The Sierra de Utrera, by which name this rugged ridge is distinguished, is of very singular formation. Its eastern base (whence the hedionda issues) is covered with a crumbling mass of schist, disposed in laminæ, shelving downwards, at an angle of 25 or 30 degrees with the horizon. This sloping bank reaches to about one third the height of the mountain, when rude rocks of a most peculiar character shoot up above its general surface, rising pyramidically, but assuming most fantastic forms, and each pile consisting of a series of huge blocks (sometimes fourteen or fifteen in number), resting loosely one upon another, and seemingly so much off the centre of gravity as to lead to the belief that a slight push would lay them prostrate.
At first these detached pinnacles rise only to the height of fifteen or twenty feet, but, on drawing near the crest of the ridge, they attain nearly twice that elevation. The general surface of the mountain, above which these piles of rocking stones rise, is rent by deep chasms, as if the whole mass of rock had, at some distant period, been shaken to its very foundation by an earthquake. In these rents, soil has been gradually collected, and vegetation been the consequence; but the general character of the mountain is arid and sterile.
The ascent becomes very difficult as one proceeds, and, in fact, it requires some little agility to reach the crest of the singular ridge. Its summit presents a very rough, though nearly horizontal surface, varying in width from 300 to 400 yards; and, looking from its western side, the spectator fancies himself elevated on the walls of some vast castle, so precipitously does the rocky ledge fall in that direction, so level and smiling is the cultivated country spread out but a couple of hundred feet below him.
This rocky plateau appears to have been covered, in former days, with the same singularly formed pyramids that protrude from the eastern acclivity of the mountain; but they have probably been hewn into mill stones, as many of the rough blocks strewed about its surface are now in process of becoming. The plateau extends nearly two miles in a parallel direction to the rock of Gibraltar, that is, nearly due north and south by compass; and, when on its summit, the ridge appears continuous; but, on proceeding to examine the southern portion of the plateau, I found myself suddenly on the brink of a chasm, upwards of a hundred feet deep, which, traversing the mountain from east to west, cuts it completely in two. This cleft varies in width from 50 to 100 feet; and in winter brings down a copious stream, being the drain of a considerable extent of country on the western side of the ridge. It is partially clothed with shrubs and wild olive-trees, and a rude pathway leads down the dark dell to the hedionda, which issues from the base of the mountain, about 200 yards to the north of the opening of the chasm.
This remarkable gap, though not distinguishable from the baths situated immediately below it, is so well defined, and has so peculiar an appearance at a distance, that it is an important landmark for the coasting vessels.
The southern portion of the Sierra is far less accessible than that which has been described; in fact, access to its summit can be gained only by means of a ramped road, which, piercing the rocky precipice on its western side, has been made to facilitate the transport of the millstones prepared there. In other respects, this part of the plateau is of the same character as the other.
Wonderful are the tales of fairies, devils, and evil spirits, told by the goatherds and others who frequent this singular mountain; and Tio Juan, who never would suffer himself to be outdone in the marvellous, told us that “un Ingles,” who, about two years before, had been on a visit to the baths, had disappeared there in a most mysterious way. A goatherd of his acquaintance had seen him descend into a cleft in search of some herb, but out of it he had never returned. “Se dicen,” he concluded, “que era uno de esos Lores, de que hay tantos en Inglaterra;[89] but I can hardly believe, if he had possessed such ‘montones de oro’[90] as was represented, that he would have been going about like a pedlar, with a basket slung to his back, picking up all sorts of herbs, and drying them with great care every day when he returned home, spreading them out between the leaves of a large book. ‘A me mi parece,’[91] that he was gathering them to make tea with; but I know an herb which grows on that Sierra, which is worth all the medicines[92] in the world: ay! and in some cases it is yet quicker, though not more effectual, in its cure, than even the waters of the hedionda; and some day, Don Carlos, I will walk up and show you the cleft wherein it grows.”
The Tio’s occupations were, however, too constant to allow of his accompanying me in search of this wonderful plant, and, consequently, my curiosity concerning it was never gratified.
The district of Manilba is celebrated for the productiveness of its vineyards, and the undulated country between the baths and the southern foot of the Sierra Bermeja is almost exclusively devoted to the culture of the grape. That most esteemed is a large purple kind. It is highly flavoured, and makes a strong-bodied and very palatable wine, though, in nine cases out of ten, the wine is spoilt by some defect of the skin in which it has been carried.
The husks of the Manilba grape, after the juice has been expressed, enjoy a reputation for the cure of rheumatism, scarcely less than that of the sulphureous spring itself. The sufferer is immersed up to the neck in a vat full of the fermenting skins, and, after remaining therein a whole morning, comes forth as purple as a printer’s devil. I have met with persons who declared they had received great benefit from this vinous bath; but I question whether interment in hot sand (a mode of treatment, by the way, which has been tried with great success) would not have been found more efficacious, without subjecting the patient to this unpleasant discoloration.