Vine and Olive; Or, Young America in Spain and Portugal
by Oliver Optic · English · Gutenberg #47423 · 632,643 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Vine and Olive; Or, Young America in Spain and Portugal
Author: Oliver Optic
Illustrator: Charles Stanley Reinhart
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[Illustration: THE ACADEMY SQUADRON OFF BARCELONA. Page 12.]
[Illustration: DECORATED FRONT PAGE:
YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD
BY
OLIVER OPTIC.
_VINE
&
OLIVE_
BOSTON
LEE & SHEPARD.]
_YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD—SECOND SERIES._
VINE AND OLIVE;
OR,
YOUNG AMERICA IN SPAIN AND
PORTUGAL.
A STORY OF TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE.
BY
~WILLIAM T. ADAMS~
(_OLIVER OPTIC_),
AUTHOR OF “OUTWARD BOUND,” “SHAMROCK AND THISTLE,” “RED CROSS,”
“DIKES AND DITCHES,” “PALACE AND COTTAGE,” “DOWN THE
RHINE,” “UP THE BALTIC,” “NORTHERN LANDS,”
“CROSS AND CRESCENT,” “SUNNY
SHORES,” ETC.
BOSTON:
~LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.~
NEW YORK:
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM.
COPYRIGHT:
BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS.
1876.
TO MY FRIEND,
~HENRY RUGGLES, ESQ.,~
“CONSULADO DE LOS ESTADOS UNIDOS, EN BARCELONA,
EN TIEMPOS PASADOS,”
WHEN WE “ASSISTED” TOGETHER AT A BULL–FIGHT IN
MADRID, VISITED EL ESCORIAL AND TOLEDO,
AND WITH WHOM THE AUTHOR
RELUCTANTLY PARTED
AT CASTILLEJO,
~THIS VOLUME~
IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
VINE AND OLIVE, the fifth volume of the second series of
“YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD,” contains the history of the Academy
Squadron during the cruise along the shores of Spain and
Portugal, and the travels of the students in the peninsula. As in
the preceding volumes, the professor of geography and history
discourses on these subjects to the pupils, conveying to them a
great deal of useful information concerning the countries they
visit. The surgeon of the ship is a sort of encyclopædia of travel;
and, while he is on shore with a couple of the juvenile officers,
he enlightens them by his talk on a great variety of topics; and
the description of “sights” is given in these conversations, or in
the “waits” between the speeches. In addition to the cities of the
peninsula on the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, the young travellers
cross the country from Barcelona to Lisbon, visiting on the
way Saragossa, Burgos, the Escurial, Madrid, Toledo, Aranjuez,
Badajos, and Elvas. In another excursion by land, they start from
Malaga, and take in Granada and the Alhambra, Cordova, Seville,
and Cadiz. Besides the ports mentioned, the party vessels visit
Valencia, Alicante,—from which they make an excursion to Elche
to see its palms—Carthagena, and Gibraltar.
The author has visited every country included in the titles of
the eleven volumes of the two series of which the present volume
is the last published. He has been abroad twice for the sole purpose
of obtaining the materials for these books; his object being
to produce books that would instruct as well as amuse.
The story of the incendiaries and of the young Spanish officer of
the Tritonia, interwoven with the incidents of travel, is in accordance
with the plan adopted in the first, and followed out in every
subsequent volume of the two series. Doubtless the book will
have some readers who will skip the lectures of the professor and
the travel–talk of the surgeon, and others who will turn unread the
pages on which the story is related; but we fancy the former will
be larger than the latter class. If both are suited, the author
need not complain; though he especially advises his young
friends to read the historical portions of the volume, because he
thinks that the maritime history of Portugal, for instance, ought
to interest them more than any story he can invent.
The titles of all the books of this series were published ten
years ago. The boys and girls who read the first volume are men
and women now; and the task the author undertook then will be
finished in one more volume.
With the hope that he will live to complete the work begun
so many years ago, the author once more returns his grateful
acknowledgments to his friends, old and young, for the favor
they have extended to this series.
TOWERHOUSE, BOSTON, Oct. 19, 1876.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
I. SOMETHING ABOUT THE MARINES 11
II. AT THE QUARANTINE STATION 26
III. A GRANDEE OF SPAIN 41
IV. THE PROFESSOR’S TALK ABOUT SPAIN 53
V. A SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCE 79
VI. A LOOK AT BARCELONA 87
VII. FIRE AND WATER 102
VIII. SARAGOSSA AND BURGOS 116
IX. THE HOLD OF THE TRITONIA 133
X. THE ESCURIAL AND PHILIP II. 145
XI. THE CRUISE IN THE FELUCCA 159
XII. SIGHTS IN MADRID 173
XIII. AFTER THE BATTLE IN THE FELUCCA 187
XIV. TOLEDO, AND TALKS ABOUT SPAIN 202
XV. TROUBLE IN THE RUNAWAY CAMP 221
XVI. BILL STOUT AS A TOURIST 233
XVII. THROUGH THE HEART OF SPAIN 245
XVIII. AFRICA AND REPENTANCE 261
XIX. WHAT PORTUGAL HAS DONE IN THE WORLD 274
XX. LISBON AND ITS SURROUNDINGS 292
XXI. A SAFE HARBOR 305
XXII. THE FRUITS OF REPENTANCE 319
XXIII. GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA 333
XXIV. AN ADVENTURE ON THE ROAD 349
XXV. CORDOVA, SEVILLE, AND CADIZ 358
XXVI. THE CAPTURE OF THE BEGGARS 373
XXVII. THE BULL–FIGHT AT SEVILLE 390
VINE AND OLIVE.
VINE AND OLIVE;
OR,
YOUNG AMERICA IN SPAIN AND PORTUGAL.
CHAPTER I.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE MARINES.
“Land, ho!” shouted the lookout in the foretop of
the Tritonia.
“Where away?” demanded the officer of the deck,
as he glanced in the direction the land was expected to
be found.
“Broad on the weather bow,” returned the seaman
in the foretop.
“Mr. Raimundo,” said the officer of the deck, who
was the third lieutenant, calling to the second master.
“Mr. Scott,” replied the officer addressed, touching
his cap to his superior.
“You will inform the captain, if you please, that the
lookout reports land on the weather bow.”
The second master touched his cap again, and hastened
to the cabin to obey the order. The academy
squadron, consisting of the steamer American Prince
and the topsail schooners Josephine and Tritonia,
were bound from Genoa to Barcelona. They had a
short and very pleasant passage, and the students
on board of all the vessels were in excellent spirits.
Though they had been seeing sights through all the
preceding year, they were keenly alive to the pleasure
of visiting a country so different as Spain from any
other they had seen. The weather was warm and
pleasant for the season, and the young men were anxiously
looking forward to the arrival at Barcelona. On
the voyage and while waiting in Genoa, they had
studied up all the books in the library that contained
any thing about the interesting land they were next to
visit.
The Tritonia sailed on the starboard, and the Josephine
on the port quarter, of the American Prince.
The two consorts had all sail set, and were making
about eight knots an hour, which was only half speed
for the steamer, to which she had been reduced in order
to keep company with the sailing vessels. Though
the breeze was tolerably fresh, the sea was smooth,
and the vessels had very little motion. The skies were
as blue and as clear as skies can ever be; and nothing
could be more delicious than the climate.
In the saloon of the steamer and the steerage of the
schooners, which were the schoolrooms of the academy
squadron, one–half of the students of the fleet were
engaged in their studies and recitations. A quarter
watch was on duty in each vessel, and the same portion
were off duty. But the latter were not idle: they were,
for the most part, occupied in reading about the new
land they were to visit; and the more ambitious were
preparing for the next recitation. Their positions on
board for the next month would depend upon their
merit–roll; and it was a matter of no little consequence
to them whether they were officers or seamen, whether
they lived in the cabin or steerage. Some were struggling
to retain the places they now held, and others
were eager to win what they had not yet attained.
There were from two to half a dozen in each vessel
who did only what they were obliged to do, either in
scholarship or seamanship. At first, ship’s duty had
been novel and pleasant to them; and they had done
well for a time,—had even struggled hard with their
lessons for the sake of attaining creditable places as
officers and seamen. They had been kindly and generously
encouraged as long as they deserved it; but,
when the novelty had worn away, they dropped back to
what they had been before they became students of the
academy squadron. Mr. Lowington labored hard over
the cases of these fellows; and, next to getting the fleet
safely into port, his desire was to reform them.
In the Tritonia were four of them, who had also
challenged the attention and interest of Mr. Augustus
Pelham, the vice–principal in charge of the vessel, who
had formerly been a student in the academy ship, and
who had been a wild boy in his time. The interest
which Mr. Lowington manifested in these wayward
fellows had inspired the vice–principal to follow his
example. Possibly the pleasant weather had some influence
on the laggards; for they seemed to be very
restive and uneasy under restraint as the squadron
approached the coast of Spain. All four of them were
in the starboard watch, and in the second part thereof,
where they had been put so that the vice–principal could
know where to find them when he desired to watch them
at unusual hours.
The third lieutenant was the officer of the deck,
assisted by the second master. The former was planking
the weather side of the quarter deck, and the latter
was moving about in the waist. The captain came on
deck, and looked at the distant coast through his glass;
but it was an old story, and he remained on deck but
a few minutes. Raimundo, the officer in the waist, was
a Spaniard, and the shore on the starboard was that of
“his own, his native land.” But this fact did not seem
to excite any enthusiasm in his mind: in fact, he really
wished it had been somebody else’s native land, and he
did not wish to go there. He bestowed more attention
upon the four idlers, who had coiled themselves away
in the lee side of the waist, than upon the shadowy
shore of the home of his ancestors. He was a sharp
officer; and this was his reputation on board. He
could snuff mischief afar off; and more than one
conspiracy had been blighted by his vigilance. He
seemed to be gazing at the clear blue sky, and to be
enjoying its azure transparency; but he had an eye to
the laggards all the time.
“I wonder what those marines are driving at,” said
he to himself, after he had studied the familiar phenomenon
for a while, and, as it appeared, without any
satisfactory result. “I never see those four fellows
talking together as long as they have been at it, without
an earthquake or some sort of a smash following
pretty soon after. I suppose they are going to run
away, for that is really the most fashionable sport on
board of all the vessels of the fleet.”
Perhaps the second master was right, and perhaps
he was wrong. Certainly running away had been the
greatest evil that had tried the patience of the principal;
but there had been hardly a case of it since the
squadron came into the waters of the Mediterranean,
and he hoped the practice had gone out of fashion. It
had been so unsuccessful, that most of the students
regarded it as a played–out expedient.
Raimundo was one of those whom this nautical institution
had saved to be a blessing, instead of a curse, to
the community; but he was truly reformed, and, over
and above his duty as an officer, he was sincerely desirous
to save the “marines” from the error of their
ways. He did not expect them to uncover their plans
all at once, and he was willing to watch and wait.
Having viewed the marines from the officer’s side of
the question, we will enter into the counsels of those
who were the subjects of this official scrutiny. After
the first few months of life in the squadron, these four
fellows had been discontented and dissatisfied. They
had been transferred from one vessel to another, in the
hope that they might find their appropriate sphere; but
there seemed to be no sphere below—at least, as far
as they had gone—where they could revolve and shine.
They had been “sticks,” wherever they were. One
country seemed to be about the same as any other to
them. They did not like to study; they did not like
to “knot and splice;” they did not like to stand watch;
they did not like to read even stories, fond as they
were of yarns of the coarser sort; they did not like to
do any thing but eat, sleep, and loaf about the deck, or,
on shore, but to dissipate and indulge in rowdyism.
Two of them had been transferred to the Tritonia from
the Prince at Genoa, and the other two had been in the
schooner but two months.
“I’m as tired as death of this sort of thing,” said
Bill Stout, the oldest and biggest fellow of the four.
“I had enough of it in a month after I came on
board,” added Ben Pardee, who was lying flat on his
back, and gazing listlessly up into the clear blue sky;
“but what can a fellow do?”
“Nothing at all,” replied Lon Gibbs. “It’s the
same thing from morning to night, from one week’s
end to the other.”
“Can’t we get up some sort of an excitement?”
asked Bark Lingall, whose first name was Barclay.
“We have tried it on too many times,” answered
Ben Pardee, who was perhaps the most prudent of the
four. “We never make out any thing. The fellows in
the Tritonia are a lot of spoonies, and are afraid to
say their souls are their own.”
“They are good little boys, lambs of the chaplain’s
fold,” sneered Lon Gibbs. “There is nothing like fun
in them.”
“We are almost at the end of the cruise, at any rate,”
said Bark Lingall, who seemed to derive great comfort
from the fact. “This slavery is almost at an end.”
“I don’t know about that,” added Bill Stout.
“Spain and Portugal are the last countries in Europe
we are to visit; and we shall finish them up in
three or four weeks more.”
“And what then? we are not to go home and be discharged,
as you seem to think,” continued Bill Stout.
“We are to go to the West Indies, taking in a lot of
islands on the way—I forget what they are.”
“I can stand it better when we are at sea,” said Ben
Pardee. “There is more life in it as we are tumbling
along in a big sea. Besides, there will be something to
see in those islands. These cities of Europe are about
the same thing; and, when you have seen one, you
have seen the whole of them.”
“I don’t know about that,” suggested Lon Gibbs,
who, from the chaplain’s point of view, was the most
hopeful of the four; for his education was better than
the others, and he had some taste for the wonders of
nature and art. “Spain ought to be worth seeing to
fellows from the United States of America. I suppose
you know that Columbus sailed from this country.”
“Is that so?” laughed Bark Lingall. “I thought he
was an Italian; at any rate, we saw the place where he
was born, or else it was a fraud.”
“I think you had better read up your history again,
and you will find that Columbus was born in Italy, but
sailed in the service of Spain,” replied Lon Gibbs.
“That will do!” interposed Bill Stout, turning up
his nose. “We don’t want any of that sort of thing in
our crowd. If you wish to show off your learning,
Lon, you had better go and join the lambs.”
“That’s so. It’s treason to talk that kind of bosh in
our company. We have too much of it in the steerage
to tolerate any of it when we are by ourselves,” said
Ben Pardee.
“I thought you were going to do something about
it,” added Bill Stout. “We are utterly disgusted, and
we agreed that we could not stand it any longer. We
shall go into the next place—I forget the name of
it”—
“Barcelona,” added Lon Gibbs, who was rather
annoyed at the dense ignorance of his friend.
