C. Rochfort? Scott

DEPARTURE FOR CADIZ—ROAD ROUND THE BAY OF GIBRALTAR—ALGECIRAS—SANDY BAY—GUALMESI—TARIFA—ITS FOUNDATION—ERROR OF MARIANA IN SUPPOSING IT TO BE CARTEIA—BATTLE OF EL SALADO—MISTAKE OF LA MARTINIERE CONCERNING IT—ITINERARY OF ANTONINUS FROM CARTEIA TO GADES VERIFIED—CONTINUATION OF JOURNEY—VENTAS OF TAVILLA AND RETIN—VEJER—CONIL—SPANISH METHOD OF EXTRACTING GOOD FROM EVIL—TUNNY FISHERY—BARROSA—FIELD OF BATTLE—CHICLANA—ROAD TO CADIZ—PUENTE ZUAZO—SAN FERNANDO—TEMPLE OF HERCULES—CASTLE OF SANTI PETRI—ITS IMPORTANCE TO CADIZ.

HOPING that the taste of my readers, like my own, leads them to prefer the motion of a horse to that of a ship, the chance of being robbed to that of being sea-sick, and the savoury smell of an olla to the greasy odour of a steam engine, I purpose in my next excursion to conduct them to Cadiz by the rude pathway practised along the rocky shore of the Straits of Gibraltar, and thence, “inter Æstuaria BÆtis,” to Seville, instead of proceeding to those places by the more rapid and now generally adopted means of fire and water. From the last named “fair city” we will return homewards by another passage through the mountains of Ronda.

To authorise me—a mere scribbler of notes and journals—to assume the plural we, that gives a Delphic importance to one’s opinions (but under whose shelter I gladly seek to avoid the charge of egotism), I must state that a friend bore me company on this occasion; our two servants, with well stuffed saddle-bags and alforjas, “bringing up the rear.”

Proceeding along the margin of the bay of Gibraltar, leaving successively behind us the ruins of Fort St. Philip, which a few years since gave security to the right flank of the lines drawn across the Isthmus in front of the British fortress; the crumbling tower of Cartagena, or Recadillo, which, during the seven centuries of Moslem sway, served as an atalaya, or beacon, to convey intelligence along the coast between Algeciras and Malaga; and, lastly, the scattered fragments of the yet more ancient city of Carteia, we arrive at the river Guadaranque.

The stream is so deep as to render a ferry-boat necessary. That in use is of a most uncouth kind, and so low waisted that “Almanzor,” who was ever prone to gad amongst the Spanish lady Rosinantes, could not be deterred from showing his gallantry to some that were collected on the opposite side of the river, by leaping “clean out” of the boat before it was half way over. Fortunately, we had passed the deepest part of the stream, so that I escaped with a foot-bath only.

The road keeps close to the shore for about a mile and a half, when it reaches the river Palmones, which is crossed by a similarly ill-contrived ferry. From hence to Algeciras is three miles, the first along the sea-beach, the remainder by a carriage-road, conducted some little distance inland to avoid the various rugged promontories which now begin to indent the coast, and to dash back in angry foam the hitherto gently received caresses of the flowing tide.

The total distance from Gibraltar to Algeciras, following the sea-shore, is nine English miles; but straight across the bay it is barely five.

Algeciras, supposed to be the Tingentera of the ancients, and by some the Julia Traducta of the Romans, received its present name from the Moors—Al chazira, the island. In the days of the Moslem domination, it became a place of great strength and importance; and when the power of the Moors of Spain began to wane, was one of the towns ceded to the Emperor of Fez, to form a kingdom for his son, Abou Melic, in the hope of presenting a barrier that would check the alarming progress of the Christian arms. From that time it became a constant object of contention, and endured many sieges. The most memorable was in 1342-4, during which cannon were first brought into use by its defenders. It, nevertheless, fell to the irresistible Alfonso XI., after a siege of twenty months.

At that period, the town stood on the right bank of the little river Miel (instead of on the left, as at present), where traces of its walls are yet to be seen; but its fortifications having shortly afterwards been razed to the ground by the Moors, the place fell to decay, and the present town was built so late as in 1760. It is unprotected by walls, but is sheltered from attack on the sea-side by a rocky little island, distant 800 yards from the shore. This island is crowned with batteries of heavy ordnance, and has, on more occasions than one, been found an “ugly customer” to deal with. The anchorage is to the north of the island, and directly in front of the town.

