BEFORE mounting my impatient steed—not Pegasus, but my faithful Barb “Almanzor,”—the companion of most of my wanderings; the partaker of many of my fastings and perils; and whom—such is the mutability of horse dealing affairs—I saw for the last time curvetting under a monstrous weight of whisker and mustaches in Hyde Park;—I will detain my readers a brief space, to cast a glance at the celebrated place on which we are about to turn our backs.

Let him not take fright, however, at this announcement. It is not my purpose to lead him the round of all the sights contained within the walls of this remarkable fortress; albeit they are well worthy of his notice. Nor shall I, with professional prolixity, point out to his wondering eyes its crested batteries where 700 cannon bid defiance to the enemies of Great Britain; still less expose the arcana of its famed excavated citadel, its interminable galleries, spacious chambers, &c. which must be as cautiously approached by the pen and ink of the discreet traveller, as by the pickaxe and shovel of the wary sapper: a mysterious veil being drawn over them, which it would ill become any of her Majesty’s loyal subjects to remove.

The attempt at concealment is, to be sure, rather absurd; and, as the late Earl of Chatham drily observed, (on being informed that the plans of the Fortress could only be sent to him from the Engineer’s Office, under an escort,) reminded him of the delusion of the ostrich, which, concealing his head in a bush, fancies his whole body is hid from the sight of his pursuers—since, though we carefully lock up our plans of the works in a strong box, others, equally good, may be procured for a shilling any where.

To return to my premised glance at the famed rock, I will say a few words of the unde derivatur of the name it now bears—Gibraltar—which is generally supposed to be a compound of the Arabic words Gibel (Mountain) and Tarik, the name of the Moslem general, who first landed in Spain, and with whom originated the idea of making it a place of arms. For though the mount, under the name of Calpe, held a distinguished place in ancient history, as one of the pillars of Hercules, yet it is difficult to imagine that it was ever thought of as a site for a town; otherwise, the city of Carteia would hardly have been built in its immediate vicinity.

With respect, however, to the origin of its Moorish name, it is but natural to suppose that this remarkable promontory had some distinguishing appellation in the Arabic dialect, before it was seized upon and fortified by Tarik ben Zaide; and if therefore it was called after him, it could only have been as indicative of the spot he had fixed upon for effecting his descent upon the Spanish shore. But this can hardly be the case, since he did not land there, but near where the town of Tarifa now stands (which place he founded and gave his name to); and the rocky peninsula of Gibraltar was only seized upon by Tarik on his subsequently becoming aware of its great natural strength, and the advantages its possession consequently held out, for keeping up the communication with Barbary, and furthering his ulterior projects against Spain.

It seems, on the other hand, much more probable, that the victorious Saracens, arriving at the northern extremity of Africa, and finding how small a space there separated them from Europe, would, whilst eagerly examining the whole line of coast presented to their longing eyes, have naturally given names of their own to the most prominent landmarks observable along it. Now the remarkable head-land that stretched into the sea towards them, its bold outline rendering, to all appearance, the limited space that divided them from their prey yet narrower than it really is,—could not fail to attract their attention; and it may reasonably enough be supposed that its singular form and apparent isolation led to its being designated Gibel-thar—(Gibel—mountain, and thar, or tar—Sp. tajar—Eng. to cut or sever[18])—the severed mountain,—in allusion to its actual separation from the mountainous country behind.

The Spanish historian, Lopez de Ayala, notices this derivation of the name Gibraltar, but prefers the more improbable one of Gibel Tarik—or even Gibel Phatah—Phatah signifying both key and victory; whereas, the key by which Spain was laid open to the Moors was Tarifa; the victory that made them masters of the country was gained at Xeres de la Frontera.

The castle of Gibraltar (or Calahorra) was not built until thirty years (A.D. 742) after the mountain had been occupied by Tarik; and the fortress remained in the undisturbed possession of the Moors for upwards of five centuries and a half, when it was captured by Don Alonzo Perez de Guzman; though it was afterwards recovered by the Moslems, and again remained in their possession upwards of a century.[19]

By the treaty of Utrecht, which confirmed this valuable possession to Great Britain, it was particularly stipulated that no Turkish vessels should be allowed to anchor under the protection of the fortress;—so great even at that late period was the dread the Spaniards entertained of Mohammedan invasion. It was also stipulated that no Jews should be permitted to domiciliate themselves within the garrison;—an article of the treaty which has been most glaringly infringed upon.

The archives, &c. were transported to San Roque, whither also most of the Spanish inhabitants removed with their goods and chattels. The church property does not, however, appear to have been suffered to be carried off; and an old Spanish historian gives with pious exultation a very amusing account of the contraband extraction of the saints from the different churches, after the fortress had been finally ceded to heretical England.

The passage cannot but lose in the translation; as indeed every thing in the Spanish language must. But, even in an English garb, its ludicrous seriousness may excite a smile.

