circle, the site of a charcoal-furnace, attests the destructive handiwork of man. If one expostulates with the carboneros, or laments the destruction wrought, their reply is always the same:—"The land will now become tierra de pan," or corn-land, of which there is already more than enough for the labour available.

In some upland valley one comes across a colony of carboneros who have settled down on some clearing under agreement with the owner to cut and prepare for market. These woodmen are either paid so much per quintal, or obtain the use of the land in return for clearing and reducing it into order for corn-growing. No rent is asked for the first five years, or if any be paid, a portion of the crop is usually the landlord's share. During the first few years, these disafforested lands are highly productive, the virgin soil, enriched by carbonized refuse, yielding as much as sixty bushels to the acre. The carboneros lead a lonely life, except when their sequestered colony is enlivened by the arrival of the arrieros with their donkey-teams, to load up the produce for the nearest towns.

Fortunately for the Spanish forests, there are two circumstances that tend to limit their destruction. First there is the value of the cork-oak; for, besides its bark, which is stripped and sold every seven years, its crops of acorns fatten droves of shapely black swine during autumn and winter, and a substance is obtained beneath the bark which is used in curing leather. Hence the forests of noble alcornoques escape the ruthless hatchet of the carbonero. The other limit is the cost of transport which restricts his operations to within a certain distance of the towns which form his market. Beyond this radius the forests retain their native pristine beauty: under their shade are pastured herds of cattle, and a rude hut, built of undressed stones and thatched with reeds, forms the lonely casa of the herdsman. By day and night he guards his cattle or goats, often having to sleep on the hill, or under the scant shelter of a lentisco, for which he receives about eightpence a day, with an allowance of bread, oil, salt, and vinegar. His wife and children of course share his lonely lot, their only touch with the outer world being a chance visit, once or twice a year, to their native village.

Our rough friend, clad in leather or woolly sheepskin, is a sportsman by nature, and can "hold straight" on his favourite quarry, the rabbit, whose habits he thoroughly understands. The walls of his hut are seldom unadorned with an ancient fowling-piece: generally a converted "flinter," modernized with percussion lock, and having an enormous exterior spring for its motive power. When the long, honey-combed barrel has been duly fed with Spanish powder from his cork-stoppered cow's horn, the quantity settled by eye-measurement in the palm of his hand, a wisp of palmetto leaf well rammed home, and a similar process gone through with the shot from a leather pouch, he may be trusted to give a good account of darting bunny or rattle-winged red-leg. Poor fellow! the respect and love he bears for his old favourite receive a rude shock when the power of modern combinations of wood-powder, choke-bore, and Purdey barrels have been successfully and successively demonstrated. But it is only after repeated proofs that his lifelong faith in the unique powers of that old escopeta begins to shake.

Then it is a study to watch that bronzed and swarthy face, after a long and clean right-and-left, and deep is the concentrated expressiveness of the single untranslatable word he utters. The first opportunity is taken to have a quiet examination of the English gun and cartridges, and with what respect he handles these latest developments of power and precision! One cannot help fearing that upon his next miss some particle of mistrust may, with a sportsman's facility of excuse, find the fault in his old and trusted friend: or that his ever-ready explanation, "las polvoras estaban frias," i.e., the powder was cold! will be associated with treasonable doubts of his old Brown Bess. We hope not. Good, honest fellow, may he ever remain content and satisfied with the old gun, for it affords almost the only solace of his lonely life!

In this rough herdsman there beats the kindliest heart: there exist the best feelings of hospitality as he offers you, a brother sportsman, the shelter of his hut and a share of his humble fare, offered with the simple unaffected ease of an equal, and the natural grace characteristic of his class throughout the south of Spain.

Besides these humble and harmless inhabitants, the Spanish sierras have also ever afforded a refuge for the brigand and outlaw, and many deeds of murder and violence are associated with these wild regions. Until the year 1889 the mountain land was dominated by two famous villains known as Vizco el Borje and Melgarez, his lieutenant, who commanded a band of desperadoes, the scourge and dread of the whole southern sierra, from Gibraltar to Almería. Vizco el Borje held human life cheap: he stuck at no murder, though he sought not bloodshed, for his tactics were to take alive and hold to ransom. All sorts of tales are told of the courage and generosity of this Spanish Robin Hood. Vizco el Borje robbed only from the rich, and was profuse in the distribution of money and plunder among the peasantry. But whatever redeeming features may have existed in this robber chief, Melgarez, his lieutenant, is a very fiend of malice and cruelty, revelling in bloodshed and revolting butcheries.[4]

To those unacquainted with Spain, "la tierra de vice versâ," as they themselves call it, it must appear a mystery how this robber-band could remain at large, practical masters of great areas, in defiance of law and order, and of the civil and military power of Spain. But there is less difficulty for those who can see to read between the lines, in a land where, according to one of their own authors, every one has his price, that protection is afforded to the outlaws by those in place and power, on condition that they and their properties remain unmolested.[5]

In another chapter we will relate a couple of episodes which have occurred within our personal knowledge, and which will serve to illustrate the robbers' methods of procedure, and the condition of personal security among the sierras of Southern Spain.

A WATER-CARRIER.

Plate IV. DAUGHTERS OF ANDALUCIA. Page 19.