The streets of Algeciras are wide and regularly built, remarkably well paved, and lined with good houses; but it is a sun-burnt place, without a tree to shelter, or a drain to purify it. Being the port of communication between Spain and her presidario, Ceuta, as well as the military seat of government of the Campo de Gibraltar, it is a place of some bustle, and carries on a thriving trade, by means of felucas and other small craft, with the British fortress. The population may be reckoned at 8,000 souls, exclusive of a garrison of from twelve to fifteen hundred men.

The Spaniards call the rock of Gibraltar el cuerpo muerto,[18] from its resemblance to a corpse; and, viewed from Algeciras, it certainly does look something like a human figure laid upon its back, the northernmost pinnacle forming the head, the swelling ridge between that and the signal tower, the chest and belly, and the point occupied by O’Hara’s tower the bend of the knees.

The direct road from Algeciras to Cadiz crosses the most elevated pass in the wooded mountains that rise at the back of the town, and, from its excessive asperity, is called “The Trocha,” the word itself signifying a bad mountain road. The distance by this route is sixty-two miles; by Tarifa it is about a league more, and this latter road is not much better than the other, though over a far lower tract of country.

On quitting the town, the road, having crossed the river Miel, and passed over the site of “Old Algeciras,” situated on its right bank, edges away from the coast, and, in about a mile, reaches a hill, whence an old tower is seen standing on a rocky promontory; which, jutting some considerable distance into the sea, forms the northern boundary of a deep and well sheltered bay. The Spanish name for this bight is La Ensenada de Getares; but by us, on account of the high beach of white sand that edges it, it is called “Sandy bay.” It strikes me this must be the Portus albus of Antoninus’s Itinerary, since its distance from Carteia corresponds exactly with that therein specified, and renders the rest of the route to Gades intelligible, which, otherwise, it certainly is not. But more of this hereafter.

Within two miles of Algeciras the road crosses two mountain torrents, the latter of which, called El Rio Picaro[19] (I presume from its occasional treacherous rise), discharges itself into the bay of Getares. Thenceforth, the track becomes more rugged, and ascends towards a pass, (El puerto del Cabrito) which connects the Sierra Santa Ana on the right with a range of hills that, rising to the south, and closing the view in that direction, shoots its gnarled roots into the Straits of Gibraltar.

The views from the pass are very fine—that to the eastward, looking over the lake-like Mediterranean and towards the snowy sierras of Granada; the other, down upon the rough features of the Spanish shore, and towards the yet more rugged mountains of Africa; the still distant Atlantic stretching away to the left. The former view is shut out immediately on crossing the ridge: but the other, undergoing pleasing varieties as one proceeds, continues very fine all the way to Tarifa.

The road is now very bad, being conducted across the numerous rough ramifications of the mountains on the right hand, midway between their summits and the sea. At about seven miles from Algeciras it reaches the secluded valley of Gualmesi, or Guadalmesi, celebrated for the crystaline clearness of its springs, and the high flavour of its oranges; and, crossing the stream, whence the romantic dell takes its name, directs itself towards the sea-shore, continuing along it the rest of the way to Tarifa; which place is distant twelve miles from Algeciras.

The stratification of the rocks along this coast is very remarkable: the flat shelving ledges that border it running so regularly in parallel lines, nearly east and west, as to have all the appearance of artificial moles for sheltering vessels. It is on the contrary, however, an extremely dangerous shore to approach.

The old Moorish battlements of Tarifa abut against the rocky cliff that bounds the coast; stretching thence to the westward, along, but about 50 yards from, the sea. It is not necessary, therefore, to enter the fortress; indeed, one makes a considerable dÉtour in doing so; but curiosity will naturally lead all Englishmen—who have the opportunity—to visit the walls so gallantly defended by a handful of their countrymen during the late war; and those who cannot do so may not object to read a somewhat minute description of them.