“Barcelona, then. I suppose it is some one–horse
seaport, where we are expected to go into ecstasies over
tumble–down old buildings, or pretend that we like to
look at a lot of musty pictures. I have had enough of
this sort of thing, as I said before. I should like to
have a right down good time, such as we had in New
York when we went round among the theatres and the
beer–shops. That was fun for me. I’m no book–worm,
and I don’t pretend to be. I won’t make believe that
I enjoy looking at ruins and pictures when it is a bore
to me. I will not be a hypocrite, whatever else I am.”
Bill Stout evidently believed that he had some virtue
left; and, as he delivered himself of his sentiments, he
looked like a much abused and wronged young man.
“Here we are; and in six or eight hours we shall be
in Barcelona,” continued Ben Pardee.
“And it is no such one–horse place as you seem to
think it is,” added Lon Gibbs. “It is a large city; in
fact, the second in size in Spain, and with about the
same population as Boston. It is a great commercial
place.”
“You have learned the geography by heart,” sneered
Bill Stout, who had a hearty contempt for those who
knew any thing contained in the books, or at least for
those who made any display of their knowledge.
“I like, when I am going to any place, to know
something about it,” pleaded Lon, in excuse for his
wisdom in regard to Barcelona.
“Are there any beer–shops there, Lon?” asked Bill.
“I don’t know.”
“Then your education has been neglected.”
“Spain is not a beer–drinking country; and I should
say you would find no beer–shops there,” continued
Lon. “Spain is a wine country; and I have no doubt
you will find plenty of wine–shops in Barcelona, and in
the other cities of the country.”
“Wine–shops! that will do just as well, and perhaps
a little better,” chuckled Bill. “There is no fun where
there are no wine or beer shops.”
“What’s the use of talking?” demanded Bark Lingall.
“What are the wine or the beer shops to do with
us? If we entered one of them, we should be deprived
of our liberty, or be put into the brig for twenty–four
hours; and that don’t pay.”
“But I want to break away from this thing altogether,”
added Bill Stout. “I have been a slave from
the first moment I came into the squadron. I never
was used to being tied up to every hour and minute in
the day. A fellow can’t move without being watched.
What they call recreation is as solemn as a prayer–meeting.”
“Well, what do you want to do, Bill?” asked Ben
Pardee, as he glanced at the second master, who had
halted in his walk in the waist, to overhear, if he could,
any word that might be dropped by the party.
“That’s more than I am able to say just at this
minute,” replied Bill, pausing till the officer of the
watch had moved on. “I want to end this dog’s life,
and be my own master once more. I want to get out
of this vessel, and out of the fleet.”
“Would you like to get into the steamer?” asked
Lon Gibbs.
“I should like that for a short time; but I don’t
think I should be satisfied in her for more than a week
or two. It was just my luck, when I got out of the
Young America, after she went to the bottom, to have
the American Prince come to take her place, and leave
me out in the cold. No, I don’t want to stay in the
steamer; but I should like to be in her a few days, just
to see how things are done. All the fellows have to
keep strained up in her, even more than in the Tritonia;
and that is just the thing I don’t like. In fact, it is just
the thing I won’t stand much longer.”
“What are you going to do about it? How are you
going to help yourself?” inquired Lon Gibbs. “Here
we are, and here we must stay. It is all nonsense to
think of such a thing as running away.”
“I want some sort of an excitement, and I’m going
to have it too, if I am sent home in some ship–of–war
in irons.”
“You are getting desperate, Bill,” laughed Ben
Pardee.
“That’s just it, Ben; I am getting desperate. I cannot
endure the life I am leading on board of this vessel.
It is worse than slavery to me. If you can stand it,
you are welcome to do so.”
“We all hate it as bad as you do,” added Bark Lingall,
who had the reputation of being the boldest and
pluckiest of the bad boys on board of the Tritonia.
“I don’t think you do. If you did, you would be as
ready as I am to break the chains that bind us.”
“We are ready to do any thing that will end this
dog’s life,” replied Bark. “We will stand by you, if
you will only tell us what to do.”
“I think you are ready for business, Bark; but I am
not so sure of the others,” he added, glancing into the
faces of Lon Gibbs and Ben Pardee.
“I don’t believe in running away,” said the prudent
Ben.
“Nor I,” added Lon.
“I knew you were afraid of your own shadows,”
sneered Bill.
“We are not afraid of any thing; but so many fellows
have tried to run away, and made fools of themselves,
that I am not anxious to try it on. The principal
always gets the best of it. There were the two fellows,
De Forrest and Beckwith, who had been cabin officers,
that tried it on. Lowington didn’t seem to care what
became of them. But in the end they came back on
board, like a couple of sick monkeys, went into the
brig like white lambs, and to this day they have to stay
on board when the rest of the crew go ashore, in
charge of the big boatswain of the ship.”
“Well, what of it? I had as lief stay on board as
march in solemn procession with the professors through
the old churches of the place we are coming to—what
did you say the name of it was?”
“Barcelona,” answered Lon.
“But that’s not the thing, Bill,” protested Ben. “It
is not so much the brig and the loss of all shore liberty
as it is the being whipped out at your own game.”
“That’s the idea,” added Lon. “When those fellows
came on board, though they had been absent for weeks,
the principal only laughed at them as he ordered them
into the brig. There was not a fellow in the ship who
did not feel that they had made fools of themselves. I
would rather stay in the brig six months than feel as
I know those fellows felt at that moment.”
“I don’t think of running away,” continued Bill. “I
have a bigger idea than that in my mind.”
“What is it?” demanded the others, in the same
breath.
“I won’t tell you now, and not at all till I know that
you can bear it. Desperate cases require desperate
remedies; and I’m not sure that any of you are up to
it yet.”
No amount of teasing could induce Bill Stout to expose
the dark secret that was concealed in his mind;
and at noon the watch was relieved, so that they had
no other opportunity to talk till the first dog–watch;
but the secret came out in due time, and it was nothing
less than to burn the Tritonia. Bill believed that her
ship’s company could not be accommodated on board
of the other vessels, which were all full, and therefore
the students would be sent home. At first Bark Lingall
was horrified at the proposition; but having talked it
over for hours with Bill Stout alone, for the conspirator
would not yet trust the secret with Ben Pardee and
Lon Gibbs, he came to like the plan, and fully assented
to it. He would not consent to do any thing that
would expose the life of any person on board. It was
not till the following day that Bark came to the conclusion
to join in the conspiracy. Towards night, as it
was too late to go into port, the order had been signalled
from the Prince to stand off and on; and this
was done till the next morning.
The plan was discussed in all its details. It was
believed that the vessels would be quarantined at Barcelona,
and this would afford the best chance to carry
out the wicked plot. One of their number was to conceal
himself in the hold; and, when all hands had left
the vessel, he was to light the fire, and escape the best
way he could. If the fleet was not quarantined, the
job was to be done when the ship’s company landed to
see the city.
At eight bells in the morning, the signal was set on
the Prince to stand in for Barcelona. The conspirators
found no opportunity to broach the wicked scheme
to Ben and Lon. For the next three hours the starboard
watch were engaged in their duties. As may be supposed,
Bill Stout and Bark Lingall, with their heads full
of conspiracy and incendiarism, were in no condition to
recite their lessons, even if they had learned them,
which they had not done. They were both wofully
deficient, and Bill Stout did not pretend to know the
first thing about the subject on which he was called upon
to recite. The professor was very indignant, and reported
them to the vice–principal. Mr. Pelham found
them obstinate as well as deficient; and he ordered them
to be committed to the brig, and their books to be committed
with them. They were to stand their watches
on deck, and spend all the rest of the time in the cage,
till they were ready to recite the lessons in which they
had failed. The “brig” was the ship’s prison.
Mr. Marline, the adult boatswain, took charge of
them, and locked them up. The position of the brig
had been recently changed, and it was now under the
ladder leading from the deck to the steerage. The
partitions were hard wood slats, two inches thick and
three inches apart. Two stools were the only furniture
it contained, though a berth–sack was supplied for each
occupant at night. Their food, which was always much
plainer than that furnished for the cabin and steerage
tables, was passed in to them through an aperture in one
side, beneath which was a shelf that served for a table.
Bark looked at Bill, and Bill looked at Bark, when
the door had been secured, and the boatswain had left
them to their own reflections. Neither of them seemed
to be appalled by the situation. They sat down upon
the stools facing each other. Bark smiled upon Bill,
and Bill smiled in return. This was not the first time
they had been occupants of the brig.
“Here we are,” said Bill Stout, in a low tone, after
he had made a hasty survey of the prison. “I think
this is better than the old brig, and I believe we can be
happy here for a few days.”
“What will become of our big plan now, Bill?”
asked Bark.
“Hush!” added Bill in his hoarsest whisper, as he
looked through the slats of the prison to see if any one
was observing them.
“What’s the matter now?” demanded Bark, rather
startled by the impressive manner of his companion.
“Not a word,” replied Bill, as he pointed and gesticulated
in the direction of the flooring under the ladder.
“Well, what is it?” demanded Bark.
“Don’t you see?” and again he pointed as before.
“I don’t see any thing.”
“Then you are blind! Don’t you see that the new
brig has been built over one of the scuttles that lead
down into the hold?”
“I see it now. I didn’t know what you meant when
you pointed so like Hamlet’s ghost.”
“Don’t say a word, or look at it,” whispered Bill, as
he placed his stool over the trap, and looked out into
the steerage.
The vice–principal passed the brig at this moment,
and nothing more was said.
CHAPTER II.
AT THE QUARANTINE STATION.
While these events were transpiring below, the
signal had come from the Prince to shorten
sail on the schooners, for the squadron was within half
a mile of the long mole extending to the southward of
the tongue of land that forms the easterly side of the
harbor of Barcelona. A signal for a pilot was exhibited
on each vessel of the fleet, but no pilot boat
seemed to be in sight. As the bar could not be far
distant, it was not deemed prudent to advance any farther;
and the steamer had stopped her engine.
“Signal on the steamer to heave to, Mr. Greenwood,”
said Rolk, the fourth master, as he touched his cap to
the first lieutenant, who was the officer of the deck.
“I see it,” replied Greenwood. “Haul down the
jib, and back the fore–topsail!”
The necessary orders were given in detail, and in a
few moments the three vessels of the fleet were lying
almost motionless on the sea. Greenwood took a glass
from the beckets at the companion–way, and proceeded
to a make a survey of the situation ahead. But there
was nothing to be seen except the mole, and the high
fortified hill of Monjuich on the mainland, across the
harbor.
“Where are your pilots, Raimundo?” asked Scott
of the second master; and both of them were off duty
at this time.
“You won’t see any pilots yet awhile,” replied the
young Spaniard.
“Are they all asleep?”
“Do you think they will be weak enough to come on
board before the health officers have given their permission
for the vessels to enter the harbor?” added
Raimundo. “If they did so they would be sent into
quarantine themselves.”
“They are prudent, as they ought to be,” added
Scott. “I suppose you begin to feel at home about
this time; don’t you, Don Raimundo?”
“Not half so much at home as I do when I am farther
away from Spain,” replied the second master, with
a smile that seemed to be of a very doubtful character.
“Why, how is that?” asked Scott. “This is Spain,
the home of your parents, and the land that gave you
birth.”
“That’s true; but, for all that, I would rather go anywhere
than into Spain. In fact, I don’t think I shall
go on shore at all,” added Raimundo, and there was a
very sad look on his handsome face.
“Why, what’s the matter, my Don?”
“I thought very seriously of asking Mr. Lowington
to grant me leave of absence till the squadron reaches
Lisbon,” replied the second master. “I should have
done so if it had not been for losing my rank, and
taking the lowest place in the Tritonia.”
“I don’t understand you,” answered Scott, puzzled
by the sudden change that had come over his friend;
for, being in the same quarter watch, they had become
very intimate and very much attached to each other.
“Of course you do not understand it; but when I
have the chance I will tell you all about it, for I may
want you to help me before we get out of the waters of
Spain. But I wish you to know, above all things, that
I never did any thing wrong in Spain, whatever I may
have done in New York.”
“Of course not, for I think you said you left your
native land when you were only ten years old.”
“That’s so. I was born in this very city of Barcelona;
and I suppose I have an uncle there now;
but I would not meet him for all the money in Spain,”
said Raimundo, looking very sad, and even terrified.
“But we will not say any thing more about it now.
When I have a chance, I will tell you the whole story.
I am certain of one thing, and that is, I shall not go on
shore in Barcelona if I can help it. There is a boat
coming out from behind the mole.”
“An eight–oar barge; and the men in her pull as
though she were part of a funeral procession,” said
the first lieutenant, examining the boat with the glass.
“She has a yellow flag in her stern.”
“Then it is the health officers,” added Raimundo.
All hands in the squadron watched the approaching
boat; for by this time the quarantine question had excited
no little interest, and it was now to be decided.
The oarsmen pulled the man–of–war stroke; but the
pause after they recovered their blades was so fearfully
long that the rowers seemed to be lying on their oars
about half of the time. Certainly the progress of the
barge was very slow, and it was a long time before it
reached the American Prince. Then it was careful not
to come too near, lest any pestilence that might be
lurking in the ship should be communicated to the
funereal oarsmen or their officers. The boat took up
its position abreast of the steamer’s gangway, and
about thirty feet distant from her.
A well–dressed gentleman then stood up in the stern–sheets
of the barge, and hailed the ship. Mr. Lowington,
in full uniform, which he seldom wore, replied to
the hail in Spanish; and a long conference ensued.
When the principal said that the squadron came from
Genoa, the health officer shook his head. Then he
wanted to know all about the three vessels, and it
appeared to be very difficult for him to comprehend the
character of the school. At last he was satisfied on all
these points, and understood that the academy was
a private enterprise, and not an institution connected
with the United States Navy.
“Have you any sickness on board?” asked the health
officer, when the nature of the craft was satisfactorily
explained.
“We have two cases of measles in the steamer, but
all are well in the other vessels,” replied Mr. Lowington.
“_Sarampion!_” exclaimed the Spanish officer, using
the Spanish word for the measles.
At the same time he shrugged his shoulders like
a Frenchman, and vented his incredulity in a laugh.
“_Viruelas!_” added the officer; and the word in
English meant smallpox, which was just the disease the
Spaniards feared as coming from Genoa.
