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.”