The town closes the mouth of a valley, bound by two long but slightly marked moles, protruded from a mountain range some miles distant to the north; the easternmost of which terminates abruptly along the sea-shore. The walls extend partly up both these hills; but not far enough to save the town from being looked into, and completely commanded, within a very short distance. Their general lines form a quadrangular figure, about 600 yards square; but a kind of horn work projects from the N.E. angle, furnishing the only good flanking fire that the fortress can boast of along its north front. Every where else the walls, which are only four feet and a half thick, are flanked by square towers, themselves hardly solid enough to bear the weight of artillery, much less its blows.

At the S.W. angle, but within the enceinte of the fortress, and looking seawards, there is a small castle, or citadel, the alcazar of its Moorish governors; and immediately under its machicoulated battlements is one of the three gateways of the town. The two others are towards the centre of its western and northern fronts.

In the attack of 1811, the French made their approaches against the north front of the town, and effected a breach towards its centre, in the very lowest part of the bed of the valley; thus most completely “taking the bull by the horns;” (and Tarifa bulls are not to be trifled with—as every Spanish picador knows,) since the approach to it was swept by the fire of the projecting horn-work I have before mentioned.

When the breach was repaired, a marble tablet was inserted in the wall, bearing a modest inscription in Latin, which states that “this part of the wall, destroyed by the besieging French, was re-built by the British defenders in November, 1813.”

When the French again attacked the fortress, in 1823, profiting by past experience, they established their breaching batteries in a large convent, distant about 200 yards from the walls on the west front of the town; and, favouring their assault by a feigned attack on the gate in its south wall, they carried the place with scarcely any loss.

The streets of Tarifa are narrow, dark, and crooked; and, excepting that they are clean, are in every respect Moorish. The inhabitants are rude in speech and manners, and amount to about 8000.

From the S.E. salient angle of the town, a sandy isthmus juts about a thousand yards into the sea, and is connected by a narrow artificial causeway with a rocky peninsula, or island, as it is more generally termed, that stretches yet 700 or 800 yards further into the Straits of Gibraltar. This is the most southerly point of Europe, being in latitude 30° 0’ 56", which is nearly six miles to the south of Europa Point.

The island is of a circular form, and towards the sea is merely defended by three open batteries, armed en barbette; but to the land side, it presents a bastioned front, that sweeps the causeway with a most formidable fire. A lighthouse stands at the extreme point of the island, which also contains a casemated barrack for troops, and some remarkable old tanks, perhaps of a date much prior to the arrival of the Saracens.

The foundation of the town of Tarifa is usually ascribed to Tarik Aben Zaide, the first Mohammedan invader of Spain; who probably, previous to crossing the Straits, had marked the island as offering a favourable landing-place, as well as a secure depÔt for his stores, and a safe refuge in the event of a repulse. Mariana, however, imagined, that Tartessus, or Carteia—which he considered the same place—stood upon this spot; and, under this persuasion, he speaks of the admiral of the Pompeian faction retiring there, after his action with CÆsar’s fleet, and drawing a chain across the mouth of the port to protect his vessels; a circumstance which alone proves that Carteia was not Tarifa; since it must be evident to any one who has examined the coast attentively, that no port could possibly have existed there, which could have afforded shelter to a large fleet, and been closed by drawing a chain across its mouth.

Others, again, suppose Tarifa to occupy the site of Mellaria. But I rather incline to the opinion of those who consider it doubtful whether any Roman town stood upon the spot; an opinion for which I think I shall hereafter be able to assign sufficient reason.

As Tarifa was the field wherein the Mohammedan invaders of Spain obtained their first success, so, six centuries after, did it become the scene of one of their most humiliating defeats; the battle of the Salado, gained A.D. 1340, by Alphonso XI., of Castile, having inflicted a blow upon them, from the effects of which they never recovered. Four crowned heads were engaged in that sanguinary conflict—the King of Portugal, as the ally of the Castillian hero; Jusuf, King of Granada; and Abu Jacoob, Emperor of Morocco. The last-named, according to the Spanish historians, had crossed over from Africa, with an army of nearly half a million of men, to avenge the death of his son, Abou Melic; killed the preceding year at the battle of Arcos.

