l of human address against brute force. And 'tis not nearly so
beastly as seeing a prize fought by men, and not more cruel, I take it,
than the shooting of birds and hares for sport, seeing that the agony of
death is no greater for a sturdy bull than for a timid coney, and hath
this advantage, that the bull, when exhausted, is despatched quickly,
whereas the bird or hare may just escape capture, to die a miserable
long death with a shattered limb.

From Valencia we travelled five weeks (growing, I think, more lazy every
day), over very hilly country to Alicante, a seaport town very strongly
protected by a castle on a great rock, armed with guns of brass and
iron, so that the pirates dare never venture near. And here I fully
thought we were to dawdle away another week at the least, this being a
very populous and lively city, promising much entertainment. For Moll,
when not playing herself, was mad to see others play, and she did really
govern, with her subtle wiles and winning smiles, more than her father,
for all his masterful spirit, or Don Sanchez with his stern authority.
But seeing two or three English ships in the port, the Don deemed it
advisable that we should push on at once for Elche, and, to our great
astonishment, Moll consented to our speedy going without demur, though
why, we could not then discover, but did soon after, as I shall
presently show.

CHAPTER XI.

_Of our first coming to Elche and the strangeness of that city._

Being resolved to our purpose overnight, we set out fairly early in the
morning for Elche, which lies half a dozen leagues or thereabouts to the
west of Alicante. Our way lay through gardens of oranges and spreading
vineyards, which flourish exceedingly in this part, being protected from
unkind winds by high mountains against the north and east; and here you
shall picture us on the white, dusty road, Moll leading the way a dozen
yards in advance, a tambourine slung on her back with streaming ribbons
of many colours, taking two or three steps on one foot, and then two or
three steps on t'other, with a Spanish twist of her hips at each turn,
swinging her arms as she claps her costagnettes to the air of a song she
had picked up at Barcelona, and we three men plodding behind, the Don
with a guitar across his back, Dawson with our bundle of clothes, and I
with a wallet of provisions hanging o' one side and a skin of wine on
the other--and all as white as any millers with the dus