Mr. Lowington then called Dr. Winstock, the surgeon,
who spoke Spanish fluently, and presented him to the
incredulous health officer. A lengthy palaver between
the two medical men ensued. There appeared to be
some sort of freemasonry, or at least a professional
sympathy, between them, for they seemed to get on very
well together. The cases of measles were very light
ones, the two students having probably contracted the
disease in some interior town of Italy where they passed
the night at a hotel. They had been kept apart from the
other students, and no others had taken the malady.
The health officer declared that he was satisfied for
the present with the explanation of the surgeon, and
politely asked to see the ship’s papers, which the principal
held in his hand. The barge pulled up a little
nearer to the steamer; a long pole with a pair of spring
tongs affixed to the end of it was elevated to the gangway,
between the jaws of which Mr. Lowington placed
the documents. They were carefully examined, and
then all hands were required to show themselves in the
rigging. This order included every person on board,
not excepting the cooks, waiters, and coal–heavers. In
a few moments they were standing on the rail or perched
in the rigging, and the health officer and his assistants
proceeded to count them. The number was two short
of that indicated in the ship’s papers, for those who
were sick with the measles were not allowed to leave
their room.
The health officer then intimated that he would pay
the vessel a visit; and all hands were ordered to muster
at their stations where they could be most conveniently
inspected. Every part of the vessel was then carefully
examined, and the Spanish doctors minutely overhauled
the two cases of measles. They declared themselves
fully satisfied that there was neither yellow fever nor
smallpox on board of the steamer. The other vessels
of the squadron were subjected to the same inspection.
Mr. Lowington and Dr. Winstock attended the health
officer in his visit to the Josephine and the Tritonia.
“You find our vessels in excellent health,” said Dr.
Winstock, when the examination was completed.
“Very good; but we cannot get over the fact that
you come from Genoa, where the smallpox is prevailing
badly. Vessels from that port are quarantined at Marseilles
for from three days to a fortnight; but I shall
not be hard with you, as you have a skilful surgeon on
board,” replied the health officer, touching his hat to
Dr. Winstock; “but my orders from the authorities are
imperative that all vessels from infected or doubtful
ports shall be fumigated before any person from them
is allowed to land in the city. We have had the yellow
fever so severely all summer that we are very cautious.”
“Is it necessary to fumigate?” asked Dr. Winstock,
with a smile.
“The authorities require it, and I am not at liberty
to dispense with it,” answered the official. “But it will
detain you only a few hours. You will land the ship’s
company of each vessel, and they will be fumigated on
shore. While they are absent our people will purify
the vessels.”
“Is there any yellow fever in the city now?” asked
the surgeon of the fleet.
“None at all. The frost has entirely killed it; but
we have many patients who are recovering from the
disease. The people who went away have all returned,
and we call the city healthy.”
The quarantine grounds were pointed out to the
principal; and the fleet was soon at anchor within a
cable’s length of the shore. Study and recitation were
suspended for the rest of the day. All the boats of
the American Prince were manned; her fires were
banked; the entire ship’s company were transferred to
the shore; and the vessel was given up to the quarantine
officers, who boarded her and proceeded with their
work. In a couple of hours the steamer and her crew
were disposed of; and then came the turn of the
Josephine, for only one vessel could be treated at a
time.
When all hands were mustered on board of the
Tritonia, the two delinquents in the brig were let out
to undergo the inspection with the others. The decision
of the health officer requiring the vessels to be
fumigated, and the fact that the process would require
but a few hours, were passed through each of the
schooners as well as the steamer, and in a short time
were known to every student in the fleet. As usual they
were disposed to make fun of the situation, though it
was quite a sensation for the time. During the excitement
Bark Lingall improved the opportunity to confer
with Lon Gibbs and Ben Pardee. Lon was willing to
undertake any thing that Bark suggested. Ben was
rather a prudent fellow, but soon consented to take part
in the enterprise. Certainly neither of these worthies
would have assented if the proposition to join had been
made by Bill Stout, in whom they had as little confidence
as Bark had manifested. The alliance had
hardly been agreed upon before the vice–principal happened
to see the four marines talking together, and
ordered Marline to recommit two of them to the brig.
The boatswain locked them into their prison, and left
them to their own reflections. The excitement on deck
was still unabated, and the cabins and steerage were
deserted even by the stewards.
“I think our time has come,” said Bill Stout, after
he had satisfied himself that no one but the occupants
of the brig was in the steerage. “If we don’t strike
at once we shall lose our chance, for they say we are
going up to the city to–night.”
“They will have to let us out to be fumigated with
the rest of the crew,” answered Bark Lingall. “We
haven’t drawn lots yet, either.”
“Never mind the lot now: I will do the job myself,”
replied Bill magnanimously. “I should rather like the
fun of it.”
“All right, though I am willing to take my chances.
I won’t back out of any thing.”
“You are true blue, Bark, when you get started; but
I would rather do the thing than not.”
“Very well, I am willing; and when the scratch
comes I will back you up. But I do not see how you
are going to manage it, Bill,” added Bark, looking about
him in the brig.
“The vice has made an easy thing of it for us.
While the fellows were all on deck, I went to my berth
and got a little box of matches I bought in Genoa
when we were there. I have it in my pocket now.
All I have to do is to take off this scuttle, and go down
into the hold. As we don’t know how soon the fellows
will be sent ashore, I think I had better be about it
now.”
Bill Stout put his fingers into the ring on the trap–door,
and lifted it a little way.
“Hold on, Bill,” interposed Bark. “You are altogether
too fast. When Marline comes down to let us
out, where shall I say you are?”
“That’s so: I didn’t think of that,” added Bill, looking
rather foolish. “He will see the scuttle, and know
just where I am.”
“And, when the blaze comes off, he will see just who
started it,” continued Bark. “That won’t do anyhow.”
“But I don’t mean to give it up,” said Bill, scratching
his head as he labored to devise a better plan.
The difficulty was discussed for some time, but there
seemed to be no way of meeting it. Bill was one of
the crew of the second cutter, and he was sure to be
missed when the ship’s company were piped away. If
Bark, who did not belong to any boat, took his oar,
the boatswain, whose place was in the second cutter
when all hands left the vessel, would notice the change.
Bill was almost in despair, and insisted that no amount
of brains could overcome the difficulty. The conspirator
who was to “do the job” was certain to be missed
when the ship’s company took to the boats. To be
missed was to proclaim who the incendiary was when
the fire was investigated.
“We may as well give it up for the present, and wait
for a better time,” suggested Bark, who was as unable
as his companion to solve the problem.
“No, I won’t,” replied Bill, taking a newspaper from
his breast–pocket. “We may never have another
chance; and I believe in striking while the iron is
hot.”
“Don’t get us into a scrape for nothing. We can’t
do any thing now,” protested Bark.
“Now’s the day, and now’s the hour!” exclaimed
Bill, scowling like the villain of a melodrama.
“What are you going to do?” demanded Bark, a
little startled by the sudden energy of his fellow–conspirator.
“Hold on, and you shall see,” answered Bill, as he
raised the trap–door over the scuttle.
“But stop, Bill! you were not to do any thing without
my consent.”
“All hands on deck! man the boats in fire order,”
yelled the boatswain on deck, after he had blown the
proper pipe.
Bill Stout paid no attention to the call or to the
remonstrance of his companion. Raising the trap, he
descended to the hold by the ladder under the scuttle.
Striking a match, he set fire to the newspaper in his
hand, and then cast it into the heap of hay and sawdust
that lay near the foot of the ladder. Hastily
throwing the box–covers and cases on the pile, he
rushed up the steps into the brig, and closed the scuttle.
He was intensely excited, and Bark was really
terrified at what he considered the insane rashness of
his associate in crime. But there was no time for
further talk; for Marline appeared at this moment, and
unlocked the door of the brig.
“Come, my hearties, you must go on shore for an
hour to have the smallpox smoked out of you; and I
wish they could smoke out some of the mischief that’s
in you at the same time,” said the adult boatswain.
“Come, and bear a hand lively, for all hands are in
boats by this time.”
Bill Stout led the way; and on this occasion he
needed no hurrying, for he was in haste to get away
from the vessel before the blaze revealed itself. In a
moment more he was on the thwart in the second
cutter where he belonged. Bark’s place was in another
boat, and they separated when they reached the deck.
The fire–bill assigned every person on board of the
vessel to a place in one of the boats, so that every
professor and steward as well as every officer and
seaman knew where to go without any orders. It was
the arrangement for leaving the ship in case of fire; and
it had worked with perfect success in the Young America
when she was sunk by the collision with the Italian
steamer. As the boats pulled away from the Tritonia,
the quarantine people boarded her to perform the
duty belonging to them.
Bill Stout endeavored to compose himself, but with
little success, though the general excitement prevented
his appearance from being noticed. He was not so
hardened in crime that he could see the vessel on fire
without being greatly disturbed by the act; and it was
more than probable that, by this time, he was sorry he
had done it. He did not expect the fire to break out
for some little time; and it had not occurred to him
that the quarantine people would extend their operation
to the hold of the vessel.
The boats landed on the beach; and all hands were
marched up to a kind of tent, a short distance from the
water. There were fifty–five of them, and they were
divided into two squads for the fumigating process.
“How is this thing to be done?” asked Scott, as he
halted by the side of Raimundo, at the tent.
“I have not the least idea what it is all about,”
replied the young Spaniard.
“I suppose we are to take up our quarters in this
tent.”
“Not for very long; for all the rest of the squadron
have been operated upon in a couple of hours.”
The health officer now beckoned them to enter the
tent. It was of the shape of a one–story house. The
canvas on the sides and end was tacked down to heavy
planks on the ground, so as to make it as tight as possible.
There was only a small door; and, when the first
squad had entered, it was carefully closed, so that the
interior seemed to be almost air–tight. In the centre of
the tent was a large tin pan, which contained some
chemical ingredient. The health officer then poured
another ingredient into the pan; and the union of the
two created quite a tempest, a dense smoke or vapor
rising from the vessel, which immediately filled the tent.
“Whew!” whistled Scott, as he inhaled the vapor.
“These Spaniards ought to have a patent for getting up
a bad smell. This can’t be beat, even by the city of
Chicago.”
“I am glad you think my countrymen are good for
something,” laughed Raimundo.
The students coughed, sneezed, and made all the fuss
that was necessary, and a good deal more. The health
officer laughed at the antics of the party, and dismissed
them in five minutes, cleansed from all taint of smallpox
or yellow fever.
“Where’s your blaze?” asked Bark Lingall, as they
withdrew from the others who had just left the tent.
“Hush up! don’t say a word about it,” whispered
Bill; “it hasn’t got a–going yet.”
“But those quarantine folks are on board; and if
there were any fire there they would have seen it
before this time,” continued Bark nervously.
“Dry up! not another word! If we are seen talking
together the vice will know that we are at the bottom
of the matter.”
Bill Stout shook off his companion, and walked about
with as much indifference as he could assume. Every
minute or two he glanced at the Tritonia, expecting to
see the flames, or at least the smoke, rising above her
decks. But no flame or smoke appeared, not even the
vapor of the disinfectants.
The second squad of the ship’s company were sent
into the tent after the preparations were completed;
and in the course of an hour the health officer gave the
vice–principal permission to return to his vessel. The
boats were manned; the professors and others took
their places, and the bowmen shoved off. Bill began
to wonder where his blaze was, for ample time had
elapsed for the flames to envelop the schooner, if she
was to burn at all. Still there was no sign of fire or
smoke about the beautiful craft. She rested on the
water as lightly and as trimly as ever. Bill could not
understand it; but he came to the conclusion that the
quarantine men had extinguished the flames. The
burning of the vessel did not rest upon his conscience,
it is true; but he was not satisfied, as he probably
would not have been if the Tritonia had been destroyed.
He felt as though he had attempted to do a big thing,
and had failed. He was not quite the hero he intended
to be in the estimation of his fellow–conspirators.
The four boats of the Tritonia came alongside the
schooner; and, when the usual order of things had been
fully restored, the signal for sailing appeared on the
steamer. The odor of the chemicals remained in the
cabin and steerage for a time; but the circulation of
the air soon removed it. It was four o’clock in the
afternoon; and, in order to enable the students to see
what they might of the city as the fleet went up to the
port, the lessons were not resumed. The fore–topsail,
jib, and mainsail were set, the anchor weighed, and the
Tritonia followed the Prince in charge of a pilot who
had presented himself as soon as the fumigation was
completed.
“You belong in the cage,” said Marline, walking
up to the two conspirators, as soon as the schooner
began to gather headway.
Bill and Bark followed the boatswain to the steerage,
and were locked into the brig.
“Here we are again,” said Bark, when Marline had
returned to the deck. “I did not expect when we left,
to come back again.”
“Neither did I; and I don’t understand it,” replied
Bill, with a sheepish look. “I certainly fixed things
right for something different. I lighted the newspaper,
and put it under the hay, sawdust, and boxes. I was
sure there would be a blaze in fifteen minutes. I can’t
explain it; and I am going down to see how it was.”
“Not now: some one will see you,” added Bark.
“No; everybody is looking at the sights. Besides,
as the thing has failed, I want to fix things so that no
one will suspect any thing if the pile of hay and stuff
should be overhauled.”
Bark made no further objection, and his companion
hastened down the ladder. Pulling over the pile of
rubbish, he found the newspaper he had ignited.
Only a small portion of it was burned, and it was
evident that the flame had been smothered when the
boxes and covers had been thrown on the heap. Nothing
but the newspaper bore the marks of the fire; and,
putting this into his pocket, he returned to the brig.
“I shall do better than that next time,” said he,
when he had explained to Bark the cause of the failure.
Bill Stout was as full of plans and expedients as
ever; and, before the anchor went down, he was willing
to believe that “the job” could be better done at
another time.
CHAPTER III.
A GRANDEE OF SPAIN.
The port, or harbor, of Barcelona is formed by an
inlet of the sea. A triangular tongue of land,
with a long jetty projecting from its southern point,
shelters it from the violence of the sea, except on the
south–east. On the widest part of the tongue of land
is the suburb of Barceloneta, or Little Barcelona, inhabited
by sailors and other lower orders of people.
“I can just remember the city as it was when I left
it in a steamer to go to Marseilles, about ten years ago,”
said Raimundo, as he and Scott stood on the lee side
of the quarter–deck, looking at the objects of interest
that were presented to them. “It does not seem to
have changed much.”