“A statue of St. Joseph, which, from its extreme corpulence, could not be secretly transported, was carried away by a good Catholic—by name Joseph Martin of Medina—placed on the back of a horse as if he were a person riding. The Saint having been well balanced, enveloped in a cloak, and his head covered with a montera,[20] a person mounted en croupe to aid in supporting him, and accompanied by some friends to create confusion and distract attention, they issued forth by the main street without being discovered.”[21]

The fat Saint was lodged with other valuables at San Roque, where he may be seen to this day. A thinner Saint Joseph supplies his place in the “Spanish Church” at Gibraltar, and I dare say Joseph Martin has been canonized, and may be heard further of at Medina Sidonia.

I entirely forget what Saint in particular—or if any—is now charged with the protection of the “town and territory” of Gibraltar; but the intervention of one seems highly necessary, for the devil has obtained a great footing in the place, claiming as his own a Tower—a Bowling-green—a Bellows—a Gap, and—last, not least—a tremendous tongue of fire. Perhaps these offerings have been made to the black gentleman by some good Catholics,—like Joseph Martin,—on the same principle that the old Italian lady presented him with a costly pair of horns,—observing—“Sta bene far’ amicizia, anche col’ Signor Santo Diavolo.”

Most persons who have not visited Gibraltar entertain very curious notions respecting it; picturing to themselves a mere rock, bristling with cannon, and crowded with Barracks, Furnaces for Red-hot shot, and Powder-magazines. But, in reality, there are few places of the same limited extent that can lay claim to greater and more varied natural beauties.

The Road which leads from the picturesque old Moorish castle to the southern extremity of the rocky peninsula (a distance of upwards of two miles) presents a complete change of objects at every turn,—of hanging gardens, impending rocks, and distant vistas of the Spanish and African coasts. On gaining the flats at Europa Point, few views, finer than that which opens upon you, are any where to be met with; none more grand than, as inclining to the eastward, the back of the singular mountain bursts upon your sight, its peaked summits rising precipitously near 1400 feet above the Mediterranean, which, lashing in impotent rage its rocky base, ofttimes dashes a shower of spray over the cottage of the Governor, situated under the lofty cliff, but at least 200 feet above the angry ocean.

Again, ascending to the northernmost peak of the rocky ridge, what can exceed the beauty of the panoramic view?—a wide expanse of sea, studded with countless vessels of all kinds and nations, but so penned in by distant mountains as to assume the appearance of a vast lake, is spread out beneath you:—its glassy surface reflecting the richly wooded or vine-clad hills of Spain, on one side, the savage and sterile mountains of Barbary on the other. Casting the eye beyond the sandy isthmus which to the north separates the isolated rock from the mountains of Spain, it rests upon successive ranges of sierras, (marked by a most pleasing variety of tints,) that seem to convey you into the very heart of the country; and indeed the view is closed only by the Alpujarra range, which is upwards of a hundred miles distant from the point of view.

Within the Fortress, the hand of man has not neglected to deck out nature, where art could effect improvement. The Red Sands, formerly an unsightly burying ground, have been converted—without disturbing the dust of the tenants of the soil—into public walks and gardens. The rugged tracks, which not long since were dangerous for a horse to travel, have been rendered practicable for carriages, and sheltered from the sun by avenues of trees. The western side of the Rock, which formerly presented a bare and rugged limestone surface, is now clothed with a variety of trees and shrubs, that afford cover to numerous partridges and rabbits, as well as to the aboriginal apes, which have obtained, and not undeservedly, no small share of celebrity; and this belt of verdure, besides being refreshing to the sight, tends probably to lessen the heat of the place and increase its salubrity.

As a place of residence, I know of no town—being a garrison—that possesses so many agrÉmens. The society is composed of persons of all nations and pursuits, and is varied by the passing visits of numerous strangers, who willingly devote a few days to the examination of the wonders of the celebrated “rock,” and of the beauties of the neighbourhood. The resident English merchants were, in my day, a most hospitable body, whose society afforded a grateful variation to the but too prevalent “our’s” and “your’s” conversation of a mess table. The table, by the way, possesses great attractions to the Bon vivant; offering him the enjoyment of most of the gastronomic luxuries of the world at a very cheap rate, and champagne and claret well iced and free of duty. Finally, to the Sportsman, the neighbourhood affords the pleasures of hunting, fishing, shooting, and horse-racing; and to the studious is presented the resource of an excellent library.

I regret to say, however, that I remained at Gibraltar long enough to witness lamentable changes in many things;—to see the commerce of the place gradually decline, first from the jealousy of the Spanish government at its being made a rendezvous for a worthless and ungrateful gang of refugees; secondly, from various impolitic acts emanating from the Colonial office; and lastly, from an awful visitation of the yellow fever, which swept off a third of its dense population, and, for a time, (Cadiz having about this epoch been also declared a Free port) directed the smuggling trade into another channel.

