SAN ROQUE is the nearest town to the British fortress, and distant from it about six English miles. A mere village at the period of the last siege of Gibraltar, it has gradually increased, so as at the present day to cover a considerable extent of ground, and to contain a population of upwards of six thousand souls. The title of City has even been vicariously bestowed upon it; all public acts, &c., emanating from its different authorities, being headed in the following singular manner,—“The President and Individuals of the Board of health of the City of Gibraltar, which, from the material loss of that place, is established in this of San Roque within its territory, &c.”[28]

The Corregidor, Alcalde, and other authorities, are also designated as of Gibraltar, and not of San Roque.

The town is pleasantly situated on an isolated knoll, the houses entirely covering its summit, and extending some way down its Northern and Western slopes; but towards Gibraltar and to the East, the ground falls very abruptly, so as to form a natural boundary to the town.

Though quite unsheltered by trees, and consequently exposed to the full power of the sun, San Roque possesses great advantages over Gibraltar in point of climate; for, whilst its elevation above all the ground in the immediate vicinity secures to it a freer circulation of air than is enjoyed by the pent-up fortress, it is sheltered from the damp and blighting levant wind that blows down the Mediterranean, by a low mountain range, known as the Sierra Carbonera, or Queen of Spain’s Chair, which is distant about a mile from the town, and stretches in a North and South direction, between it and the sea.

The baneful Khamseen of the desert is not more dreaded by the nomad Arab, than is this pestiferous wind by the desk-bound inhabitant of the Fortress. No sooner does it set in, than a dense cloud gathers round the isolated mountain, and, clinging with mischievous pertinacity to its rugged peaks, involves the Town in a damp, unwholesome atmosphere during the whole period of its continuance. At the same time, the breeze, repelled by the precipitous cliff that bounds the rock to the Eastward, sweeps in furious blasts round both its flanks, driving clouds of sand, flies, and blue devils into every dwelling, and Rheumatism, Asthma, and Lumbago, into the bones, chests, and backs, of their inmates.

San Roque, being free from this intolerable nuisance, is looked upon as a sort of Montpelier by the Gibraltarians, and, at the period of which I write, was very much resorted to by the mercantile classes, who fitted up comfortable “boxes” there, that afforded them an agreeable retreat after their daily labours at the desk were concluded.

The late Sir George Don, whilst Lieut. Governor of the Fortress, invariably passed several months of the year at San Roque; and his noble hospitality, his ever open purse, and constant employment of the poor in works of utility, secured to him the love and respect of all classes of its inhabitants. Indeed, such was the gallant Veteran’s influence in the place, that I may literally say, not a stone could be turned nor a tree planted without “His Excellency’s” being first consulted as to the propriety of the measure.

My duty requiring me to be in frequent attendance upon the Lieut. Governor, I generally made one of Sir George’s party, whenever he fixed his Head-quarters at San Roque; and on one of these occasions a circumstance occurred that throws such a light upon the extraordinary character of the Spanish Government, that I am tempted to relate it before proceeding further.

I was seated one morning tÊte-À-tÊte with the General, waiting the arrival of the Messenger with letters, &c. from the Fortress, when we observed a guard of Spanish soldiers pass by the window, headed by an officer on horseback, and having a prisoner in charge; and to our astonishment they stopped at the General’s door. We were waiting with some little curiosity to learn the cause of this extraordinary visit, and were lost in conjectures as to whom the delinquent could be, when the door of the apartment was thrown open, and in rushed the prisoner himself, exclaiming with great excitement and the volubility of his nation—“General, you doubtless know me—I am Prince Napoleon Lucien Murat—I throw myself upon and claim your protection—I have been entrapped by the vile Spanish government” (this was soon after the restoration of the “inclito” Ferdinand). “Invited by the Commandant of San Roque to pay him a visit, I was seduced to leave Gibraltar, and on arriving at the Spanish lines was seized upon and hurried off under an escort, to be imprisoned at Algeciras, where I should have been murdered, but that fortunately I succeeded in persuading the officer charged with my safeguard to pass through San Roque on his way and allow me to speak to you. He unwittingly acceded to my request, and I now place myself under the protection of the British flag.”