“It don’t look any more like Spain than the rest of
the world,” added the lieutenant.
“This hill on the left is Monjuich, seven hundred
and fifty–five feet high. It has a big fort on the
top of it, which commands the town as well as the
harbor. The city is a walled town, with redoubts all
the way around it. The walls take in the citadel, which
you see above the head of the harbor. The city was
founded by Hamilcar more than two hundred years
before Christ, and afterwards became a Roman colony.
There is lots of history connected with the city, but I
will not bore you with it.”
“Thank you for your good intentions,” laughed Scott.
“But how is it that you don’t care to see the people of
your native city after an absence of ten years?”
“I don’t care about having this story told all through
the ship, Scott,” replied the young Spaniard, glancing
at the students on deck.
“Of course I will not mention it, if you say so.”
“I have always kept it to myself, though I have no
strong reason for doing so; and I would not say any
thing about it now if I did not feel the need of a friend.
I am sure I can rely on you, Scott.”
“When I can do any thing for you, Don, you may
depend upon me; and not a word shall ever pass my
lips till you request it.”
“I don’t know but you will think I am laying out the
plot of a novel, like the story of Giulia Fabiano, whom
O’Hara assisted to a happy conclusion,” replied Raimundo,
with a smile. “I couldn’t help thinking of my
own case when her history was related to me; for, so
far, the situations are very much the same.”
“I have seen all I want to of the outside of Barcelona;
and if you like, we will go down into the cabin where
we shall be alone for the present,” suggested Scott.
“That will suit me better,” answered Raimundo, as
he followed his companion.
“We shall be out of hearing of everybody here, I
think,” said Scott, as he seated himself in the after–part
of the cabin.
“There is not much romance in the story yet; and I
don’t know that there ever will be,” continued the Spaniard.
“It is a family difficulty; and such things are
never pleasant to me, however romantic they may be.”
“Well, Don, I don’t want you to tell the story for my
sake; and don’t harrow up your feelings to gratify my
curiosity,” protested Scott.
“I shall want your advice, and perhaps your assistance;
and for this reason only I shall tell you all about
it. Here goes. My grandfather was a Spanish merchant
of the city of Barcelona; and when he was fifty
years old he had made a fortune of two hundred and
fifty thousand dollars, which is a big pile of money in
Spain. He had three sons, and a strong weakness, as
our friend O’Hara would express it. I suppose you
know something about the grandees of Spain, Scott?”
“Not a thing,” replied the third lieutenant candidly.
“I have heard the word, and I know they are the
nobles of Spain; and that’s all I know.”
“That’s about all any ordinary outsider would be
expected to know about them. There is altogether too
much nobility and too little money in Spain. Some of
the grandees are still very rich and powerful; but physically
and financially the majority of them are played
out. I am sorry to say it, but laziness is a national
peculiarity: I am a Spaniard, and I will not call it by
any hard names. Pride and vanity go with it. There
are plenty of poor men who are too proud to work, or
to engage in business of any kind. Of course such
men do not get on very well; and, the longer they live,
the poorer they grow. This is especially the case with
the played–out nobility.
“My grandfather was the son of a grandee who had
lost all his property. He was a Castilian, with pride
and dignity enough to fit out half a dozen Americans.
He would rather have starved than do any sort of
business. My grandfather, though it appears that he
gloried in the title of the grandee, was not quite willing
to be starved on his patrimonial acres. His stomach
conquered his pride. He was the elder son; and while
he was a young man his father died, leaving him the
empty title, with nothing to support its dignity. I have
been told that he actually suffered from hunger. He
had no brothers; and his sisters were all married to one–horse
nobles like himself. He was alone in his ruined
castle.
“Without telling any of his people where he was
going, he journeyed to Barcelona, where, being a young
man of good parts, he obtained a situation as a clerk.
In time he became a merchant, and a very prosperous
one. As soon as his circumstances would admit, he
married, and had three sons. As he grew older, the
Castilian pride of birth came back to him, and he began
to think about the title he had dropped when he
became a merchant. He desired to found a family
with wealth as well as a name. He was still the Count
de Escarabajosa.”
“Of what?” asked Scott.
“The Count de Escarabajosa,” repeated Raimundo.
“Well, I don’t blame him for dropping his title if he
had to carry as long a name as that around with him.
It was a heavy load for him, poor man!”
“The title was not of much account, according to my
Uncle Manuel, who told me the story; for my grandfather
was only a second or third class grandee—not
one of the first, who were allowed to speak to the king
with their hats on. At any rate, I think my grandfather
did wisely not to think much of his title till his fortune
was made. His oldest son, Enrique, was my father;
and that’s my name also.”
“Yours? Are you not entered in the ship’s books
as Henry;” interposed Scott.
“No; but Enrique is the Spanish for Henry. When
my grandfather died, he bequeathed his fortune to my
father, who also inherited his title, though he gave the
other two sons enough to enable them to make a start
in business. If my father should die without any male
heir, the fortune, consisting largely of houses, lands,
and farms, in and near Barcelona, was to go to the
second son, whose name was Alejandro. In like manner
the fortune was to pass to the third son, if the second
died without a male heir. This was Spanish law,
as well as the will of my grandfather. Two years after
the death of my grandfather, and when I was about six
years old, my father died. I was his only child. You
will see, Scott, that under the will of my grandfather I
was the heir of the fortune, and the title too for that
matter, though it is of no account.”
“Then, Don, you are the Count de What–ye–call–it?”
said Scott, taking off his cap, and bowing low to the
young grandee.
“The Count de Escarabajosa,” laughed Raimundo;
“but I would not have the fellows on board know this
for the world; and this is one reason why I wanted to
have my story kept a secret.”
“Not a word from me. But I shall hardly dare to
speak to you without taking off my cap. The Count de
Scaribagiosa! My eyes! what a long tail our cat has
got!”
“That’s it! I can see just what would happen if you
should spin this yarn to the crowd,” added the grandee,
shaking his head.
“But I won’t open my mouth till you command me
to do so. What would Captain Wainwright say if he
only knew that he had a Spanish grandee under his
orders? He might faint.”
“Don’t give him an opportunity.”
“I won’t. But spin out the yarn: I am interested.”
“My father died when I was only six; and my Uncle
Alejandro was appointed my guardian by due process
of law. Now, I don’t want to say a word against Don
Alejandro, and I would not if the truth did not compel
me to do so. My Uncle Manuel, who lives in New
York, is my authority; and I give you the facts just as
he gave them to me only a year before I left home to
join the ship. Don Alejandro took me to his own
house as soon as he was appointed my guardian. To
make a long story short, he was a bad man, and he did
not treat me well. I was rather a weakly child at six,
and I stood between my uncle and my grandfather’s
large fortune. If I died, Don Alejandro would inherit
the estate. My Uncle Manuel insists that he did all he
could, short of murdering me in cold blood, to help me
out of the world. I remember how ill he treated me,
but I was too young to understand the meaning of his
conduct.
“My Uncle Manuel was not so fortunate in business
as his father had been, though he saved the capital my
grandfather had bequeathed to him. The agency of a
large mercantile house in Barcelona was offered to him
if he would go to America; and he promptly decided to
seek his fortune in New York. Manuel had quarrelled
with Alejandro on account of the latter’s treatment of
me; and a great many hard words passed between them.
But Manuel was so well satisfied in regard to Alejandro’s
intentions, that he dared not leave me in the keeping
of his brother when he went to the New World. Though
it was a matter of no small difficulty, he decided to take
me with him to New York.
“I did not like my Uncle Alejandro, and I did like
my Uncle Manuel. I was willing to go anywhere with
the latter; and when he called to bid farewell to my
guardian, on the eve of his departure, he beckoned to
me as he went out of the house. I followed him, and
he managed to conceal his object from the servants;
for my Uncle Alejandro did not attend him to the front
door. He had arranged a more elaborate plan to obtain
possession of me; but when he saw me in the hall,
he was willing to adopt the simpler method that was
then suggested to him. His baggage was on board of
the steamer for Marseilles, and he had no difficulty in
conveying me to the vessel. I was kept out of sight in
the state–room till the steamer was well on her way. I
will not trouble you with what I remember of the journey;
but in less than three weeks we were in New
York, which has been my home ever since.”
“But what did your guardian say to all this?” asked
Scott. “Did he discover what had become of you?”
“I don’t know what he said; but he has been at work
for seven years to obtain possession of me. As I disappeared
at the same time my Uncle Manuel left, no
doubt Alejandro suspected what had become of me.
At any rate, he sent an agent to New York to bring me
back to Spain; but Manuel kept me out of the way.
As soon as I could speak English well enough, he sent
me to a boarding–school. I ‘cut up’ so that he was
obliged to take me away, and send me to another. I
am sorry to say that I did no better, and was sent to
half a dozen different schools in the course of three
years. I was active, and full of mischief; but I grew
into a strong and healthy boy from a very puny and
sickly one.
“At last my uncle sent me on board of the academy
ship; but he told me before I went, that if I did not
learn my lessons, and behave myself like a gentleman,
he would send me back to my Uncle Alejandro in
Spain. He would no longer attempt to keep me out
of the way of my legal guardian. Partly on account
of this threat, and partly because I like the institution,
I have done as well as I could.”
“And no one has done any better,” added Scott.
“No doubt my Uncle Manuel has received good accounts
of me from the principal, for he has been very
kind to me. He wrote to me, after I had informed him
that the squadron was going to Spain, that I must not
go there; but he added that I was almost man grown,
and ought to be able to take care of myself. I thought
so too: at any rate, I have taken the chances in coming
here.”
“But you are a minor; and I suppose Don Alejandro,
if he can get hold of you, will have the right to take
possession of your _corpus_.”
“No doubt of that.”
“But does your guardian know that you are a student
in the academy squadron?” asked Scott.
“I don’t know: it is not impossible, or even improbable.
Alejandro has had agents out seeking me, and
they may have ascertained where I am. For aught I
know, my guardian may have made his arrangements to
capture me as soon as the fleet comes to anchor. But
I don’t mean to be captured; for I should have no
chance in a Spanish court, backed by the principal, the
American minister, and the counsel. By law I belong
to my guardian; and that is the whole of it. Now,
Scott, you are the best friend I have on this side of the
Atlantic; and I want you to help me.”
“That I will do with all my might and main, Don,”
protested Scott.
“I don’t ask you to tell any lies, or to do any thing
wrong,” said Raimundo.
“What can I do for you? that’s the question.”
“I shall keep out of sight while the vessels are at
this port; and I want you to be on the lookout for any
Spaniards in search of a young man named Raimundo,
and let me know. When you go on shore, I
want you to find out all you can about my Uncle Alejandro.
If I should happen to run away at any time,
_you_ will know, if no one else does, why I did so.”
“Don’t you think it would be a good thing to tell
the vice–principal your story, and ask him to help you
out in case of any trouble?” suggested Scott.
“No: that would not do. If Mr. Pelham should do
any thing to help me keep out of the way, he would be
charged with breaking or evading the Spanish laws;
and that would get him into trouble. I ought not to
have come here; but now I must take the responsibility,
and not shove it off on the vice–principal.”
“Who pays your bills, Don?”
“My Uncle Manuel, of course. He has a half interest
in the house for which he went out as an agent;
and I suppose he is worth more money to–day than his
father ever was. He is as liberal as he is rich. He
sent me a second letter of credit for a hundred pounds
when we were at Leghorn; and I drew half of it in
Genoa in gold, so as to be ready for any thing that
might happen in Spain.”
“Do you really expect that your uncle will make a
snap at you?” asked Scott, with no little anxiety in his
expression.
“I have no knowledge whatever in regard to his
movements. I know that he has sent agents to the
United States to look me up, and that my Uncle
Manuel has had sharp work to keep me out of their
way. I have been bundled out of New York in the
middle of the night to keep me from being kidnapped
by his emissaries; for my uncle has never believed that
he had any case in law, even in the States.”
“It is really quite a serious matter to you, Don.”
“Serious? You know that my countrymen have the
reputation of using knives when occasion requires; and
I also know that Don Alejandro has not a good character
in Barcelona.”
“But suppose you went back to him: do you believe
he would ill–treat you now?”
“No, I don’t. I have grown to be too big a fellow
to be abused like a child. I think I could take care of
myself, so far as that is concerned. But my uncle has
been nursing his wrath for years on account of my
absence. He has sons of his own, who are living on
my property; for I learn that Alejandro has done nothing
to increase the small sum his father left him. He
and his sons want my fortune. I might be treated with
the utmost kindness and consideration, if I returned; but
that would not convince me that I was not in constant
peril. Spain is not England or the United States, and
I have read a great deal about my native land,” said
Raimundo, shaking his head. “I agree with my uncle
Manuel, that I must not risk myself in the keeping of
my guardian.”
“Suppose Don Alejandro should come on board as
soon as we anchor, Don: what could you do? You
would not be in condition to run away. Where could
you go?” inquired Scott.
“I know just what I should do; but I will not put
you in condition to be tempted to tell any lies,” replied
Raimundo, smiling. “One thing more: I shall not be
safe anywhere in Spain. My uncle does not want me
for any love he bears me; and it would answer his
purpose just as well if I should be drowned in crossing
a river, fall off any high place, or be knifed in some
lonely corner. There are still men enough in Spain
who use the knife, though the country is safe under
ordinary circumstances.”
“Upon my word, I shall be hardly willing to let you
go out of my sight,” added Scott. “I shall have to
take you under my protection.”
“I am afraid your protection will not do me much
good, except in the way I have indicated.”
“Well, you may be sure I will do all I can to serve
and save you,” continued Scott, taking the hand of his
friend, as the movements on deck indicated that the
schooner was ready to anchor.
“Thank you, Scott; thank you. With your help, I
shall feel that I am almost out of danger.”
Raimundo decided to remain in the cabin, as his
watch was not called; but Scott went on deck, as much
to look out for any suspicious Spaniards, as for the
purpose of seeing what was to be seen. The American
Prince had already anchored; and her two consorts
immediately followed her example. The sails were
hardly furled, and every thing made snug, before the
signal, “All hands attend lecture,” appeared on the
flag–ship.