The value of Gibraltar to Great Britain has been questioned by a recent writer on Spain,[22] who doubts whether it be worth preserving at the cost of a garrison of 4,000 (3,000 at most) troops, and the stones and mortar required for keeping its defences in repair.

“The command of the Mediterranean,” he observes, “belongs to the strongest fleet.” This—albeit a debateable proposition—I will not stop to dispute; since what Gibraltar claims is simply the command of the entrance to the Mediterranean; and that clearly belongs to the power which can most readily keep a force near at hand to prevent all ingress and egress. Now, Gibraltar is so situated as to enable Great Britain to do this, with very small naval means; whereas it would require a fleet of any other nation to watch the Straits, because that power would have also to blockade the port of Gibraltar. This any one at all acquainted with the localities,—the prevailing winds, &c.—will readily admit to be at times an impossibility; and on every occasion that the blockading squadron might be driven from its cruising ground, the command of the Straits would again be possessed by Gibraltar, should its batteries shelter but a few gunboats.

The importance of Gibraltar will increase tenfold in the event of a steam war, as every thing will then depend upon the vicinity of the contending parties to their coal depÔts.

But, besides the advantage Gibraltar gives Great Britain, by the command of the entrance of the Mediterranean, it affords a secure port at which her ships can refit, reprovision, &c. without incurring the expense and loss of time attendant on a long voyage to England. And, with respect to the expense of its maintenance, the benefit accruing to the nation at large by the disposal of her manufactured and other produce to an immense amount, far more than counterbalances the cost of the few thousand troops required for its defence, and which troops may also be looked upon as a kind of support to our advanced posts, Malta, Corfu, &c.

To furnish a proof of the value of Gibraltar to Great Britain, as a market, it will be only necessary to state, that of British manufactured cotton goods alone the “barren little rock” takes annually to the value of nearly half a million sterling;—an amount very nearly equal to that which is exported from the mother country to all her North American colonies—whilst the kingdom of Portugal (favouring us in return for benefits conferred) takes of the same articles to the amount only of £800,000; and all the other ports of Spain together, but to the value of £13,000.

Now though the government gains but a trifling increase of revenue by the vast amount of goods exported to Gibraltar, yet the good that is effected by thus keeping our manufacturers at work may certainly be put down as benefiting the country at a cheap rate, when the cost is but of a few thousand troops;—the civil servants, &c., being paid out of the crown revenues of the place itself.

On one point, I admit our government appears to be in error; namely, in making Gibraltar “a free port to every flag;” by which “other nations enjoy the benefit of the establishment, without paying any portion of the expense:”[23] and it is more particularly to be blamed, for opening it to the produce of the United States of America, which, unlike France, Tuscany, Sardinia, and Austria, give our commerce no reciprocating advantage, and whose tobacco, imported in immense quantities, pays as aforesaid no portion of the expense of the establishment, but is the article of all others that occasions Spain to watch the transit trade of Gibraltar with such excessive jealousy.

The Spanish government knows full well, that salt fish, manufactured goods of all sorts, and indeed most of the productions of Great Britain, must be introduced into the country, and would take but little trouble to check the contraband trade of Gibraltar, if it were confined to such articles; but the introduction of Tobacco, Cocoa, Sugar, Spices, and other productions of Spain’s own colonies, which the British Free port affords other nations the means of pouring into the country, to the detriment of her transatlantic possessions, naturally occasions a greater degree of watchfulness to be adopted, and excites much jealousy and ill will.

At one time, indeed, the combination of untoward circumstances before alluded to, added to the loss of our extensive trade with Oran and Algiers—(occasioned by the imposition of prohibitory duties since the North of Africa became a French Colony)—and the vigilance of the farmer who rented the preventive cordon—himself an old smuggler—threatened annihilation to the trade of Gibraltar. But, at the present day, it once more “looks up:” smuggling, thanks to the lawless state of Spain, having again furnished occupation to the hardy mountaineers of Ronda and Granada, who, careless what may be the form of Government at Madrid provided its authority does not extend to Andalusia, so as to prevent their having free access to the Calicoes and Tobacco of “La Plaza”,[24]—have been alternately crying Viva la Constitucion and Viva el Rey absoluto, for the last eighteen years.

Having now, for the present, concluded my remarks upon Gibraltar, I will embrace the opportunity,—though “Almanzor” has already been kept an unconscionable time ready saddled—of saying a few words of these rude Serranos,[25] ere I take my reader amongst them.