The little river, which gave its name to that important battle gained by the Christian army on its banks, winds through a plain to the westward of Tarifa, crossing the road to Cadiz, at about two miles from the town.[20] The valley is about three miles across, and extends a considerable distance inland. It is watered by several mountain streams that fall into the Salado. That rivulet is the last which is met with, and is crossed by a long wooden bridge on five stone piers.

The term Salado is of very common occurrence amongst the names of the rivers of the south of Spain; though in most cases it is used rather as a term signifying a water-course, than as the name of the rivulet: thus El Salado de Moron is a stream issuing from the mountains in the vicinity of the town of Moron; El Salado de Porcuna is a torrent that washes the walls of Porcuna; and so with the rest. As, however, the word in Spanish signifies salt, (used adjectively) it has led to many mistakes, and occasioned much perplexity in determining the course of the river Salsus, mentioned so frequently by Hirtius; but to which, in point of fact, the word Salado has no reference whatever, being applied to numerous streams that are perfectly free from salt.

On the other hand, it might naturally be supposed that the word Salido (the past participle of the verb Salir, to issue) would have been used if intended to signify a source or stream issuing from the mountains.

It seems to me, therefore, that the word Salado must be a derivation from the Arabic Sal, a water-course in a valley; which, differing so little in sound from Salido, continued to be used after the expulsion of the Moors; until at length, its derivation being lost, it came to be considered as signifying what the word actually means in Spanish, viz. impregnated with salt.

At the western extremity of the plain, watered by the Salado de Tarifa, a barren Sierra terminates precipitously along the coast, leaving but a narrow space between its foot and the sea, for the passage of the road to Cadiz. Under shelter of the eastern side of this Sierra, standing in the plain, but closing the little ThermopylÆ, I think we may place the Roman town of MellarÍa,[21] eighteen miles from Carteia, and six from Belone Claudia, according to the Itinerary of Antoninus; and mentioned by Strabo as a place famous for curing fish.

Tarifa, which, as I have said before, is supposed by some authors to be on the site of MellarÍa, is in the first place rather too near Calpe Carteia to accord with that supposition; and in the next, it is far too distant from Belon; the site of which is well established by numerous ruins visible to this day, at a despoblado,[22] called Bolonia.

It may be objected, on the other hand, that the position which I suppose MellarÍa to have occupied, is as much too far removed from Carteia, as Tarifa is too near it: and following the present road, it certainly is so. But there is no reason to take for granted that the ancient military way followed this line; on the contrary, as the Romans rather preferred straight to circuitous roads, we may suppose that, as soon as the nature of the country admitted of it, they carried their road away from the coast, to avoid the promontory running into the sea at Tarifa. Now, an opportunity for them to do this presented itself on arriving at the valley of Gualmesi, from whence a road might very well have been carried direct to the spot that I assign for the position of MellarÍa; which road, by saving two miles of the circuitous route by Tarifa, would fix MellarÍa at the prescribed distance from Carteia, and also bring it (very nearly) within the number of miles from Belon, specified in the Roman Itinerary, viz. six; whereas, if MellarÍa stood where Tarifa now does, the distance would be nearly ten.

The city of Belon appears to have slipped bodily from the side of the mountain on which it was built (probably the result of an earthquake), as its ruins may be distinctly seen when the tide is out and the water calm, stretching some distance into the Atlantic. Vestiges of an aqueduct may also be traced for nearly a league along the coast, by means of which the town was supplied with water from a spring that rises near Cape Palomo, the southernmost point of the same Sierra under which Belon was situated.

In following out the Itinerary of Antoninus—according to which the total distance from Calpe to Gades is made seventy-six miles[23]—the next place mentioned after Belon Claudia is Besippone, distant twelve miles. This place, it appears to me, must have stood on the coast a little way beyond the river Barbate; and not at Vejer, (which is several miles inland) as some have supposed; for the distance from the ruins of Bolonia to that town far exceeds that specified in the Itinerary.

Vejer (or Beger, as it is indifferently written) may probably be where a Roman town called Besaro stood, of which Besippo was the port; the latter only having been noticed in the Itinerary from it being situated on the direct military route from Carteia to Gades; the former by Pliny,[24] as being a place of importance within the Conventus Gaditani.

