We passed through San Roque, a town of some importance to Spain, since Sir George Rooke in 1704 took Gibraltar, which was almost the only acquisition of the English arms until the union with Scotland, and consequent consolidation of the naval and military resources of the two kingdoms. After leaving it, our route lay through that beautiful forest of cork trees which spreads over a great part of the country, and borders on the bay of Gibraltar.
At Venla we passed several strings of galley slaves, who were chained together, and at work upon the road. As we trotted past, they paused to glare at us, and their dark sparkling eyes shone through the tangled masses of their jetty hair, which was the sole covering of their heads alike under the winter rain and the scorching summer sun.
At Castellar we were disappointed in our expected escort, as the cavalry had marched to Seville, so we halted at a venta, or inn, and were strongly advised by the hostalero, or keeper, to tarry with him awhile, for the approaching night at least, as several outrages had lately been committed in the neighbourhood, and a band of broken Carlist soldiers and runaway galley slaves had hovered for some time in the Sierra de Ronda, making themselves the terror of all the country from Cortes to Vente Quemada.
"A sly trick to get us to stay over night," said Slingsby, as he took a long draught of Xeres and cold water, and renewed his attack on the boiled fowl, which was all the patron could as yet provide for us.
"Madre maria purissima!" said the latter, turning up his glossy black eyes; "may you be forgiven your incredulity; but, señores, did you not remark the number of crosses by the wayside as you came along?"
"Each one marks the scene of some 'novedad.'"
"Novelty--a new term for a murder, Señor Patron?"
"And the poles, with robbers' heads on them?"
"And singular to say, a bird had built its nest in it," added Jack; "it was a mere skull."
"One--madre de Dios--are there not a hundred? yet, señores, you could not ride without an escort, even so far as Alcala--the thing is not to be thought of."
"What think you of all this sort of thing, Ramble?" asked Slingsby.
Before I could reply, a loud cracking of whips, the creaking of ill-greased wheels, and the clamour of voices were heard. On this the hostalero cried,--