Who is he who now stops before the door without entering, and addresses a question to my host, who advances with a respectful salute? He is no common man, or his appearance belies him strangely.His dress is simple enough; a Spanish hat, with a peaked crown and broad shadowy brim - the veritable sombrero - jean pantaloons and blue hussar jacket; - but how well that dress becomes one of the most noble-looking figures Iever beheld.I gazed upon him with strange respect and admiration as he stood benignantly smiling and joking in good Spanish with an impudent rock rascal, who held in his hand a huge bogamante, or coarse carrion lobster, which he would fain have persuaded him to purchase.He was almost gigantically tall, towering nearly three inches above the burly host himself, yet athletically symmetrical, and straight as the pine tree of Dovrefeld.He must have counted eleven lustres, which cast an air of mature dignity over a countenance which seemed to have been chiseled by some Grecian sculptor, and yet his hair was black as the plume of the Norwegian raven, and so was the moustache which curled above his well-formed lip.In the garb of Greece, and in the camp before Troy, I should have taken him for Agamemnon."Is that man a general?" said I to a short queer-looking personage, who sat by my side, intently studying a newspaper."That gentleman," he whispered in a lisping accent, "is, sir, the Lieutenant-Governor of Gibraltar."On either side outside the door, squatting on the ground, or leaning indolently against the walls, were some half dozen men of very singular appearance.Their principal garment was a kind of blue gown, something resembling the blouse worn by the peasants of the north of France, but not so long; it was compressed around their waists by a leathern girdle, and depended about half way down their thighs.Their legs were bare, so that I had an opportunity of observing the calves, which appeared unnaturally large.Upon the head they wore small skull-caps of black wool.I asked the most athletic of these men, a dark-visaged fellow of forty, who they were.He answered, "hamalos." This word I knew to be Arabic, in which tongue it signifies a porter; and, indeed, the next moment, Isaw a similar fellow staggering across the square under an immense burden, almost sufficient to have broken the back of a camel.On again addressing my swarthy friend, and enquiring whence he came, he replied, that he was born at Mogadore, in Barbary, but had passed the greatest part of his life at Gibraltar.He added, that he was the "capitaz," or head man of the "hamalos" near the door.I now addressed him in the Arabic of the East, though with scarcely the hope of being understood, more especially as he had been so long from his own country.
He however answered very pertinently, his lips quivering with eagerness, and his eyes sparkling with joy, though it was easy to perceive that the Arabic, or rather the Moorish, was not the language in which he was accustomed either to think or speak.
His companions all gathered round and listened with avidity, occasionally exclaiming, when anything was said which they approved of: "WAKHUD RAJIL SHEREEF HADA, MIN BELED BELSCHARKI." (A holy man this from the kingdoms of the East.) At last I produced the shekel, which I invariably carry about me as a pocket-piece, and asked the capitaz whether he had ever seen that money before.He surveyed the censer and olive-branch for a considerable time, and evidently knew not what to make of it.At length he fell to inspecting the characters round about it on both sides, and giving a cry, exclaimed to the other hamalos: "Brothers, brothers, these are the letters of Solomon.This silver is blessed.We must kiss this money."He then put it upon his head, pressed it to his eyes, and finally kissed it with enthusiasm as did successively all his brethren.Then regaining it, he returned it to me, with a low reverence.Griffiths subsequently informed me, that the fellow refused to work during all the rest of the day, and did nothing but smile, laugh, and talk to himself.
"Allow me to offer you a glass of bitters, sir," said the queer-looking personage before mentioned; he was a corpulent man, very short, and his legs particularly so.His dress consisted of a greasy snuff-coloured coat, dirty white trousers, and dirtier stockings.On his head he wore a rusty silk hat, the eaves of which had a tendency to turn up before and behind.I had observed that, during my conversation with the hamalos, he had several times uplifted his eyes from the newspaper, and on the production of the shekel had grinned very significantly, and had inspected it when in the hand of the capitaz."Allow me to offer you a glass of bitters," said he;"I guessed you was one of our people before you spoke to the hamalos.Sir, it does my heart good to see a gentleman of your appearance not above speaking to his poor brethren.It is what I do myself not unfrequently, and I hope God will blot out my name, and that is Solomons, when I despise them.I do not pretend to much Arabic myself, yet I understood you tolerably well, and I liked your discourse much.You must have a great deal of shillam eidri, nevertheless you startled me when you asked the hamalo if he ever read the Torah; of course you meant with the meforshim; poor as he is, I do not believe him becoresh enough to read the Torah without the commentators.So help me, sir, I believe you to be a Salamancan Jew; I am told there are still some of the old families to be found there.
Ever at Tudela, sir? not very far from Salamanca, I believe;one of my own kindred once lived there: a great traveller, sir, like yourself; went over all the world to look for the Jews, -went to the top of Sinai.Anything that I can do for you at Gibraltar, sir? Any commission; will execute it as reasonably, and more expeditiously than any one else.My name is Solomons.
