Whilst residing with my father and family in the house he had rented in Seville, it happened on one occasion that I had dined and spent the evening with my friend Don ———, and did not leave his house until nearly eleven o’clock. It was fortunately bright moonlight, for Seville was then but dimly lighted. On saying good-night, my host accompanied me to his door and warned me to keep well in the centre of the streets, as at that late hour wayfarers were often attacked and robbed.
I had no weapon—not even a stick—with me. The evening was fresh, so I threw my Spanish ‘capa’ round me and walked briskly down the centre of the narrow streets which led to the great Plaza, about a mile distant, near which our house was situated. Presently I heard footsteps and, looking back, saw a figure following me, but keeping in the shadow.
I knew I was fleet of foot, so set off running at a good pace, feeling sure that if the fellow were dodging me he would follow. As soon as I quickened my speed the man sprang into the light and came after me, and I dashed on with him in pursuit. As I turned a corner I caught sight of his long ‘navaja’ gleaming in the moonlight. Finding my cloak heavy, I unfastened it and let it trail behind, determined to hold on to my new capa as long as I could. However, I soon outstripped my pursuer, and on reaching the Plaza paused to again wrap my capa about me and to reconnoitre well before venturing into the street where our house stood. The footpad had vanished on seeing me reach the lit and frequented Plaza.
After this I never ventured out at night without a pistol.
At this time Mr. Hay had become very proficient in Arabic, and his family have still in their possession some examples of Arabic writing, then beautifully executed by him in the highest style of Oriental manuscript; and a friend, writing from London to his mother, Mrs. Drummond Hay, says, ‘I met the other evening Mr. Burchardt Barker, the Oriental translator to the Foreign Office; he told me that a letter from the Sultan of Morocco had been sent home by your son, Mr. John Hay, and that he had never seen anything more beautifully translated by any Orientalist.’
It was either during this stay at Seville, or on a subsequent occasion, that Mr. Hay visited the Alcazar, then in course of restoration.
The architect was employed in reconstructing the beautiful arabesque stucco-work on the walls, by taking moulds of the injured portions, and, after remodelling the defaced parts, casting from these moulds fresh plaques to replace those injured or missing.
After gazing for some time on these restorations, and vainly endeavouring to puzzle out the Arabic inscriptions which enter so largely into arabesque decorations, Mr. Hay asked for the architect and inquired of him whether he was aware that he had reversed all the inscriptions!
The poor man was horrified. He declared he would undo and rectify his work, begging Mr. Hay, for pity’s sake, not to betray to any one his discovery: as, if it were made known, he would be a ruined man, and he and his children would starve. Mr. Hay having shown him exactly what his error had been, left Seville without betraying the architect.
In the summer of 1838 Mr. Hay made an expedition into the interior of Morocco, of which he wrote an account entitled Western Barbary. This little book, written with all the vigour and freshness inspired by youth, and with a thorough knowledge of the wild people amongst whom he travelled and whose sport he shared, was published by Mr. Murray and attracted much attention and praise from the press at the time.