From Besippone to Mergablo—the next station of the Itinerary—is six miles; and at that distance from the spot where I suppose the first of those places to have stood, there is a very ancient tower on the sea side, (to the westward of Cape Trafalgar) from which an old, apparently Roman, paved road, now serving no purpose whatever, leads for several miles into the country. From this tower to Cadiz—crossing the Santi Petri river at its mouth—the distance exceeds but little twenty-four miles; the number given in the Itinerary.

The distances I have thus laid down agree pretty well throughout with those marked on the Roman military way; which, it may be supposed, were not very exactly measured, since the fractions of miles have in every case been omitted. The only objection which can be urged to my measurements is, that they make the Roman miles too long. Having, however, taken the Olympic stadium (in this instance) as my standard, of which there are but 600 to a degree of the Meridian, or seventy-five Roman miles; and as my measurements, even with it, are still rather short, the reply is very simple, viz. that the adoption of any smaller scale would but increase the error.

From the spot where I suppose MellarÍa to have stood—which is marked by a little chapel standing on a detached pinnacle of the Sierra de Enmedio, overhanging the sea—the distance to the Rio Baqueros is two miles; the road keeping along a flat and narrow strip of land, between the foot of the mountain and the sea.

The coast now trends to the south west, a high wooded mountain, distinguished by the name of the Sierra de San Mateo, stretching some way into the sea, and forming the steep sandy cape of Paloma, a league on the western side of which are the ruins of Belon.

The road to Cadiz, however, leaves the sea-shore to seek a more level country, and, inclining slightly to the north, keeping up the Val de Baqueros for five miles, reaches a pass between the mountains of San Mateo and Enmedio.

The valley is very wild and beautiful. Laurustinus, arbutus, oleander, and rhododendron are scattered profusely over the bed of the torrent that rushes down it; and the bounding mountains are richly clothed with forest trees.

From the pass an extensive view is obtained of the wide plain of Vejer, and laguna de la Janda in its centre. Descending for two miles and a half,—the double-peaked Sierra de la Plata being now on the left hand, and that of Fachenas, studded with water-mills, on the right—the road reaches the eastern extremity of the above-named plain, where the direct road from Algeciras to Cadiz falls in, and that of Medina Sidonia branches off to the right. The Cadiz route here inclines again to the westward, and, in three miles, reaches the Venta de Tavilla.

From hence two roads present themselves for continuing the journey; one proceeding along the edge of the plain; the other keeping to the left, and making a slight dÉtour by the Sierra de Retin; and when the plain is flooded, it is necessary to take this latter route. Let those who find themselves in this predicament avoid making the solitary hovel, called the Venta de Retin, their resting-place for the night, as I was once obliged to do; for, unless they are partial to a guard bed, and to go to it supperless, they will not meet with accommodation and entertainment to their liking.

We will return, however, to the Venta de Tabilla, which is a fraction of a degree better than that of Retin. From thence the distance to Vejer is fourteen miles. The first two pass over a gently swelling country, planted with corn; the next six along the low wooded hills bordering the laguna de la Janda; the remainder over a hilly, and partially wooded tract, whence the sea is again visible at some miles distance on the left.

In winter the greater part of the plain of Vejer is covered with water, there being no outlet for the Laguna; which, besides being the reservoir for all the rain that falls on the surrounding hills, is fed by several considerable streams.

A project to drain the lake was entertained some years ago; but, like all other Spanish projects, it failed, after an abortive trial. In its present state, therefore, the whole surface of the plain is available only for pasture; and numerous herds are subsisted on it. The gentle slopes bounding it, being secure from inundation, are planted with corn.

Vejer is situated on the northern extremity of a bare mountain ridge, that stretches inland from the coast about five miles, and terminates in a stupendous precipice along the right bank of the river Barbate. Towards the sea, however, it slopes more gradually, forming the forked headland, for ever celebrated in history, called Cape Trafalgar.

When arrived within half a mile of the lofty cliff whereon the town stands, the road enters a narrow gorge, by which the Barbate escapes to the ocean; this part of its course offering a remarkable contrast to the rest, which is through an extensive flat.

A stone bridge of three curiously constructed arches, said to be Roman, gives a passage over the stream; and a venta is situated on the right bank, immediately under the town; the houses of which may be seen edging the precipice, at a height of five or six hundred feet above the river.

