opped in the face of the wind, and
away we shot into the watery tumult. The boat rocked and bounced over the
agitated surface, running with one gunwale on the waves, and sheets of
briny spray broke over me. I felt considerably relieved when I reached the
deck of the steamer, but it was then diversion enough to watch those who
followed. The crowd of boats pitching tumultuously around the steamer,
jostling against each other, their hulls gleaming with wet, as they rose
on the beryl-colored waves, striped with long, curded lines of wind-blown
foam, would have made a fine subject for the pencil of Achenbach.

At last we pushed off, with a crowd of passengers fore and aft, and a
pyramid of luggage piled around the smoke-pipe. There was a party of four
Englishmen on board, and, on making their acquaintance, I found one of
them to be a friend to some of my friends--Sir John Potter, the
progressive ex-Mayor of Manchester. The wind being astern, we ran rapidly
along the coast, and in two hours entered the mouth of the Guadalquivir.
[This name comes from the Arabic _wadi el-kebeer_--literally, the Great
Valley.] The shores are a dead flat. The right bank is a dreary forest of
stunted pines, abounding with deer and other game; on the left is the
dilapidated town of San Lucar, whence Magellan set sail on his first
voyage around the world. A mile further is Bonanza, the port of Xeres,
where we touched and took on board a fresh lot of passengers. Thenceforth,
for four hours, the scenery of the Guadalquivir had a most distressing
sameness. The banks were as flat as a board, with here and there a
straggling growth of marshy thickets. Now and then we passed a herdsman's
hut, but there were no human beings to be seen, except the peasants who
tended the large flocks of sheep and cattle. A sort of breakfast was
served in the cabin, but so great was the number of guests that I had much
difficulty in getting anything to eat. The waiters were models of calmness
and deliberation.

As we approached Seville, some low hills appeared on the left, near the
river. Dazzling white villages were planted at their foot, and all the
slopes were covered with olive orchards, while the banks of the stream
were bordered with silvery birch trees. This gave the landscape, in spite
of the African warmth and brightness of the day, a gray and almost wintry
aspect. Soon the graceful Giralda, or famous Tower of Seville, arose in
the distance; but, from the windings