A wild skirmish
ensues. The contrabandistas, if hard pressed, become desperate. Some
dismount, use their horses as breast-works, and fire over their backs;
others cut the cords, let the packs fall off to delay the enemy, and
endeavor to escape with their steeds. Some get off in this way with
the loss of their packages; some are taken, horses, packages, and all;
others abandon every thing, and make their escape by scrambling up the
mountains. "And then," cried Sancho, who had been listening with a
greedy ear, "se hacen ladrones legitimos"- and then they become
legitimate robbers.
I could not help laughing at Sancho's idea of a legitimate calling
of the kind; but the chief of customs told me it was really the case
that the smugglers, when thus reduced to extremity, thought they had a
kind of right to take the road, and lay travellers under contribution,
until they had collected funds enough to mount and equip themselves in
contrabandista style.
Towards noon our wayfaring companion took leave of us and turned
up a steep defile, followed by his escopetero; and shortly
afterwards we emerged from the mountains, and entered upon the far
famed Vega of Granada.
Our last mid-day's repast was taken under a grove of olive-trees
on the border of a rivulet. We were in a classical neighborhood; for
not far off were the groves and orchards of the Soto de Roma. This,
according to fabulous tradition, was a retreat founded by Count Julian
to console his daughter Florinda.
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