The road to Cadiz, and consequently all others,—it being the most southerly,—avoids the ascent to Vejer, which is very steep, and so circuitous as to occupy fully half an hour. But the place is well worth a visit, if only for the sake of the view from the church steeple, which is very extensive and beautiful; and taken altogether, it is a much better town than could be expected, considering its truly out-of-the-way situation. That it was a Roman station, its position alone sufficiently proves; but whether it be the Besaro, or Belippo, or even Besippo of Pliny, seems doubtful.

It occupies a tolerably level space; though bounded on three sides by precipices, and is consequently still a very defensible post, notwithstanding its walls are all destroyed. The streets are narrow, but clean and well paved; and the place contains many good houses, and several large convents. The inns, however, are such wretched places, that on one occasion, when I passed a night there, I had to seek a resting-place in a private house.

The Barbate is navigable for large barges up to the bridge; but the difficulty of access to the town prevents its carrying on much trade. The population amounts to about 6,000 souls.

There is a delightful walk down a wooded ravine on the western side of the town, by which the road to Cadiz and the valley of the Barbate may be regained quicker than by retracing our footsteps to the Venta. Of this latter I feel bound to say—after much experience—that there is not a better halting-place between Cadiz and Gibraltar; albeit, many stories are told of robberies committed even within its very walls. Let the traveller take care, therefore, to show his pistols to mine host, and to lock his bedroom door.

We resumed our journey with the dawn. The road keeps for nearly a mile along the narrow, flat strip between the bank of the river, and the high cliff whereon the town is perched. The gorge then terminates, and an open country permits the roads to the different neighbouring places to branch off in their respective directions. From hence to Medina Sidonia is thirteen miles; to AlcalÀ de los Gazules, twenty; and to Chiclana—whither we were bound—fifteen;—but, leaving these three roads on the right, we proceeded by a rather more circuitous route to the last mentioned place, by Conil and Barrosa.

The distance from Vejer to Conil is nine miles; the country undulated and uninteresting. Conil is a large fishing town, containing a swarming population of 8,000 souls. The smell of the houses where the tunny fish (here taken in great abundance) are cut up and cured, extends inland for several miles; but the inhabitants consider it very wholesome; and to my animadversive remarks on the filth and effluvium of the place itself, answer was made, “no hay epidemia aqui;”[25]—quite a sufficient excuse, according to their ideas, for submitting to live the life of hogs.

We arrived just as the fishermen had enclosed a shoal of Tunny with their nets; so, putting up our horses, we waited to see the result of their labours. The whole process is very interesting. The Tunny can be discovered when at a very considerable distance from the land; as they arrive in immense shoals, and cause a ripple on the surface of the water, like that occasioned by a light puff of wind on a calm day. Men are, therefore, stationed in the different watch towers along the coast, to look out for them, and, immediately on perceiving a shoal, they make signals to the fishermen, indicating the direction, distance, &c. Boats are forthwith put to sea, and the fish are surrounded with a net of immense size, but very fine texture, which is gradually hauled towards the shore.

The tunny, coming in contact with this net, become alarmed, and make off from it in the only direction left open to them. The boats follow, and draw the net in, until the space in which the fish are confined is sufficiently small to allow a second net, of great strength, to circumscribe the first; which is then withdrawn. The tunny, although very powerful, (being nearly the size and very much the shape of a porpoise) have thus far been very quiet, seeking only to escape under the net; and have hardly been perceptible to the spectators on the beach. But, on drawing in the new net, and getting into shallow water, their danger gives them the courage of despair, and furious are their struggles to escape from their hempen prison.

The scene now becomes very animated. When the draught is heavy—as it was in this instance—and there is a possibility of the net being injured, and of the fish escaping if it be drawn at once to land, the fishermen arm themselves with harpoons, or stakes, having iron hooks at the end, and rush into the sea whilst the net is yet a considerable distance from the shore, surrounding it, and shouting with all their might to frighten the fish into shallow water, when they become comparatively powerless.

In completing the investment of their prey, some of the fishermen are obliged even to swim to the outer extremity of the net, where, holding on by the floats with one hand, they strike, with singular dexterity, such fish as approach the edge, in the hope of effecting their escape, with a short harpoon held in the other. The men in the boats, at the same time, keep up a continual splashing with their oars, to deter the tunny from attempting to leap over the hempen enclosure; which, nevertheless, many succeed in doing, amidst volleys of “Carajos!”