“Monsieur,” replied the General, with no slight astonishment, “this is indeed a very extraordinary, and apparently most unjustifiable proceeding; but I am sorry to inform you that I can afford you no protection. The British flag does not fly at San Roque; and I myself reside here only by permission of the Spanish government. My good offices,—as far as they can be of service in liberating you,—shall not be wanting; but, in the mean time, pray let me hear further particulars of this plot against your liberty; and Scott,”—turning to me—“have the goodness to go to the Spanish Commandant, and request he will favour me with a few minutes’ conversation.”

I proceeded as directed to the quarters of the Colonel of the Regiment of Granada, which at that time formed the garrison of San Roque, and was ushered in to the Commandant, whom I found at his toilet, and not a little surprised at my early visit.

Now Don Alonzo del Pulgar Apugal—for such were the Colonel’s patronymics—was the least likely man in the world to be employed in a case of abduction. He was a soft, open-hearted, honeycomb-headed, fat, good-natured man, of about five and forty, without two military ideas, and not half a dozen on any other subject. What little knowledge he did possess, was of dogs, guns, charges, and wadding. But, at the same time, I knew the Don to be a gentleman, and incapable of acting the part with which he was charged. When, therefore, I explained the circumstances that had led to my waiting upon him, ere his unnameables were yet finally braced round his portly person, he was most excessively astonished, and repelled with indignant warmth the vile accusation of being the abbettor—indeed, the principal mover—in the infamous plot that had placed Prince Lucien’s body at the tender mercies of six Spanish bayonets, and his neck in jeopardy of the garrote[29]—“Valgame Dios!” he at length exclaimed, “surely the poor young man cannot have deceived himself by taking al piÉ de la letra, our usual Spanish compliment;—for now I recollect, when he was introduced to me at the dog-meeting” (he meant at the fox-hunt) “some time back, we had some conversation about shooting, and I said my dogs and guns were at his disposition[30] whenever he wished for a day’s sport.—Pobrecito!—it is possible I may thus unconsciously have been the cause of this unfortunate affair.”

Such, however, did not turn out to be the case, for the Prince had presented himself at the Spanish lines, provided with both dogs and gun, and accompanied by a sportsman to show him the country.

The kind-hearted Colonel hurried down to Sir George, buckling his sword on as he went, and was immediately on his arrival taken into a private room to consult as to what could be done in the business, as well as to hear the officer of the escort’s edition of the story. Mons. Murat meanwhile remained in the study with one of the general’s Aides de Camp (my friend Budgen of the Royal Engineers) and myself, and to us, who were yet unacquainted with the heinous nature of the crime of which he was accused by the Spanish government, appeared to be most unnecessarily alarmed, and to rely but little on the friendly interference of Sir George; on which indeed he had as little claim as upon the protection of the British flag, beyond the jurisdiction of which he had voluntarily placed himself:—for, considering perhaps that such a step would have been beneath his dignity as an ex-prince of the Two Sicilies, he had neglected to pay the customary compliment of calling upon the Governor on arriving at the Fortress, and was consequently unknown.

After sundry exclamations of regret at having suffered himself to be made a prisoner without a struggle, he asked if there was a door of communication with the street running at the back of the house; and, on my replying in the affirmative, he proposed that I should lend him my military frock coat, and ask an English officer who had accompanied him and remained outside to meet him there with his horse—“alors”—said he—the reckless valour of the father showing itself—“avec le sabre de Tupper[31] je m’en—de ces laches d’Espagnols.” This of course was out of the question; as however unfairly he might have been kidnapped—and of which we had yet to be convinced—it was clear that Sir George’s honour, on the faith of which he had been permitted to enter and remain in the house, would have been compromised by our connivance at his escape from it.

We did all we could to quiet his apprehensions until the return of Sir George, who informed him that it appeared from the statement of the officer of the escort, that orders had been received from the general officer commanding at Algeciras to arrest him, should he, on any pretence, again pass the limits of the British garrison.