All the vessels of the fleet were surrounded by boats
from the shore, most of them to take passengers to the
city. The adult forward officers were stationed at the
gangways, to prevent any persons from coming on
board; and the boatmen were informed that no one
would go on shore that night. Scott hastened below,
to tell his friend that all hands were ordered on board
of the steamer to attend the lecture. Raimundo declared,
that, as no one could possibly recognize him
after so many years of absence, he should go on board
of the Prince, with the rest of the ship’s company.
The boats were lowered; and in a short time all
the students were assembled in the grand saloon, where
Professor Mapps was ready to discourse upon the
geography and history of Spain.
CHAPTER IV.
THE PROFESSOR’S TALK ABOUT SPAIN.
As usual, the professor had a large map posted
where all could see it. It was a map of Spain
and Portugal in this instance, in which the physical as
well as the political features of the peninsula were exhibited.
The instructor pointed at the map, and commenced
his lecture.
“The ancient name of Spain was _Iberia_; the Latin,
_Hispania_. The Spaniards call their country _España_.
Notice the mark over the _n_ in this word, which gives it
the value of _ny_, the same as the French _gn_. You will
find it in many Spanish words.
“With Portugal, Spain forms a peninsula whose
greatest length, from east to west, is six hundred and
twenty miles; and, from north to south, five hundred
and forty miles. It is separated from the rest of
Europe by the Pyrenees Mountains: they extend quite
across the isthmus, which is two hundred and forty
miles wide. It contains two hundred and fourteen
thousand square miles, of which one hundred and
seventy–eight thousand belong to Spain, and thirty–six
thousand to Portugal. Spain is not quite four times as
large as the State of New York; and Portugal is a
little larger than the State of Maine.
“Spain has nearly fourteen hundred miles of seacoast,
four–sevenths of which is on the Mediterranean.
Spain is a mountainous country. About one–half of its
area is on the great central plateau, from two to three
thousand feet above the level of the sea. The mountain
ranges, you observe, extend mostly east and west,
which gives the rivers, of course, the same general
direction. The Cantabrian and the Pyrenees are the
same range, the former extending along the northern
coast to the Atlantic. Between this range and the
Sierra Guadarrama are the valleys of the Duero and
the Ebro. This range reaches nearly from the mouth
of the Tagus to the mouth of the Ebro, and takes
several names in different parts of the peninsula.
The mountains of Toledo are about in the centre of
Spain. South of these are the Sierra Morena, with the
basin of the Guadiana on the north and that of the
Guadalquiver on the south. Near the southern coast
is the Sierra Nevada, which contains the Cerro de
Mulahacen, 11,678 feet, the highest peak in the peninsula.
_Sierra_ means a saw, which a chain of mountains
may resemble; though some say it comes from the
Arabic word _Sehrah_, meaning wild land.
“There are two hundred and thirty rivers in Spain;
but only six of them need be mentioned. The Minho
is in the north–west, and separates Spain and Portugal
for about forty miles. It is one hundred and thirty
miles long, and navigable for thirty. The Duero,
called the Douro in Portugal, has a course of four hundred
miles, about two–thirds of which is in Spain. It
is navigable through Portugal, and a little way into
Spain, though only for boats. The Tagus is the longest
river of the peninsula, five hundred and forty miles.
It is navigable only to Abrantes in Portugal, about
eighty miles; though Philip II. built several boats at
Toledo, loaded them with grain, and sent them down
to Lisbon. The Guadiana is in the south–west, three
hundred and eighty miles long, and navigable only
thirty–five. Near its source this river, like the Rhone
and some others, indulges in the odd freak of disappearing,
and flowing through an underground channel
for twenty miles. The river loses itself gradually in an
expanse of marshes, and re–appears in the form of
several small lakes, which are called ‘los ojos de la
Guadiana,’—the eyes of the Guadiana.
“The Guadalquiver is two hundred and eighty miles
long, and, like all the rivers I have mentioned, flows
into the Atlantic. It is navigable to Cordova, and
large vessels go up to Seville. The Ebro is the only
large river that flows into the Mediterranean. It is
three hundred and forty miles long, and is navigable
for boats about half this distance. Great efforts have
been made to improve the navigation of some of these
rivers, especially the largest of them. There are no
lakes of any consequence in Spain, the largest being a
mere lagoon on the seashore near Valencia.
“Spain has a population of sixteen millions, which
places it as the tenth in rank among the nations of
Europe. In territorial extent it is the seventh. It is
said that Spain, as a Roman province, had a population
of forty millions.
“Spain, including the Balearic and Canary Islands,
contains forty–nine provinces, each of which has its
local government, and its representation in the national
legislature, or _Cortes_. But you should know something
of the old divisions, since these are often mentioned in
the history of the country. There are fourteen of them,
each of which was formerly a kingdom, principality, or
province. Castile was the largest, including Old and
New Castile, and was in the north–central part of the
peninsula. This was the realm of Isabella; and, by her
marriage with Ferdinand, it was united with Aragon,
lying next east of it. East of Aragon, forming the
north–east corner of Spain, is Catalonia, of which
Barcelona is the chief city. North of Castile, on or
near the Bay of Biscay, are the three Basque provinces.
Bordering the Pyrenees, nearest to France, is the little
kingdom of Navarre, with Aragon on the east. Forming
the north–western corner of the peninsula is the
kingdom of Galicia. East of it, on the Bay of Biscay,
is the principality of the Asturias. South of this, and
between Castile and Portugal, is the kingdom of Leon,
which was attached to Castile in the eleventh century.
Estremadura is between Portugal and New Castile.
La Mancha, the country of Don Quixote, is south of
New Castile. Valencia and Murcia are on the east,
bordering on the Mediterranean. Andalusia is on both
sides of the Guadalquiver, including the three modern
provinces of Seville, Cordova, and Jaen. Granada is
in the south, on the Mediterranean. You will hear the
different parts of Spain spoken of under these names
more than any other.
“The principal vegetable productions of Spain are
those of the vine and olive. The export of wine is ten
million dollars; and of olive–oil, four millions. Raisins,
flour, cork, wool, and brandy are other important
exports, to say nothing of the fruits of the South, such
as grapes and oranges. Silver, quicksilver, lead, and
iron are the most valuable minerals. Silk is produced
in Valencia, Murcia, and Granada.
“The climate of Spain, as you would suppose from
its mountainous character, is very various. The north,
which is in the latitude of New England, is very
different from this region of our own country. On the
table–lands of the centre, it is hot in summer and cold
in winter. In the south, the weather is hot in summer,
but very mild in winter. Even here in Barcelona, the
mercury seldom goes down to the freezing point. The
average winter temperature of Malaga is about fifty–five
degrees Fahrenheit.
“Three thousand miles of railroad have been built,
and two thousand miles more have been projected.
One can go to all the principal cities in Spain now by
rail from Madrid; and those on the seacoast are connected
by several lines of steamers.
“The army consists of one hundred and fifty thousand
men, and may be increased in time of war by calling
out the reserves; for every man over twenty is
liable to do military duty. The navy consists of one
hundred and ten vessels, seventy–three of which are
screw steamers, twenty–four paddle steamers, and thirteen
sailing vessels. Seven of the screws are iron–clad
frigates. They are manned by thirteen thousand sailors
and marines; and this navy is therefore quite formidable.
“The government is a constitutional monarchy. The
king executes the laws through his ministers, but is not
held responsible for any thing. If things do not work
well, the ministers are to bear the blame, and his
Majesty may dismiss them at pleasure. The laws are
made by the _Cortes_, which consists of two bodies, the
Senate and the Congress. Any Spaniard who is of age,
and not deprived of his civil rights, may be a member
of the _Congreso_, or lower house. Four senators are
elected for each province. They must be forty years
old, be in possession of their civil rights, and must have
held some high office under the government in the army
or navy, in the church, or in certain educational institutions.
“The present king is Amedeo I., second son of Vittorio
Emanuele, king of Italy. He was elected king of
Spain Nov. 16, 1870.[1]
“All but sixty thousand of the population of Spain
are Roman Catholics; and of this faith is the national
church, though all other forms of worship are tolerated.
In 1835 and in 1836 the _Cortes_ suppressed all conventual
institutions, and confiscated their property for the
benefit of the nation. In 1833 there were in Spain one
hundred and seventy–five thousand ecclesiastics of all
descriptions, including monks and nuns. In 1862 this
number had been reduced to about forty thousand,
which exhibits the effect of the legislation of the _Cortes_.
The archbishop of Toledo is the head of the Church,
primate of Spain.
“Though there are ten universities in Spain some of
them very ancient and very celebrated, the population
of Spain have been in a state of extreme ignorance till
quite a recent period. At the beginning of the present
century, it was rare to find a peasant or an ordinary
workman who could read. Efforts have been put forth
since 1812 to promote popular education; but with no
great success, till within the last forty years. In 1868
there were a million and a quarter of pupils in the public
and private schools; and not more than one in ten
of the population are unable to read. But the sum
expended for public education in Spain is less per
annum than the city of Boston devotes to this object.
“Money values in Spain are generally reckoned in
_reales_, a _real_ being five cents of our money. This is
the unit of the system. The _Isabelino_, or Isabel as it
is generally called, is a gold coin worth one hundred
_reales_, or five dollars. A _peso_, or _duro_, is the same as
our dollar: it is a silver coin. The _escudo_ is half a
dollar. The _peseta_ is twenty cents; the half _peseta_ is
ten. The _real_ is the smallest silver coin. Of the copper
coins, the _medio real_ means half a real. You will
see a small copper coin stamped ‘1 _centimo de escudo_,’
which means one hundredth of an _escudo_, or half dollar.
It is the tenth of a _real_, or half a cent. Then
there is the _doble decima_, worth one cent; and the
_medio decima_, worth a quarter of a cent. But probably
you will not hear any of these copper coins mentioned.
Instead of them the small money will be counted in
_cuartos_, eight and a half of them making a real. An
American cent, an English halfpenny, a French sou,
or any other copper coin of any nation, and about the
same size, will go for a _cuarto_. A _maravedis_ is an
imaginary value, four of which were equal to a _cuarto_.
It is used in poetry and plays; and, though there is no
such coin, any piece of base metal, even a button, will
pass for a _maravedis_. There is a vast quantity of bad
money in circulation in Spain, especially of the gold
coins; and the traveller should be on the lookout for it.
There are also a great many counterfeit _escudos_, or half–dollars.
Travellers should have nothing to do with
paper money, as it is not good away from the locality
where it is issued.
“Having said all that occurs to me on these general
topics, I shall now ask your attention to the history of
Spain, which is very interesting to the student, though
I am obliged to make it quite brief. I hope you have
read the historical writings of our own Prescott, which
are more attractive than the novels of the day. If you
have not read these works, do so before you are a year
older; and here in Spain is the time for you to begin.
“Recent events have called an unusual amount of
attention to the Spanish peninsula; and this unhappy
country has long been in so uneasy a state that a revolution
surprises very few. Spain has had its full share,
both of the smiles and the frowns of fortune. It was
as widely known in early ages for its wealth, as it has
been in modern times for its beggars.
“Nearly three thousand years ago, the Phœnicians
began to plant colonies in the South of Spain. They
found the country abounding with silver. So plenty,
indeed, was the silver ore, that, according to one
account, they not only loaded their fleet with it, but
they returned home with their anchors and the commonest
implements made of the same precious metal.
“This is doubtless an exaggeration; but we have
reason to believe that silver was more abundant in
Spain than in any other quarter of the ancient world.
Few silver–mines were known in Asia in those days:
yet an immense quantity of silver was in circulation
there during the flourishing period of the Persian empire.
Herodotus tells us that in the reign of Darius,
son of Hystaspes, all the nations under the yoke of the
Persians, except the Indians and the Ethiopians, paid
their tribute in silver. A large portion of this was
obtained from the Phœnicians, and was distributed
through Asia by the traders who came to Tyre. The
Carthaginians also drew uncounted treasures in silver
from Spain. When Carthagina was taken from them
by Scipio, the portion of the precious metals that went
into the Roman treasury was eighteen thousand three
hundred pounds in weight of silver, two hundred and
seventy–six golden cups each weighing a pound, and
silver vessels without number. Near this city is a
silver–mine which is said to have employed forty thousand
workmen, and which paid the Romans nearly two
million dollars annually. Another mine in the Pyrenees
furnished to the Carthaginians in Hannibal’s time
three hundred pounds every day. The quantities of
gold and silver brought into the public treasury by the
Roman consuls who subjugated the different parts of
the Spanish peninsula were enormous. Still the
country was not exhausted; for it was almost as highly
favored in soil and climate as in its mineral treasures.
‘Next to Italy, if I except the fabulous regions of India,
I would rank Spain,’ wrote Pliny in the first century of
our era. At that time the country contained four hundred
and nine cities; and there was not within the
Roman empire a province where the people were more
industrious or more prosperous. How strongly this
account contrasts with the history of modern Spain!
When the Spanish monarchs were aspiring to rule the
world, in the sixteenth century, the streets of their
cities were overrun with beggars. Only a century ago,
the number of people in Spain who were without shirts,
because they were too poor to buy such a luxury, was
estimated at three millions, or one–third of the population
of the kingdom. Within a hundred years, however,
in spite of numerous drawbacks, the wealth of
the country has vastly increased, and the population
has nearly doubled.
“The Spaniards are the descendants of various
races, tribes, and nations. At the dawn of history, we
find the country in possession of the Iberians and
Celts. Of the Iberians we know but little. From
them Spain received its ancient name, Iberia; and the
Iberus River, now the Ebro, took the name by which,
with slight changes, it is still known. The language
of the Iberians is supposed to survive in that of the
Basque provinces of Biscaya, Guipuzcoa, and Alava,
which I located a few moments since.
“The Celts, who a little more than two thousand
years ago had not lost possession of Northern Italy
and the countries now known as England, Scotland,
and Ireland, drove the Iberians from the South of
France and from the north–western part of Spain, in
very early times. In the centre of the latter country
these people united, and were afterwards known as
Celt–Iberians.
“About a thousand years before Christ, the Phœnicians
began to build towns on the southern coast of
Spain; and, a century or two later, colonies were established
on the eastern coast by the Rhodians and by
other Greeks. Cadiz, Malaga, and Cordova were Phœnician
towns; and Rhodos and Saguntum—now Rosas
and Murviedro—were among those founded by the
Greeks.