The fish are thus killed in the water, and then drawn in triumph on shore. They are allowed to bleed very freely; and the entrails, roes, livers, and eyes, are immediately cut out, being perquisites of different authorities.

The flesh is salted, and exported in great quantities to Catalonia, Valencia, and the northern provinces of the kingdom. A small quantity of oil is extracted from the bones.

Some years since, the Duke of Medina Sidonia enjoyed the monopoly of the tunny fishery on this part of the coast, which was calculated to have given him a yearly profit of £4000 sterling. But, at the time of my visit, he had been deprived of this privilege, much to the regret of the inhabitants of Conil; for the nets and salting-houses, being the property of the duke, had to be hired, and as there were no capitalists in the place able to embark in so expensive a speculation as the purchase of others, the “company” that engaged in the fishery was, necessarily, composed of strangers to Conil, whose only object was to obtain the greatest possible profit during the short period for which they held the duke’s property on lease. They, consequently, drove the hardest bargain they could with the poor inhabitants, who, accustomed all their lives to this employment, could not turn their hands to any other, and were forced to submit.

I do not mean to defend monopolies in general, but what I have stated shows, that in the present state of Spain they are almost unavoidable evils. The inhabitants of Conil, at all events, complained most bitterly of the change.

The fishery lasts from March to July, and the season of which I write (then drawing to a close,) was considered a very successful one, 1300 tunny having been taken at Conil, and 1600 at Barrosa. Each fish is worth ten dollars, or two pounds sterling. The falling off has, however, been most extraordinary, as in former days we read of 70,000 fish having been taken annually.

From Conil the road keeps along the coast for twelve miles, to Barrosa, a spot occupying a distinguished place in the pages of history, but marked only by an old tower on the coast, and a small building, called a vigia, or watch-house, situated on a knoll that rises slightly above the general level of the country. This was the great object of contention on the celebrated 5th March, 1811.

Never, perhaps, were British soldiers placed under greater disadvantages than on this glorious day, through the incapacity or pusillanimity, or both, of the Spanish general who commanded in chief. And though far more important victories have been gained by them, yet the cool bearing and determined courage that shone forth so conspicuously on this occasion, by completely removing the erroneous impression under which their opponents laboured, as to the fitness of Englishmen for soldiers, produced, perhaps, better effects than might have attended a victory gained on a larger scale, under more favourable circumstances.

I have met with Spaniards who absolutely shed tears when speaking of this battle, in which they considered our troops had been so shamefully abandoned by their countrymen, or rather by the general who led them. Nor is it surprising that the English character should stand so high as it does in this part of the Peninsula, when, within the short space of a day’s ride, three such names as Tarifa, Trafalgar, and Barrosa, are successively brought to recollection.

The walls of the watch-house of Barrosa still bear the marks of mortal strife, and the hill on which it stands is even yet strewed with the bleached bones of the horses which fell there; but so slight is the command the knoll possesses—indeed in so unimportant, pinched-up a corner of the coast is it situated—that those who are not aware of the unaccountable events which led to the battle, may well be surprised at its having been chosen as a military position.

Striking into the pine-forest, which bounds the field of battle to the west, we arrived in about half an hour at the bridge and mill of Almanza, and proceeding onwards, in four miles reached Chiclana; first winding round the base of a conical knoll, surmounted by a chapel dedicated to Santa Ana.

Chiclana is the Highgate of the good citizens of Cadiz, and contains many “genteel family residences,” adapted for summer visiters; but the place is disgracefully dirty, so that little benefit can be expected from change of air. The gardens in its vicinage offer agreeable promenades, however; and there is a fine view from the chapel of Santa Ana, whence may be seen

Chiclana contains a population of about 6000 souls, and boasts of possessing a tolerably good posada, whereat calesas, and other vehicles, may be hired to proceed to the neighbouring towns; the roads to all, even the direct one to Vejer, being open to wheel carriages.

