Although many thousands of people yearly attend this festival, all entirely uncontrolled by any authority, yet quarrels and disturbance are unknown. The mere cry of “viva la Virgen” suffices at once to appease incipient angers, should such arise. Thousands of horses and donkeys, moreover, are allowed to roam about untended and unguarded, as there is no danger of their being stolen.
The Virgin of the Rocío, it appears, specialises in accidents, and many votive pictures hung within the shrine illustrate the nature of her miracles. One man is depicted falling headlong from a fifth-storey window, another from a lofty pine, a third drowning in a torrential flood; a lady is thrown by a mule, another run over by a cart, a lad caught by an infuriated bull; a beatific-looking person stands harmless amidst fiery forked lightning—apparently enjoying it. From all these and other appalling forms of death, the survivors, having been saved by the Virgin’s miraculous interposition, have piously contributed pictorial evidence of the various occurrences.
A somewhat gruesome relic records the incident that a mother having vowed that should her daughter be restored to life, she should walk to Rocío in her grave-clothes—and there the said clothes lie as evidence of that miracle.
The festival above described is celebrated each spring at Pentecost. There is, however, a second yearly pilgrimage into Rocío which originated in this wise.
In 1810 when the French occupied this country, the village of Almonte was held by two troops of cavalry who were engaged in impressing recruits from among the neighbouring peasantry. These naturally objected to serve the enemy, but many were terrorised into obedience. Bolder spirits there were, however, and these, to the number of thirty-six, resolved to strike a blow for freedom. Having assembled in the thick woods outside Almonte, at two o’clock one afternoon they fell upon the unsuspecting French and, ere these could defend themselves, many were killed and others made prisoners. Finally the French commander was shot dead on his own doorstep. “The villagers of Almonte were horrified at what had occurred, for, although they had had no hand in the matter, they felt sure they would have to bear the blame”—so runs a Spanish account.
The few French troopers who had escaped fled to Seville, reported the affair, and (wrongly) incriminated the villagers of Almonte—precisely as those worthies had foreseen. The General commanding at Seville ordered that Almonte should be razed to the ground and its inhabitants beheaded—that being the penalty decreed by Murat for any shedding of French blood. A detachment of dragoons, despatched to Almonte, had already taken prisoner the mayor, the priests, and all the chief inhabitants preparatory to their execution. In this grave situation they bethought themselves to pray to the Virgin of Rocío, promising that if she would rescue them from their deadly peril, they would institute a new pilgrimage to her shrine for thanksgiving.
Already the detachment of French soldiers detailed to carry out the executions had reached Pilas, a village within six leagues of Almonte, when, by mere coincidence, a handful of Spanish troops flung themselves against the French positions at Seville. The French, thinking that their assailants must be the forerunners of a larger army, hurriedly recalled all their outposts, including those commissioned to destroy Almonte!
Thus the wretched Alcalde and his fellow-prisoners were saved; for, their innocence of the “crime” being presently established, the town was let off with a fine. Since then, in accordance with the promise made 100 years ago, the whole of Almonte repairs every 7th of August to the shrine of Nuestra Señora del Rocío.