“Carthage was founded by the Tyrians; but the
Carthaginians did not allow relationship to stand in
the way of gain or conquest. Nearly six hundred
years before our era, they found an opportunity to
supplant the Phœnicians in Spain; and in the course
of two centuries and a half they had brought under
their sway a large portion of the country. At length
the Greek colonies on the coast of Catalonia and
Valencia, and several independent nations of the
interior, seeing no other way to avoid submitting to
Carthage, called upon the Romans for help. Rome
sent commissioners to Carthage in the year B.C.
227, who obtained a promise that the Carthaginians
would not push their conquests beyond the Ebro, and
that they would not disturb the Saguntines and other
Greek colonies. But, in spite of this agreement,
Saguntum was besieged eight years later, by a Carthaginian
army under Hannibal. The siege and
destruction of this city caused the second Punic war,
lasting from B.C. 218 to 201, during which Carthage
lost her last foot–hold in Spain.
“But the Romans did not obtain quiet possession of
the country their great enemy had lost. Nearly all the
territory had to be won again from the natives; and in
some parts of the peninsula the contest was doubtful
for years. As if this were not enough, many of the
battles of the civil wars, during the decline of the Roman
republic, were fought on the soil of Spain, which,
for two centuries after the fall of Saguntum, hardly
knew the blessing of peace for a single year. To say
nothing of lesser celebrities, we find the names of Hasdrubal,
Hanno, Mago, and Hannibal, among the Carthaginians;
of Viriathus, the Lusitanian; and, of the
Romans, the Scipios, Sertorius, Metellus, Pompey the
Great, and Julius Cæsar,—in the military annals of
Spain during this period.
“Shortly after the Roman republic became an empire,
under Augustus,—B.C. 30 to A.D. 14,—war
was suspended throughout the Roman empire; and the
Spaniards enjoyed a large share of tranquillity from
that time till the barbarians poured across the Pyrenees,
at the beginning of the fifth century. As a province of
the empire, Spain held a high rank. The stupendous
Bridge of Alcantara, the well–preserved Theatre of
Murviedro, and the celebrated Aqueducts of Segovia
and Tarragona, still attest the magnificence of that
period. Nor was the peninsula wanting in illustrious
men during these times. The most learned and practical
writer on agriculture among the ancients,—Columella,—the
poets Martial and Lucan, the philosopher
Seneca, the historian Florus, the geographer Pomponius
Mela, and the rhetorician Quintilian, were
Spaniards. Three of the Roman emperors—Trajan,
one of the greatest princes that ever swayed a sceptre;
Hadrian, the enlightened protector of arts and literature;
and Marcus Aurelius, whose name was long held
in grateful remembrance by his subjects—were also
natives of the Spanish peninsula.
“After the death of Constantine, A.D. 337, the
prosperity of Spain began to decline. The taxes
became heavier, and were increased till they were more
than the people could bear. In a short time towns
were deserted, fields ran to waste, and fruit–trees were
uprooted, so as to reduce the value of property in order
to avoid taxation. At the close of the century nothing
was to be seen but desolation, poverty, and misery.
But there was still a lower deep: the barbarians crossed
the Pyrenees, and the country was turned into a desert.
“The great irruption of the northern nations into the
Roman empire began in 375. A century later, the
western empire fell. The most important division of
the barbarians, who occupy so large a place in the history
of the fourth and fifth centuries, were the Germans.
The Vandals and Suevi, two of the nations that entered
Spain in 409, were Germans. It is not certain that the
third nation coming to Spain, the Alani, were of the
same race. The ravages of these barbarians were terrible.
Towns were burned, the country laid waste, and
the inhabitants were massacred without distinction of
age or sex. Famine and pestilence made fearful havoc,
and the wild beasts left their hiding–places to make
war on the wretched people. Even the corpses were
devoured by the starving population.
“At length the conquerors themselves saw that converting
a land in which they intended to live into a
desert was not the wisest policy. They divided by lot,
among themselves, those parts of the peninsula which
they occupied. The southern part fell to the Vandals,
whence it received the name of Vandalicia, which has
easily become Andalusia. Lusitania, which was very
nearly the modern Portugal, went to the Alani; and the
Suevi had the north–western part of the peninsula,
which is now Galicia. The Romans still held the rest
of the country.
“But this division was soon destroyed by the Visigoths,
or West Goths, another Germanic tribe. All
these Germans were only a little less savage than our
North American Indians. They neglected agriculture,
and no man tilled the same field more than one year.
War was really their only occupation. One of them
boasted to Julius Cæsar that his soldiers had been fourteen
years without entering a house; another declared
that the only country he knew as his home was the territory
occupied by his troops; and we are told by Tacitus
that war was the only work they liked.
“The Visigoths, under their King Alaric, had ravaged
Greece and Italy, and had taken Rome, before
they established themselves in Southern Gaul, in 411.
They commenced the conquest of Spain almost immediately
after the foundation of their new kingdom; but
they were the nominal rather than the real masters of
the kingdom for more than half a century.
“Euric (466 to 484) was the founder of the Gothic
kingdom of Spain; and Amalaric (522 to 531) was the
first sovereign to hold his court in the country. Before
long, Spain became the most flourishing of the governments
established by the Germans on the ruins of the
western empire. The conquerors, as they were the few
while the civilized Roman inhabitants were the many,
adopted the manners, the religion, the laws, and the
language, of the subject people. They mingled a little
Gothic with the Latin; and from this mixture arose, in
the course of time, the noble and beautiful Castilian, or
Spanish language.
“By degrees the Visigoths became less warlike, and
finally ceased to be a nation of soldiers. Their kings
were elective, and seem to have possessed more power
than those of other German tribes. Still they were
controlled to a great extent by the clergy. The councils
of Toledo figured largely in the history of that
period; and in these the bishops were a power. ‘Let
no one in his pride seize upon the throne,’ says one
of the Visigothic laws; ‘let no pretender excite civil
war among the people; let no one conspire the death
of the prince. But, when the king is dead in peace,
let the principal men of the whole kingdom, together
with the bishops—who have received power to bind
and to loose, and whose blessing and unction confirm
princes in their authority—appoint his successor
by common consent, and with the approval of God.’
But the kings were not always allowed to die in peace.
From Euric to Roderick, the greater number of them
were assassinated or deposed. Roderick, the last of the
Gothic kings of Spain, drove his predecessor from the
throne. The relations of the dethroned monarch invited
the Arabs, or Moors, of Africa to their aid; and
the famous battle fought on the plains of the modern
_Xeres de la Frontera_, near Cadiz, a battle that lasted
three days, put an end to the life of Roderick, and to
the Gothic kingdom of Spain, in the year 711.
“In the days of the patriarch Jacob, the people of
Arabia were far enough advanced in civilization to
maintain an active overland trade with Egypt. The
Midianite merchantmen to whom Joseph was sold for
twenty pieces of silver—about a dozen dollars—were
from Arabia. Yet, for more than two thousand years
from that time, the Arabs continued to be so divided
into hostile clans, that they were almost unknown to
history. The religion of Mohammed first united them;
and the history of the Arabs really begins with the
Hegira, or flight of the Prophet from Mecca, in the
year 622. For ten years Mohammed had proclaimed
his new creed in Mecca; his followers had been few,
and had suffered incessant persecution; and now he
was promised, by men from Medina, that, if he would
flee to their city, his faith should be adopted and maintained.
He made his escape from Mecca, though not
without great risk, and reached Medina in safety,
accompanied by a single friend. In Mecca he had
preached patience and resignation under the wrongs
inflicted by man. At Medina, where he had followers,
his doctrine was, that one drop of blood shed in the
cause of God—meaning the new faith, of course—was
to be of more avail in working out the salvation of
his hearers than two months of fasting and prayer. At
first he made war on the caravan trade of his native
city; and Mecca sent out an army to meet him.
Mohammed had but three hundred and twenty–four
men, while the Meccans were a thousand. But the
prophet assured his followers that three thousand angels
were fighting on his side; and with these unseen allies
he utterly routed his enemy. After this first victory,
conquest followed conquest in rapid succession. In
less than a century from the Hegira, Arabia was but a
small province of the empire which had been founded
by Mohammed’s successors; an empire that extended
from India to the Atlantic, and included Syria, Phœnicia,
Mesopotamia, Persia, Bactriana, Egypt, Libya,
Numidia, Spain, and many important islands of the
Mediterranean.
“After King Roderick’s defeat and death at Xeres,
the Moors almost immediately took possession of the
whole country, except Biscaya, Navarre, a part of Aragon,
and the mountains of the Asturias. Here a few
resolute Goths made a stand, under Pelayo, and established
a kingdom; a stronghold which enabled the
Christians step by step to recover their lost territory,
till after eight centuries the last foot of Spanish soil
was retaken from the Moslems.
“During a part of the Moors’ dominion in Spain the
country was very prosperous. For more than forty
years after the conquest, however, it was ruled by viceroys
dependent upon the caliphs who reigned in Damascus.
This was a time of discord and civil war; and,
towards the close of this period, many a city and village
was laid in ruins never again to rise.
“The eighth, ninth, and tenth centuries were the
most prosperous in the history of Mohammedan Spain;
and the last was its golden age. The Moors, though
warlike, were also industrious, and agriculture flourished
during this period as it has never flourished since.
Roads and bridges were built, and canals for fertilizing
the land were made in all parts of the country. Learning
was encouraged by the kings of Cordova; and, at
the end of the eleventh century, Moorish Spain could
boast of seventy large libraries; while her poets, historians,
philosophers, and mathematicians were second
to none of that age. Cordova, the capital, was equal to
many cities like the Cordova of to–day. At one time
there were in that city six hundred mosques, and nearly
four thousand chapels, or mosques of smaller dimensions;
four hundred and thirty minarets, or towers
from which the people were called to prayers, such as
you saw in Constantinople; nine hundred baths; more
than eighty thousand shops; sixty thousand palaces
and mansions; and two hundred and thirteen thousand
common dwelling–houses. The city extended eight
leagues along the Guadalquiver. If these statistics
are correct, the city must have contained not less than
a million inhabitants. We can form some idea of its
splendors when we are told that a palace built near the
city, by Abderrahman III., had its roof supported by
more than four thousand pillars of variegated marble;
that the floors and walls were of the same costly material;
that the chief apartments were adorned with
exquisite fountains and baths; and that the whole was
surrounded by most magnificent grounds.
“In 1031 the kingdom, or caliphate, of Cordova
came to an end; and several petty kingdoms took its
place. But all of them soon became dependent upon
the Moorish monarch of Northern Africa. The Christian
kings of Spain were prompt in taking advantage
of this division among the infidels, as the Moors were
called; and the power of the Moslems began to decline.
The Christians gained rapidly on the Moors; and in
1238, when the kingdom of Granada was founded, the
Moors held only a part of Southern Spain. Granada
was the last realm of the Moors in Spain; and its population
was largely composed of the Moslems who fled
there from the kingdoms which had been overthrown
by the victorious arms of the Christian monarchs.
The little kingdom of Granada, though it had an
area of only nine thousand square miles, contained
thirty–two large cities and ninety–seven smaller ones,
and a population of three million souls. The city of
Granada had seventy thousand houses. This kingdom
held out against the Christians till the beginning of the
year 1492. This was the year in which America was
discovered; and Columbus followed Ferdinand and
Isabella, in their campaign against the Moors, to this
city.
“With the fall of Granada, came the close of the
Moorish rule in the peninsula. A few years later many
of the Moors were expelled from the country. In
many parts of Spain the traveller still sees numerous
traces of their dominion. He finds these traces in the
Oriental style of the older buildings; in the _alcazars_,
or palaces, they built; in the mosques now converted
into Christian churches; and in the canals which still
fertilize the soil from which the Moslems were driven
more than three centuries ago.
“The old Gothic monarchy founded by Pelayo survived
in the kingdom of the Asturias. As the Christians
began to recover their lost territory from the
Moors, these conquests, instead of being joined to the
Asturian kingdom, were erected into independent
states; but, by the middle of the fifteenth century, the
number of them had been reduced to five,—Navarre,
Aragon, Castile, Granada, and Portugal. We shall say
something of Portugal at another time, for it has a
history of its own. In 1479 Ferdinand of Aragon and
Isabella of Castile united these two monarchies into
one. The kingdom of the Asturias had been merged
into that of Leon, which was united to Castile in 1067.
Granada was added in 1492, and Navarre twenty years
later.
“At the death of Ferdinand in 1516, Charles I.
became king of Spain. He was the son of ‘Crazy
Jane,’ daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella. He was
elected emperor of Germany three years after his
accession to the throne, as Charles V. His reign and
that of his son and successor covered the most splendid
period in the history of modern Spain, ending with the
death of Philip in 1588. Their dominions were the
most extensive among the monarchs of Europe; their
armies were the best of that age; and their treasuries
were supplied by the exhaustless mines of the new
world which Columbus had given to Spain. But, after
the death of Philip II., the monarchy rapidly declined;
so rapidly indeed that a century later, when Charles II.
died, in 1700, it was without money, without credit, and
without troops.
“I must again call your attention to the magnificent
works of our own Prescott. I hope you will all read
them, for I have not time to mention a score of topics
which are treated in these volumes, such as the Inquisition,
the Spanish Rule in Naples, the Conquest of
Granada, the Great Captain, the Cardinal Ximines,
and the Spanish Rule in the Netherlands. I commend
to you also the works of Motley and Washington Irving;
of the latter, especially ‘The Life of Columbus,’ ‘The
Alhambra,’ and ‘The Conquest of Granada.’”
“Charles II., as he had no children, and there was no
heir to the throne, signed an instrument, before his
death, declaring Philip, Duke of Anjou, grandson of
the grand monarch Louis XIV., his successor. This
king was Philip V., the first of the Spanish branch of
the Bourbon family, to which Isabella II., the late
queen of Spain, belonged. England, Holland, and
Germany objected to this arrangement, because it
placed both France and Spain under the rule of the
same family; and for twelve years resisted the claim of
Philip to the throne. This was ‘the war of the Spanish
succession,’ in which Prince Eugene and the Duke of
Marlborough won several great victories. But Philip
retained the throne, though he lost the Spanish possessions
in Italy and the Netherlands, and was obliged to
cede Gibraltar and Minorca to England. Under Philip
V. and his successors, the prosperity of Spain revived;
and the kingdom flourished till the French Revolution.
“Philip was followed by his son Ferdinand VI. in
1748; but he was mentally unfit to take an active part
in the government, and was succeeded by his stepbrother
Charles III. in 1759. He was a wise prince,
and greatly promoted the prosperity of his country.