The kind-hearted old General expressed the utmost regret at his having been so imprudent as to trust himself a second time in Spain (for only a month before he had been conducted to Gibraltar under an escort from Malaga)—and hoping that his own consciousness of innocence would relieve him from any fear as to the result of the affair, gave him a letter to General JosÉ O’Donnell, who commanded in the Campo de Gibraltar; in which letter he requested, as a favour to himself, that every respect and attention might be paid to the young Frenchman:—a favour he had every right to ask, from one who had received so many more important ones at his hands.—

General O’Donnell, in his reply, stated that he had but acted in conformity with instructions received from Madrid—that Monsieur Murat had some months previously landed at Malaga from a vessel which, when on its passage with him to America, had been obliged to put into that port to repair some slight damage experienced in a gale of wind—that, during his stay there, he had publicly expressed his hostility to the king’s government, and, instead of proceeding to his destination when the vessel again put to sea, he had appeared rather disposed to establish himself in that (not over-loyal) city.—The Spanish government viewed these circumstances with a very suspicious eye; particularly as his elder brother had, but a few years before, been one of the aspirans to the constitutional crown of Spain;—and he had consequently been sent with a guard of honour to Gibraltar, from whence opportunities for America are more frequent than from Malaga.

In compliance with Sir George Don’s request, General O’Donnell promised that every attention should be paid to the youth’s comfort, consistent with his safe custody, until instructions as to his disposal should be received from the capital.

The cause of the violent proceedings adopted by the Spanish government turned out eventually to be, that this scion of Despotism had sung Riego’s hymn all the way from Malaga to Gibraltar; some of his guard of honour even joining in chorus! and that at Estepona he had, through the influence of a colonato,[32] persuaded an old barber who had shaved him—he being the ex-trumpeter of the Nacionales—to play the forbidden tune to the astonished fishermen of the place!

The sequel of this state affair was, that Monsieur Murat remained in durance at Algeciras, until a vessel bound to the United States offered him the means of crossing the Atlantic.

I used to find that an occasional visit to San Roque made a very agreeable break in the monotony of a garrison life; for what place, let its attractions be ever so great, does not become dull when one is per forza obliged to make it a residence? Even London, Paris, or Vienna, would not stand the test.

The society of San Roque was not of a very exclusive kind; for but little of the sangre azul[33] of Spain flowed in the veins of its inhabitants. Nevertheless, there, as elsewhere, some families were to be met with who looked upon themselves as of a superior order to the rest of the community; condescending, however, to mix with them on the most friendly footing at their nightly Tertulia. This is a kind of “at home,” announced to be held sometimes once or twice a week, sometimes nightly, at the houses of the leading families of a town; the reunion taking place after the theatre—should there be one.[34]

In large towns it frequently happens that several houses are open to receive company on the same night. But, although it is considered rather a slight to neglect showing yourself at those to which you have the entrÉe, it is by no means necessary to do more than that; it being optional with you to pass the evening at whichever house you find most attractive, after going the round of all. Even the ladies who open their houses for Tertulias consider it necessary to send some of the members of their family to the rival assemblies; always with a message of regret at not being able to go themselves, their own party being so very crowded that they could not possibly absent themselves from it, without giving offence to their numerous guests.

It must be confessed that the Tertulia is a very agreeable mode of associating; that it offers great variety, without being attended with the least formality, and entails but slight expense on the entertainers; iced water and sospiros[35] being, excepting on gala nights, the only refreshment offered to the company.

There is very little difference observable in the various grades of Spanish society. The same incessant loud talking amongst the females distinguishes the whole; dancing, singing, cards, and games of forfeits, are the amusements of all. Even dress, until of late years, did not furnish a distinction, excepting, in a slight degree, by the costliness of the materials.

But French taste, with its monstrous and ever-varying eccentricities, has corrupted that of the upper ranks of Spain, and occasioned the graceful and becoming national costume to be in a great measure laid aside.

The great distinction that marks the various grades of Spanish society, is the latitude given to smoking. In the first circles, it is altogether prohibited. In the second, it is confined to a back room, or suffered in the patio.[36] In all others it is freely permitted.

