To this sierra we projected a spring campaign. The distance (by road) from the nearest available base was some thirty miles, along smiling valleys redolent of historic interest; past castellated monasteries and fortresses, relics of feudal times, now abandoned to farmers, and to storks, whose nests lined the battlements; for the plough had long superseded the sword, and now the deep glens glory in husbandry and viticulture. Here corn and vine grow beneath olive, fig, and chestnut: verily fruit and grain seem to jostle each other—it is hard to conceive a more fertile scene; the air vocal with the melody of nightingales and orphean warblers, and the ringing note of golden orioles. The peasantry live in crazy, ramshackle hamlets, whose quaint picturesqueness is beyond our power to describe, but spend their al fresco lives in the field or the vineyard, doing a modicum of work, and a maximum of rest, eating, sleeping, or chatting, in happy, contented groups beneath the grateful shade of the chestnuts.[36]
Our road was a marvel of extravagant engineering, executed and maintained regardless of expense. It is only another of the many anomalies of Spain that in rich provinces, such as Andalucia, where there are carriages and traffic, there should be no roads; here, in the wilds of Castile, where there are neither traffic nor wheeled carriages, the road-system is magnificent. The explanation appears to be: in the one case, the Government says "you have money, and can make your own roads,"—in the other, "there is no money, so we will provide roads," even though they are not required.
The Riscos de Valderejo is an isolated mountain, cut off from neighbouring heights by deep gorges on all sides, save where a high, but narrow "neck" connects it on the west with the main range. Across this neck (5,000 feet) is carried the northern highway—the carretera de Avila, along which is carried on at intervals a frequent transit of mule-teams, droves of cattle, sheep, and the like. At the time of our first visit this traffic was almost continuous, for the ancient "Fair" of Talavera (40 miles away) was drawing supplies from all the provinces of Spain: fine young mules from far Galicia, horses even from the Asturias, cattle, goats and sheep, including a few merinos, from pastoral Leon. By day or night the monotonous tinkle of the cencerros (cattle-bells) ceased not on this and many another highway and byeway for many a weary league around Talavera.
Such is still, in Spain, the far-reaching power of the "Feria," or Fair: an institution antiquated and out of date in modern lands. Yet the business and bustle, the display of national types and characteristics at the great provincial "fairs"—such as that at Talavera—offer pictures of Spanish rural life abounding in interest, and well worthy of study and observant description. But the pen must be directed by sympathy and understanding, or the result will merely be so much more of that silly writing and grotesque "wit," with which we are already only too well acquainted. Pero!... vámonos! To our ibex.
Well, the narrow col or neck, connecting the Riscos with the neighbouring heights, being thus contaminated—for the wild goat will never cross a path or suffer the propinquity of man—the ibex of that sierra form an isolated colony, absolutely cut off from all contact with their fellows. That such should be able to survive on so limited a space—their territory is but eight miles by four—amidst a nation of tiradores, is partly due to a curious local circumstance. A pair of guardias civiles, the military police of Spain, is stationed close below the col. Here is the explanation. None of the serranos pay the gun-license,—twenty shillings,—and capture, red-handed, means disarmament. Hence the presence of this pair of civil guards signifies nothing less than security to the isolated ibex of the Riscos; their withdrawal would be the signal for extermination within a few years.
We had already pitched our tent on a slope above the col (5,600 feet), just within the lower fringe of snow, and were wondering at the non-arrival of our hunters. They had taken a short cut across the mountains, and should have been the first to reach the spot. But after enjoying a delicious bathe in an adjoining burn, and setting on the olla to stew on an improvised anafe (a hollowed trench, in the deep centre of which was kindled a fire), we suddenly saw them all appear, leaping down the opposite slope with the agile bounds of wild animals. They had simply lain hidden for hours, reconnoitring the movements of the civil guards! Their first act on arrival was to hide their guns among the green piornales. Again, when one evening the dreaded pair was reported to be ascending towards our eyry, the stampede was electric—each man seized his gun and all disappeared like rabbits among the rocks. The incident serves to show the effective power wielded by this fine corps in rural Spain.
The conformation of this sierra was simple—on the north side the slope was gradual, though abrupt: on the south almost perpendicular: that is, it formed a sheer rock-wall some three miles long and perhaps 2,000 feet high, measuring from the head of the talus.[37] We found here a herd of nearly a score of ibex, ensconced in well-frequented lairs among the loose rocks and piornales along the highest ridge (they had not been disturbed for months), and on so limited an area felt sure of more certain success than on the boundless sierras of Gredos, with their snow-sanctuaries always open to the ibex. But matters were not so simple, nor were the goats. Here, too, they had their sanctuaries. We will not weary the reader with merely sporting detail, but go at once to the point. After being "hustled" for two or three days (during which the big males always managed to keep out of shot), the ibex-leaders evidently realized the gravity of the situation: a vote of urgency was carried, and the Riscos declared in a state of siege. The space at their command was limited: there were no snow-fields available: and they resolved to seek safety in those impenetrable rock-walls and canchos which flanked their stronghold on the south. Into these they retreated: and from them, no power of ours could dislodge the ibex, though among the slanting canchos on the western flank our intrepid rock-climbers despatched a couple of slouching wolves. By sheer force of reasoning power and sagacity, the ibex had found a retreat as secure as the mer de glace of Almanzor. Long may they live to enjoy it!
The retreat, however, was not gained, on one occasion, without loss—we, too, had learned by past experience. Already the driving line had appeared on the eastern heights, suggesting that another beat was to prove blank: not a sign of game had appeared—nothing save the Alpine choughs[38] and crag-martins, Alpine swifts, and a pair of peregrines gyrating in the upper air: at intervals also a pair of golden eagles, whose huge eyrie projected from a rocky pinnacle, passed over in stately flight, their broad square tails deflected very conspicuously sidelong, to guide their aërial evolutions. Here purple tufts of saxifrage lent colour to the barren greys: and amidst the fringe of snow grew delicate mauve and white crocuses: on a granite rock, hard by, warbled lustily a little songster, not unlike our hedge-sparrow, but whose scientific name is Anthus spipoletta, its tender blue-grey throat swelled with song. Suddenly a new sound diverted instant attention from all such things—it was a loud "sneeze," twice repeated: and I knew that some wild animal stood close behind the big rock which concealed me. Then followed the clatter of horny hoofs rattling on rock: and a few moments later, upon the very ridge where I lay, not ten yards from the muzzle, appeared a pair of ibex. Hardly a whole instant did they pause—pictures of high-strung wild nature, and quivering in every nerve—a lovely spectacle. At ten yards' range (á boca de jarro in Spanish phrase), my right barrel missed fire: and simultaneously the ibex were gone—had leaped off the ridge and down among the rocks a dozen yards below. They were, however, still near enough; and the second bullet sent the largest pitching forward on its knees, all but dividing the spine. It instantly recovered its feet, and the pair went on: but on a rock-ledge a quarter-mile away they stopped, and one lay down: a long range, random shot from the express, and the other went on alone: but the stricken beast was already dead. And then, on the rocks close by, I perceived a little wild kid, long of limb and somewhat ungainly in form, but of infinite grace in movement. Tame and confiding seemed the little mite; yet on approach, it bounded off down those broken rocks, with a speed and agility that defied pursuit. These two ibex were, in Spanish words, a cabra and a chivata.