Charles IV., who came to the throne in 1788, began his
reign by following the wise policy of his father; but he
soon placed himself under the influence of Godoy, his
prime minister, who led him into several fruitless wars
and expensive alliances, which reduced the country to
a miserable condition. In 1808 an insurrection compelled
him to abdicate in favor of his son, who ascended
the throne as Ferdinand VII. A few days later the
ex–king wrote a letter to Napoleon, declaring that he
had abdicated under compulsion; and he revoked the
act. Napoleon offered to arbitrate between the father
and son, and he met them at Bayonne for this purpose.
He induced both of them to resign their claims to
the throne, and then made his brother Joseph king of
Spain. The new king started for his dominion; but
the Spaniards were not satisfied with this little arrangement,
and insurrections broke out all over the country.
England decided to take a hand in the game, made
peace with Spain, acknowledged Ferdinand VII. as
king of Spain, and formed an alliance with the government.
Thus began the peninsular war, in which the
Duke of Wellington prepared the way for the destruction
of Napoleon’s power. As you travel, you will visit
the battle–fields of this great conflict, and your guide–book
will contain full accounts of the struggle in various
places.
“In 1812, while Ferdinand was a prisoner in France,
and the war was still raging, the _Cortes_, driven from
Madrid to Seville, and then to Cadiz, drew up a written
constitution, the first of the kind known in the peninsula.
The regency acting for the absent monarch,
recognized by England and Russia, took an oath to
support it. In 1814 Ferdinand was released, and
came back to Spain. He declared the constitution
null and void, and the _Cortes_ that adopted it illegal.
He ruled the nation in an arbitrary manner, and even
attempted to restore the inquisition, which had been
abolished, and to annul the reforms which had been for
years in progress. But in 1820 the patience of the
people was exhausted, and a revolution was undertaken.
The king was deserted by his troops; and the royal
palace was surrounded by a multitude of the people,
who demanded his acceptance of the constitution of
1812. The humbled monarch appeared at a balcony,
holding a copy of the instrument in his hand, as an
indication that he was ready to accept it, and take the
oath to support it. In a few months the _Cortes_ met; and
the king formally swore to obey the constitution, and
accept the new order of things. But this did not suit
France, Austria, Russia, and Prussia: they had no
stomach for liberal constitutions; and these powers
sent a French army into Spain, which soon overpowered
the resistance offered; and Ferdinand was again in condition
to rule as absolutely as ever. It was during this
period that the Spanish–American colonies, which had
begun to revolt in 1808, secured their independence.
“Even those who favored the king’s views were not
wholly satisfied with the king, and believed he was not
energetic enough for the situation. Many of the people
wished to dethrone Ferdinand, and elevate his
brother Carlos, or Charles, to his place. Several insurrections
broke out, but they were failures. Of
course this state of things did not create the best of
feeling between Ferdinand and Carlos. The Bourbon
family were governed by the Salic law, which excludes
females from the throne. In 1830, the year in which
Isabella the late queen, who was the daughter of Ferdinand
VII., was born, Maria Christina induced her
husband, the king, to abolish the Salic law. Two years
later, when the king was very sick, the Church party
compelled him to revoke the act; but he got better;
and, as the _Cortes_ had sanctioned the annulling of the
Salic law, he destroyed the documents which had been
extorted from him on his sick–bed. His queen had
been made regent during his illness. When Ferdinand
died, his daughter was proclaimed queen, in accordance
with the programme, as Isabella II. Don Carlos had
protested against his exclusion from the throne, and
now he took up arms to enforce his right. In the
Basque provinces he was proclaimed king, as Charles
V. His arms were successful at first; but, though the
war lasted seven years, it was a failure in the end.
“While the Carlist war was still raging, in 1836, a
revolution in favor of a constitution broke out; and
the next year that of 1812, with important amendments,
was adopted by the _Cortes_, and ratified by the
queen regent, for Isabella was a child of only six
years. In 1841, Maria Christina having resigned, Espartero
was appointed regent, by the _Cortes_, for the
rest of the queen’s minority. He was a progressive
man, and his administration very largely promoted
the prosperity of the country. The government had
abolished convents, and confiscated the revenues of
the Church; and this awakened the hostility of the
clergy, who, for a time, prevented the sale of the property
thus acquired. This question finally produced a
rupture between Espartero and the clergy, resulting in
a general insurrection. The regent fled to England,
and the _Cortes_ declared the queen to be of age when
she was only thirteen years old. Espartero was recalled
a few years later, and has since held many high offices.
The pope eventually permitted the Church property to
be sold; but the contest between the progressive and
the conservative parties was continued for a long period.
Narvaez, Serrano, General Prim, Castelar, and Espartero
are the most prominent statesmen; and doubtless
the last–named is the most able.
“The frequent insurrections gave the government
some excuse for ruling with little regard to the fundamental
law of the land; and this led to another revolution
in 1854, in favor of a little more constitution.
The evil was corrected for the time; and the instrument
adopted, or rather restored, is sometimes called the
constitution of 1854. But the queen was a Bourbon,
and seemed to be always in favor of tyrannical measures
and of the party that advocated them; and the country
has continued to be in a disorganized state largely on
this account. She has been noted for the frequent
changes of her ministers. A few years ago General
Prim raised the standard of revolt; but the time for
a change had not yet come, and the general was glad
to escape into Portugal.
“The revolution of 1868 commenced with the fleet
off Cadiz; but, the cry, ‘Down with the Bourbons!’
soon reached the army and the people, and the revolution
was accomplished almost without opposition. The
queen fled to France. A provisional government was
organized, and an election of members of the _Cortes_
was ordered to decide on the form of the new government.
The _Cortes_ met, and in May, 1869, decreed that
the new government should be a monarchy. About the
same time the crown was offered to King Louis of
Portugal, who, however, declined it. Last June, Queen
Isabella abdicated in favor of her son Alfonso, prince
of the Asturias, who will be Alfonso XII. if he ever
becomes king of Spain. Later in the year Prince
Leopold, of Hohenzollern Sigmaringen, was invited to
the throne. He was a relative of the king of Prussia;
and, when he accepted the crown, it was a real grievance
to France. Leopold was withdrawn from the candidacy;
but this matter was made the pretext for the
Franco–Prussian war now raging on the soil of France.
“But we read history in the newspapers for the
latest details; and only last month the _Cortes_ elected
Amedeo, second son of the king of Italy, king of Spain.
He has accepted the crown, and departed for his kingdom.
We can wish him a prosperous reign; but in
a country like Spain he will find that a crown is not a
wreath of roses. I will not detain you longer, young
gentlemen.”
* * * * *
The professor bowed, and descended from his rostrum.
Most of the students had given good attention to his
discourse; for they desired to understand the history
of the country they were about to visit.
Since Professor Mapps finished his lecture in the port
of Barcelona, King Amedeo, after two long years of fruitless
struggling with the enemies of Spain’s peace and
prosperity, renounced the crown for himself, his children,
and successors. Nearly a year later Alfonso XII.
was proclaimed king of Spain, and now occupies the
throne. While the country was looking for a king, the
third Carlist war was begun,—the last two led by
the son of the original Don Carlos,—but it was a
failure.
CHAPTER V.
A SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCE.
While Professor Mapps was giving his lecture,
or his “talk” as he preferred to call it, in the
grand saloon of the steamer, quite a number of boats
were pulling around the steamer, and the other vessels
of the squadron, some of them containing boatmen
looking for a job, and others, people who were curious
to see the ship and her consorts. The several craft
were not men–of–war or merchantmen; and they
seemed to excite a great deal of curiosity. Not a few
of the boats came up to the gangway, their occupants
asking permission to go on board; but they were
politely refused by the officers in charge.
Some of the boats carried lateen, or leg–of–mutton
sails, which are used more than any other on the
Mediterranean. A long yard, or spar, is slung at an
angle of forty–five degrees, on a short mast, so that
one–fourth of the spar is below and the rest above the
mast. The sail is triangular, except that the part
nearest to the tack is squared off. It is attached to the
long yard on the hypothenuse side. On the larger
craft, the sail is hauled out on the long spar, sliding on
hanks, or rings. It is a picturesque rig; and some of
the students who had a taste for boating were anxious
to try their skill in handling a sail of this kind.
One of these feluccas, with two gentlemen in the
stern, seemed to be more persistent than the others
to obtain admission for its occupants on board of the
Prince. Her huge sail was brailed up, and she had
taken a berth at the gangway of the steamer. Peaks,
the adult boatswain of the ship, obeyed his orders to
the letter, and would not permit any one to put foot
on the deck. One of the gentlemen who came off
in her had ascended the accommodation steps, and
insisted upon holding a parley with Peaks; but as the
old salt understood only a few words of Spanish, and
the stranger did not speak English, they did not get
ahead very well. The boatswain resolutely but good–naturedly
refused to let the visitor pass him, or to disturb
the lecture by sending to the saloon for some one
to act as interpreter. The gentleman obstinately
declined to give up his point, whatever it was, and
remained at the gangway till the students were dismissed
from the exercise.
When the lecture was finished, Mr. Lowington came
out of the saloon; and, as he passed the gangway,
Peaks touched his cap, and informed him that a Spaniard
on the steps insisted upon coming on board.
“I don’t understand his lingo, and can’t tell what he
is driving at,” added Peaks.
“Somebody that wishes to visit the ship, probably,”
replied the principal.
“I have turned back more than fifty, but this one
won’t be turned back,” continued Peaks, as Mr. Lowington
stepped up to the gangway.
As soon as the Spanish gentleman saw him, he raised
his hat, and addressed him in the politest terms, begging
pardon for the intrusion. The principal invited
him to come on board, and then immediately directed
the people of the Josephine and Tritonia to return to
their vessels. While the Tritonias were piping over the
side, Mr. Lowington gave his attention to the visitor.
“Have you a student in your ship by the name of
Enrique Raimundo?” asked the Spanish gentleman,
after he had properly introduced the subject of his
visit.
Mr. Lowington spoke Spanish, having learned it
when he was on duty as a naval officer in the Mediterranean;
but, as he had been out of practice for many
years, he was not as fluent in the language as formerly.
But he understood the question, and so did Raimundo,
who happened to pass behind the principal, in company
with Scott, at this interesting moment. Possibly his
heart rose to his throat, as he heard his name mentioned;
at any rate, after the history he had narrated
to Scott, he could not help being greatly disturbed by
the inquiry of the stranger. But he had the presence
of mind to refrain from any demonstration, and went
over the side into the cutter with his companions. If
his handsome olive face was paler than usual, no one
noticed the fact.
Mr. Lowington was a prudent man in the management
of the affairs of the students under his care.
When he heard the inquiry for the second master of
the Tritonia, whom he knew to be a Spaniard, he at
once concluded that the visitor was a friend or a relative
of the young man. But it was no part of his policy
to deliver over his pupils to their friends and relatives
without fully understanding what he was doing. Persons
claiming such relations might lead the students
astray. They might be the agents of some of his
rogues on board, who had resorted to this expedient to
obtain a vacation on shore.
“Are you a relative of Raimundo?” was the first
question the principal proposed to the stranger.
“No, I am not; but”—
Mr. Lowington failed to understand the rest of the
reply made by the gentleman, for here his Spanish was
at fault. The visitor was not a relative of Raimundo.
If he had answered in the affirmative, the principal
would have directed the Tritonia’s boats to remain, so
that the visitor could see the young man, if upon further
explanation it was proper for him to do so. If the
gentleman was not a relative, it was not advisable to
disturb the routine of the squadron to oblige him. He
could see Raimundo the next day, when he went on
shore. The boats of the Josephine and the Tritonia
were therefore permitted to return without any delay.
“_No hablo mucho Español_” (I do not speak much
Spanish), said Mr. Lowington, laughing; “_y no comprendo_”
(and I do not understand).
He then with the utmost politeness, as required in all
intercourse with Spanish gentlemen, invited the visitor
into the grand saloon, and sent for Professor Badois,
the instructor in modern languages, to assist at the
interview. The gentleman proved to be Don Francisco
Castro, an _abogado_, or lawyer, who represented Don
Alejandro, the lawful guardian of Enrique Raimundo.
He claimed the body of his client’s ward, the second
master of the Tritonia. Even Professor Badois had
some difficulty in comprehending the legal terms used
by the _abogado_; but so much was made clear to the
principal.
“I don’t understand this business,” said he. “I
received the young man from Manuel Raimundo, his
uncle in New York, who has always paid his tuition
fees; and I hold myself responsible to him for the
safe keeping of my pupil.”
“Ah, but you are in Spain, and the young man is a
Spaniard, subject to Spanish law,” added Don Francisco,
with a bland smile. “All the evidence will be
presented to you, and you will be fully justified in giving
up the young man.”
Mr. Lowington was very much disturbed. He knew
nothing of the circumstances of the case beyond what
the lawyer told him; and he was very much perplexed
by the situation. He called Dr. Winstock, who spoke
Spanish even more fluently than Professor Badois, and
asked his advice.
“If Don Alejandro is the lawful guardian of Raimundo,
how happens the young man to be a resident of
New York?” asked the surgeon, after the case had
been fully explained to him.
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders, but smiled as
blandly as ever.
“Don Manuel, the uncle of the boy, stole him from
his guardian when he left his native land,” said Don
Francisco. “You see, the young man has a fortune of
five million _reales_; and no doubt Don Manuel wants to
get this money or a part of it.”
“But Manuel Raimundo is one of the richest wine–merchants
of New York,” protested the principal.
The subject was discussed for half an hour longer.
Don Francisco said he had sent agents to New York to
obtain possession of the boy, and had kept the run of
the squadron from the day the ward of his client had
entered as a student. He had taken no action before,
because he had been assured that the vessels would
visit Spain, where there would be no legal difficulties in
the way of securing his client’s ward. The lawyer
made a very plain case of it, and was entirely fair in
every thing he proposed. He would not take Raimundo
out of the vessel by force unless compelled to
do so. The whole matter would be settled in the
proper court, and the young man should have the best
counsel in Spain.
“Very well, Don Francisco. I am much obliged to
you for the courtesy with which you have managed your
case so far,” said Mr. Lowington. “I will employ
counsel to–morrow to look up the matter in the interest
of my pupil.”
“But the young man,—what is to be done with him
in the mean time?” asked the lawyer.
“He will be safe on board of the Tritonia.”