A rivulet bathes the north side of the town, dividing it from a large suburb, and flowing on to the Santi Petri river. The Cadiz road, crossing this stream by a long wooden bridge, proceeds for three miles and a half (in company with the routes to Puerto Santa Maria, Puerto Real, and Xeres,)[26] along a raised causeway, which keeps it above the saltpans and marshes that render the Isla de Leon so difficult of approach. Arrived at a wide stream, a ferry-boat affords the means of passage; and, on gaining the southern bank, the great road from Cadiz to Madrid (passing through the towns above mentioned) presents itself.

Taking the direction of Cadiz, our passports were immediately demanded at the entrance of a fortified post, called the Portazgo,[27] the first advanced redoubt of the multiplied defences of the Isla de Leon. From thence the road is conducted, for nearly a mile, through bogs and saltpans, as before, to the Puente Zuazo, a bridge over the river Santi Petri, or San Pedro. This, by the way, is rather an arm of the sea than a river, since it communicates between the bay of Cadiz and the ocean, and forms the Isla (island) de Leon, which otherwise would be an isthmus. The channel is very wide, deep, and muddy; the bridge has five arches, and was built by a Doctor Juan Sanchez de Zuazo (whence its name), on the foundation of one that existed in the days of the Romans, and is supposed to have served as an aqueduct to supply Cadiz with water from the Sierra de Xeres. It is protected by a double tÊte de pont; and has one arch cut, and its parapets pierced with embrasures, to enable artillery to fire down the stream.

Soon after reaching the right bank of the San Pedro, the long straggling town of the Isla, or, more properly, San Fernando, commences. The main street is upwards of a mile in length, wide, and rather handsome. The population of this place is estimated at 30,000 souls; but it varies considerably, according to the date of the last visitation of yellow fever.

At the southern extremity of the city a low range of hills begins, which stretches for a mile and a half towards the sea. The causeway to Cadiz, however, is directed straight upon the Torre Gorda, standing upon the shore more to the westward, and three miles distant from the town of San Fernando.

Here commences the narrow sandy isthmus that connects the point of land on which Cadiz is built with the Isla. It is five miles long, and in some places so narrow, that the waves of the Atlantic on one side, and those of the bay of Cadiz on the other, reach the walls of the causeway. About half way between the Torre Gorda and Cadiz, the isthmus is cut across by a fort called the Cortadura, beyond which it becomes much wider.

At five miles to the eastward of the Torre Gorda, or Tower of Hercules, as it is also called, is the mouth of the Santi Petri river, and four miles only beyond it is the Vigia de Barrosa; so that the distance from thence to Cadiz is almost doubled by making the dÉtour by Chiclana. It is more than probable, therefore, that the Romans had a military post, commanding a flying bridge, at the mouth of the river; for, in the Itinerary of Antoninus, the coast-road from Calpe to Gades was not directed from Mergablo “ad pontem,” as in the route laid down from Gades to Hispalis (Seville), but “ad Herculem;"—that is, it may be presumed, to the temple of Hercules,[28] situated, according to common tradition, on a part of the coast near the mouth of the Santi Petri river, over which the waves of the Atlantic now roll unobstructed; and the supposed site of which temple is the same distance from Cadiz as the bridge of Zuazo, thereby agreeing with the Roman Itineraries.

At the distance of 1200 yards from the river’s mouth a rocky islet rises from the sea, bearing on its scarped sides the inapproachable little castle of Santi Petri, the bleached walls of which are said to have been built from the ruins of the famed temple of Hercules.

Contemptible as this isolated fortress appears to be, as well from its size as from any thing that art has done for it, the fate of Cadiz, nevertheless, depends in a great measure upon its preservation; since, from the command the castle possesses of the entrance of the river, an enemy, who may gain possession of it, is enabled to force the passage of the stream under its protecting fire, and take in reverse all the defenses of the Isla de Leon. Cadiz would thereby be reduced to its own resources; and strong as Cadiz is, yet, like all fortresses defended only by art, it must eventually fall.

The surrender of the castle of Santi Petri to the French, in the siege of 1823, occasioned the immediate fall of Cadiz, its defenders seeing that further resistance would be unavailing; whereas, the capture of the Trocadero, about which so much was thought, did little towards the reduction of the place. Indeed, the Trocadero was in possession of the enemy during the whole period of the former siege, 1810-12.