Smugglers by birth, education, and inclination, it could hardly be expected that they should be distinguished by the possession of any very resplendent virtues. Nevertheless, they are characterized by temperance, honesty, (apart their profession) hospitality, and noble-mindedness. Hardy and enduring, though generally averse to the occupation of husbandry, they can scarcely be termed indolent, since their favourite pursuit is one which exposes them to great fatigue. Proverbially vain, and supremely ignorant, they look upon their country as the first in the world, themselves as its bravest inhabitants: in the latter supposition, being perhaps nearly as far from the truth as in the former; their courage, such as it is, being rather of the tiger kind. Superstitious beyond all belief, and priest-ridden to the last degree, still their naturally caustic and witty temperament cannot be so bridled as to deter them from indulging in jokes and pleasantries, even at the expense of the ceremonies of their church, or the peccadilloes of their ghostly fathers.

As I have stated before, they concern themselves but little with politics; but, having a most radical distaste for every species of taxation, the government that troubles them least in this particular—that is, which has the least power of levying its dues—is naturally the most popular.

In the eventful period in Spanish History, during which I mixed constantly with the natives of all classes, I found the Serranos by turns Realistas,—Constitucionalistas,—Serviles,—Liberales,—Moderados,—and Exaltados: their opinions invariably changing for or against the existing [dis]order of things, according to the strength of the preventive cordon drawn round Gibraltar, and the support given to the local authorities in exacting the payment of taxes.

The only change that I ever perceived Liberalism to work in their habits was, that it induced a freer circulation of the pig-skin; thus leading to inebriety and its concomitants, brawling, insubordination, and depravity; and though this departure from the sober dignity that characterizes the Spaniard was most observable in the troops, yet the pernicious example set by these lawless bands could not but be of bad omen.

Of the Serranos I may in conclusion say, that, considering their ignorance and superstition, and above all the demoralizing nature of their occupation; considering also the wild impracticable country they inhabit; the distracted state of the kingdom; the lamentably ill-enforced condition of the laws, and the sad venality of all Spanish Authorities; they are a wonderfully moral and well-behaved race. Assassinations,—when the country is not, as at present, disturbed by political dissensions—are of very rare occurrence; and the same unhappy state of things has naturally led to the perpetration of numerous personal outrages and increased the number of highway robberies: but larceny and housebreaking are even now rarely heard of; and Incendiarism, Infanticide, and some other heinous crimes that disgrace more civilized communities, are unknown.

The condition of this singular race presents, therefore, the anomalous spectacle of the co-existence of rare moral qualities with ignorance, lawlessness, and superstition; and, by instituting a comparison between the condition of the inhabitants of Spain and those of better governed and more enlightened nations, the Philanthropist cannot but entertain a doubt whether a very high degree of education is, in all cases, conducive to the happiness of Mankind.

The experiment now in progress of sending Liberty, armed Cap-a-pee, to take Spain by storm, ere Truth and Wisdom have battered Bigotry and Ignorance in breach, is one that cannot fail to entail the utmost misery upon that unhappy country for a long space of years.

No class of Spaniards is, at the present moment, prepared for the great organic changes in the government and institutions of their country that we are pressing upon them. There are doubtless some enlightened men in the upper ranks, who, with the welfare of their country at heart, wish for a change; but their previous life has unfitted them from taking the lead in effecting it. There are also many learned men with heads full of metaphysicks and moral and political theories, who fancy they have but to lecture on forms of government to have their views adopted; and in the mass of the people there is a great deal of intelligence sparkling through a dense cloud of ignorance and bigotry; but vanity is the besetting sin of all Spaniards; they cannot bring themselves to think they are behind the rest of Europe; and consequently they do not see that the more liberal institutions of other countries have followed, and not preceded, the “march of intellect.”

The various Constitution builders, who, set after set, have succeeded to the direction of affairs, in this luckless country, have invariably found themselves in the situation of a man who, having pulled down his old house to erect another on the spot, after the model of one he had read of, discovered, that though slate, bricks, and mortar, were all at hand, he could not meet with workmen who understood his plan, so as to put his projected structure together; and thus he was driven to seek shelter in an outhouse.

But, besides the absolute want of knowledge of the world that all the ministers of Spain have evinced, from Manuel Godoy to the present day, there is yet another want that has been almost equally conspicuous during the same period—namely, the want of honesty. One of the best patriots that the country has produced, since the light of liberalism first broke upon it, declared that this want was the source of all Spain’s misfortunes.—“Somos todos corrompidos”[26] was his painful confession; and without going to the full extent of that assertion, it seems more than probable this rottenness at the core will not be cured, until Spain produces some great tyrant like Napoleon.

A Despot, though not over-scrupulous himself, generally makes his subordinates honest;[27] but I doubt the possibility of any set of men, who have been brought up on plunder, divesting themselves of the habit of self-appropriation when possessed of the distribution of the loaves and fishes.

I must no longer, however, delay taking my departure from Gibraltar, or the gates of the fortress will be closed upon me for the night, and frustrate my intention of sleeping at San Roque.