approach of the rustic mob, he confidently came out to meet them.
Having with no small difficulty obtained a hearing, the Alcalde
desired to be informed of their designs and wishes. The answer
appears to me unparalleled in the history of mobs. “We wish, Sir, to
kill somebody,” said the spokesman of the insurgents. “Some one has
been killed at Truxillo; one or two others at Badajoz, another at
Merida, and we will not be behind our neighbours. Sir, we will kill
a traitor.” As this commodity could not be procured in the village,
it was fortunate for us that we did not make our appearance at a time
when the good people of Almaraz might have made us a substitute, on
whom to display their loyalty. The fact, however, of their having no
animosities to indulge under the mask of patriotism, is a creditable
circumstance in their character. A meeting which we had, soon
after leaving the village, with an armed party of these patriots,
confirmed our opinion that they were among the least savage of their
province.
The bridge of Almaraz stands at the distance of between three and
four miles from the village. It was built in the time of Charles the
fifth, by the town of Plasencia; but it would not have disgraced an
ancient Roman architect. The Tagus, carrying, even at this season,
a prodigious quantity of water, passes under the greater of the
two arches, which support the bridge. Though the height and span
of these arches give to the whole an air of boldness which borders
upon grandeur, the want of symmetry in their size and shape, and the
narrow, though very deep, channel to which the rocky banks confine
the river, abate considerably the effect it might have been made to
produce. Yet there is something impressive in a bold work of art
standing single in a wild tract of country, where neither great
towns, nor a numerous and well distributed population, with all the
attending marks of industry, luxury, and refinement, have prepared
the imagination to expect it. As soon, therefore, as the bridge was
seen at a distance, we left the waggons, and allowing them to proceed
before us, lingered to enjoy the view.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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