It is a positive libel on the ladies of Spain to say that they smoke under any circumstances; though the disgusting habit prevails amongst the females of Mexico and other transatlantic states that formerly were included in the empire of both worlds.

A good letter of introduction insures a foreigner admission into the best Spanish society. He is taken the round of all the tertulias, and, on receiving from the lady of any house the assurance that it is at his disposition, may present himself there as often as he pleases. Should this form be withheld, he may take it for granted—despite the whisperings of self-love—that his future attendance is not wished for.

The need of some little acquaintance with the Spanish language caused but few English officers to enter into the society of San Roque; but living there as much as I did, and being often placed in communication with the authorities, I derived from it a source of great amusement. Indeed, to Lady Viale[37] and her amiable family I am indebted for many agreeable evenings; her house uniting the pleasing informality of Spanish with the solid hospitality (I use the term in our eating and drinking sense of it) of English society.

It would be an error to depict the manners and customs of the inhabitants of San Roque, as those of the natives of Andalusia generally; since, in their various pursuits, the former are so frequently thrown in contact with Englishmen and other foreigners settled at Gibraltar, that they cannot but have acquired some of their habits, and imbibed some of their ideas. Nevertheless, there is a self-conceit about all Spaniards, that makes them particularly slow in throwing off their nationality; and the difference is consequently not so great as might naturally be expected. A proof of this is afforded by the circumstance of the English language not being spoken, nor even understood, by fifty of the inhabitants of San Roque; although it is evidently so much their interest to acquire it.

Their intercourse, on the other hand, (and this is observable in all the sea-port towns of Spain) has given them strangely ill defined notions of English liberty, and equally extraordinary opinions of our religious tenets; and has filled their minds with highly constitutional ideas of the iniquity of taxation, and most conscientious scruples as to the propriety of supporting a national church. I fear, indeed, that deistical, nay I believe I should say Atheistical, opinions prevail to a great extent amongst the upper orders of Spaniards, though they still continue to observe—if not the penances—all the superstitious ceremonies and absurd fooleries of the Romish church.

One of their extraordinary lental ceremonies I became acquainted with under very alarming circumstances. I was awaked one fine April morning, during one of my earliest visits to San Roque, by a most furious fusillade, which, considering the unsettled state of Spain at that particular juncture, I naturally enough concluded was occasioned by some popular commotion. The appearance of my servant in answer to a hasty summons of the bell immediately quieted my apprehensions on that score, however; the broad grin that distended his round Kentish countenance plainly bespeaking the absence of all danger;—though what occasioned his unwonted merriment puzzled me to divine. In reply to my inquiries touching the firing, the only answer I could obtain was, “They’re a shooting of Hoodah.”—“And who the deuce is Hoodah?” said I, “and what has he been about?”—But on these points he was quite as ignorant as myself; so dressing with all possible despatch—the astounding rolls of musketry, and as it appeared to me of field artillery also, continuing the whole time I was so occupied, seeming indeed to spread to all parts of the town—I issued forth, armed up to the teeth, and on turning the corner of the street saw, to my horror, a human figure suspended in the air, and reduced almost to a bundle of rags by the incessant firing of—as I supposed—a party of soldiers posted in a cross street.

This surely is “making assurance doubly sure,” thought I. Why the poor devil can’t have an inch of sound flesh in his body after all this peppering. The bang, bang continued incessantly, however, accompanied by roars of laughter, until at length the ill-fated Hoodah was in a blaze. A crowd of men and boys, armed with guns, pistols, and blunderbusses, now rushed from the cross street, (where they had been concealed from my view) rending the air with vivas. At this same moment a loud peal of music burst upon me from a neighbouring church, and from its portal issued a long train of priests preceded by the Host. With these came the recollections of its being Easter Sunday, and of the guttural pronunciation of the Spanish J; and quite ashamed of my war-like demonstration, I retreated to my house yet quicker than I had issued from it.

The distant firing continued some time longer; and I afterwards learnt that the effigies of no less than seven Judases had that morning been severally hanged, shot, and burnt, to satisfy the holy rage of the devout inhabitants of San Roque.