“Pardon me, sir; but I have been looking for the
boy too many years to let him slip through my fingers
now,” interposed Don Francisco earnestly, but with
his constant smile. “If he hears that I am looking
for him, he will keep out of my way, as he has done for
several years.”
“Do you wish to make a prisoner of him?” inquired
the principal.
“No, no! By no means,—no prison! He shall
have the best room in my house; but I must not lose
sight of him.”
“That would be taking possession of the young man
without regard to any thing I may wish to do for him.
I do not like that arrangement,” added Mr. Lowington.
The courteous _abogado_ seemed to be troubled. He
did not wish to do any thing that would not be satisfactory
to the “distinguished officer” before him; but,
after considerable friendly argument, he proposed a
plan which was accepted by the principal. The person
who had come off in the boat with him was an _alguacil_,
or constable, who had been empowered to arrest Don
Alejandro’s ward. Would the principal allow this
official to remain on board of the vessel with Raimundo,
and keep an eye on him all the time? Mr. Lowington
did not object to this arrangement. He
would go with Don Francisco to the Tritonia, where
the situation could be explained to Raimundo, and the
_alguacil_ should occupy a state–room with his charge, if
he desired. The principal treated his guest with distinguished
consideration; and the first cutter was lowered
to convey him to the Tritonia. Dr. Winstock
accompanied the party; the twelve oars of the first
cutter dropped into the water with mechanical precision,
to the great admiration of the Spanish gentlemen;
and the boat darted off from the ship’s side.
In a moment the cutter was alongside the Tritonia,
and the party went on board of her. Most of the
officers were on the quarter–deck, and Mr. Lowington
looked among them for the second master. All hands
raised their caps to the principal as soon as he appeared
on the deck.
“Captain Wainwright, I wish to see Mr. Raimundo,”
said he to the young commander. “Send for him, if
you please.”
“Mr. Raimundo,” repeated the captain, touching his
cap. “Mr. Richards, pass the word for Mr. Raimundo.”
The first master, who had been designated, went to
look for the young Spaniard. His name was repeated
all over the deck, and through the cabin and steerage;
but Raimundo did not respond to the call. A vigorous
search was made in every part of the vessel; yet the
second master was still missing. Don Francisco’s
constant courtesy seemed to be somewhat shaken.
Inquiries were made of all the other officers in regard
to the second master. They had seen him on the deck
after the return of the boats from the Prince. Scott
had left him in the cabin, half an hour before; but he
had not the least idea what had become of him. Don
Francisco spoke French and Italian; and he examined
O’Hara in the latter, and several other officers in the
former language.
Mr. Lowington explained that he had sent no one
to the Tritonia to inform Raimundo that he was wanted;
and the _alguacil_, who had remained in the felucca all
the time till he took his place in the first cutter, assured
the lawyer that no one had gone from the steamer to
the schooner after all the boats left.
The principal and the vice–principal were as much
perplexed as the lawyer. None of them could alter
the fact that Raimundo was missing; and they were
utterly unable to account for his mysterious disappearance.
All of them were confident that the absentee
would soon be found; and the _abogado_ returned to the
shore, leaving the _alguacil_ in the Tritonia to continue
the search.
CHAPTER VI.
A LOOK AT BARCELONA.
The sudden disappearance of Raimundo produced
the greatest astonishment on board of the Tritonia,
and not less among those who knew him best in the
other vessels of the squadron. His character had been
excellent since he first joined the academy squadron.
No one believed he had run away for the mere sake of
escaping the study and discipline of his vessel, or for
the sake of “a time” on shore. The _abogado’s_ business
was explained to Mr. Pelham on board of the
Tritonia, but to no others. Raimundo was gone without
a doubt; but when, where, or how he had disappeared,
was a profound mystery.
The excellent character of Raimundo, and the fact
that he was a universal favorite, were strongly in his
favor; and no one was disposed to render a harsh
judgment in regard to his singular conduct. The officers
talked it over in the cabin, the seamen talked it
over in the steerage. The students could make nothing
of the matter; and it looked to them very much like
the usual cases of running away, strange as it seemed
to them that a fellow like Raimundo, who had been a
model of good conduct on board, should take such a
step.
Of course Scott was an exception to the general rule.
Though he knew not where his friend had gone, he
understood why he had disappeared; for Raimundo had
told him what he had heard on board of the American
Prince, and he was fully satisfied that the stranger had
come for him.
“I think the matter is fully explained,” said Professor
Crumples, in the state–room. “A demand has been
made on the principal for Raimundo; and straightway
Raimundo disappears. It is plain enough to me that
the young man knew the lawyer was after him.”
“But how could he know it?” demanded Professor
Primback.
“That I cannot explain; but I am satisfied that a
student like Raimundo would not run away. He has
not gone for a frolic, or to escape his duty: he is not
one of that sort,” persisted Professor Crumples.
“I think you are right, Mr. Crumples,” added the
vice–principal. “Raimundo was a bad boy, or at least
full of mischief and given to a lark, before he joined
the institution; but for more than a year his deportment
has been perfectly exemplary. He has been a
model since I have had charge of this vessel. I have
found that those who have really reformed are often
stiffer and more determined in their zeal to do right
than many who have never left the straight path of
duty. I may say that I know this fact from experience.
I am satisfied that Raimundo had some very strong
motive for the step he has taken. But what you say,
Mr. Crumples, suggests a little further inquiry into the
matter.”
The vice–principal spoke Spanish, and he immediately
sent for the _alguacil_ to join the trio in the state–room.
“Had the boats belonging to this vessel left the
steamer when Don Francisco went on board of her?”
asked Mr. Pelham as the Spanish officer entered the
room.
“No, sir: not a boat had left the steamer when Don
Francisco was permitted to go on the deck of the
steamer,” replied the _alguacil_ promptly. “He waited
on the steps, at the head of which the big officer stood,
for more than an hour; and I was in the boat at the
foot of the steps all the time. I counted eight boats
made fast to the boom; and I am sure that no one left
the steamer till after Don Francisco had been admitted
on board. I saw all the boys get into these boats, and
pull away to this vessel and the other.”
“Then Don Francisco was on the deck of the
steamer at the same time that our ship’s company
were there,” added Mr. Pelham.
“No doubt of that,” replied the _alguacil_, who appeared
to desire that no suspicion of foul play on the
part of the officers or the principal should be encouraged.
“Now, if I could find any one who noticed the conduct
of Raimundo on board of the steamer, we might
get at something,” continued the vice–principal.
“I think you can easily find such a one,” suggested
Professor Crumples. “Lieutenant Scott and Raimundo
are fast friends; they are in the same quarter–watch,
and appear to be great cronies.”
“I was thinking of him when you spoke.—Mr.
Scott,” called the vice–principal, when he had opened
the door of the state–room.
Scott was in the cabin, and presented himself at the
door. He was requested to come in, and the door was
closed behind him.
“Were you with Raimundo on board of the steamer?”
asked Mr. Pelham.
Scott was fully determined not to do or say any thing
that would injure his friend, even if he were sent to the
brig for his fidelity to the absent shipmate; and he
hesitated long enough to consider the effect of any thing
he might say.
“We are all friends of Raimundo, and do not wish
to harm him,” added the vice–principal. “You have
already said you did not know where Raimundo was.”
“I do not.”
“Do you object to answering the question I asked?”
“I do not,” replied Scott, who had by this time made
up his mind that the truth could not harm his friend.
“I was with Raimundo all the time he was on board of
the steamer. We went in the same boat, and returned
together.”
“Did you notice the gentleman that came on board
of the Tritonia with Mr. Lowington?”
“I did. He was on deck here half an hour, or
more.”
“Did you see him on board of the American
Prince?”
“I did. He spoke to the principal just as Raimundo
and I passed behind him.”
“Behind whom?”
“Behind the principal. I looked the gentleman in
the face while he was speaking to Mr. Lowington.”
“Do you know what he said?”
“I can walk Spanish, but I can’t talk Spanish; and
so I couldn’t understand him.”
“You don’t know what he said, then?”
Scott hesitated again.
“I don’t say that.”
“But you intimated that you did not understand
Spanish.”
“I do know what the gentleman said as I passed
him,” replied Scott.
“How could you know, without understanding the
language he spoke?”
“Raimundo told me what he said; and he could
understand Spanish if I could not.”
“Ah, indeed! Raimundo told you! Well, what did
he tell you the gentleman said?” asked the vice–principal
earnestly.
“He told me he heard the gentleman ask the principal
if he had a student under his care by the name of
Enrique Raimundo: that’s all he heard, and that’s all
he told me about the gentleman,” replied Scott, who
had said so much because he believed that this information
would do his absent shipmate more good than
harm.
“That explains it all,” added Mr. Pelham; and he
informed the _alguacil_ what Scott had said.
This was all the vice–principal had expected to show
by Scott; and he was entirely satisfied with the information
he had obtained, not suspecting that the third
lieutenant knew any thing more about the matter. Mr. Pelham
and the rest of the party asked Scott some
more questions in regard to the conduct of the absentee
after he came on board of the Tritonia; but
Raimundo had taken care that his friend should know
nothing at all about his intended movements, and the
lieutenant was as ignorant of them as any other person
on board. To his intense relief he was dismissed without
having betrayed the confidence of his friend in the
slightest degree.
Scott knew the whole story of the young Spaniard;
and he was confident that the principal and the vice–principal,
if not the professors, had learned at least
Don Alejandro’s side of it from the stranger; and he
felt that he was relieving his friend from the charge of
being a runaway, in the ordinary acceptation of the
term, by showing that Raimundo knew that some one
was after him.
The exciting topic was discussed by all hands till the
anchor–watch was set, and the rest of the ship’s company
had turned in. Even Bill Stout and Bark Lingall
in the brig had heard the news, for Ben Pardee had
contrived to communicate it to them on the sly; and
they discussed it in whispers, as well as another more
exciting question to them, after all hands below were
asleep. Bill was fully determined to repeat the wicked
experiment which had so providentially failed that day.
“Bark is willin’,” added that worthy, when the plan
had been fully considered.
The _alguacil_ visited every part of the vessel, attended
by the vice–principal, before he retired for the
night. The next morning, all hands were mustered on
deck, and the search was repeated. This time the hold
was visited; but no sign of the fugitive could be found.
The _alguacil_ protested that he was sure no attempt
had been made by any person on board to conceal the
absentee; for every facility had been afforded him to
see for himself.
Breakfast had been ordered at an early hour; for it
was understood that all hands were to go on shore, and
see what little there was to be seen in Barcelona.
Before the meal was finished, the principal came on
board with Don Francisco. The _alguacil_ reported to
his employer what he had done, and described the
thorough search which had been made for the missing
ward. The principal offered to do any thing the
lawyer would suggest in order to find Raimundo. No
one could imagine how he had left the vessel, though it
seemed to be a settled conviction with all that he had
left. Don Francisco could suggest nothing; but he
insisted that the _alguacil_ should remain on the vessel,
to which the principal gladly assented.
Don Francisco was sent on shore in good style in the
first cutter of the Prince; and, as soon as breakfast was
over in the Tritonia, the principal directed that all
hands should be mustered in the waist.
“Young gentlemen,” said Mr. Lowington, as soon as
the students had assembled, “I spent last evening, and
the greater part of last night, in devising a plan by
which all hands in the fleet may see the most interesting
portions of Spain and Portugal.”
This announcement was received with a demonstration
of applause, which was permitted and even enjoyed
by the faculty; for it had long before been proved
that the boys were honest and sincere in their expressions
of approbation, and that they withheld their
tribute when they were not satisfied with the announcement,
or the programme, whatever it was. The principal
bowed in acknowledgment of the applause.
“I am well aware that some of the interior towns of
Spain possess more interest than any on the seacoast;
and therefore I have decided that you shall see both.
You will spend to–morrow in seeing Barcelona, which
may easily be seen in one day by those who do not
wish to make a critical survey of the country. To–night
the ship’s company of the American Prince will
depart for Saragossa; and will visit Burgos, Valladolid,
the Escurial, Madrid, Toledo, Badajos, and thence
through Portugal to Lisbon, from which they may go
to Cintra and other places. They will reach Lisbon
in about two weeks. To–morrow morning the ship’s
company of the Tritonia and that of the Josephine
will be sent in the steamer direct to Lisbon, from
which place they will make the tour, reversed, back
to Barcelona. The ship’s company of the American
Prince will return to Barcelona in their own vessel,
which will wait for them at Lisbon. When all hands
are on board again, the squadron will sail along
the coast, visiting Valencia, Alicante, Carthagena,
Malaga, Gibraltar, and Cadiz; and another interior
trip will be made to Granada, Cordova, and Seville.
This plan will enable you to see about the whole
of Spain. Then we shall have visited nearly every
country in Europe. To–day will be used in coaling
the steamer, and you will go on shore as soon as you
are ready.”
This speech was finished with another demonstration
of applause; and the principal immediately returned
to the Prince, alongside of which several coal–barges
had already taken their places. The students
had put on their go–ashore uniforms, and were in readiness
to take a nearer view of the city. The officers
and crew of the Prince had packed their bags for the
two weeks’ trip through Spain, and her boats were now
pulling to the landing–place near the foot of the _Rambla_.
Those of the Josephine and Tritonia soon followed
them.
The _alguacil_ remained on board of the Tritonia.
He had a recent photograph of Raimundo, obtained
in New York by Don Alejandro’s agent; and he was
confident that the fugitive had not left the vessel with
the rest of the students. As it was necessary for the
adult boatswain and carpenter, Marline and Rimmer,
to go on shore with the boats in order to take charge
of them, the two prisoners in the brig were left in care
of the head steward. When the vessel was deserted
by all but the cooks and stewards, the _alguacil_ made
another diligent search for the ward of his employer,
but with no better success than before. He tried to
talk with Salter, the chief steward; but that individual
did not know a word of Spanish, and he did not get
ahead very fast. In the course of an hour, he seemed
to be disgusted with his occupation, and, calling a
shore boat, he left the Tritonia. Probably Don Francisco
had directed him to use his own judgment as to
the time he was to remain on board.
Mr. Salter was the chief steward of the Tritonia, and
he had a great deal of business of his own to attend to,
so that he could not occupy himself very closely in
looking after the marines in the brig. He was obliged
to make up his accounts, which were required to be as
accurately and methodically kept as though the vessel
were a man–of–war. His desk was in the cabin, for he
was an officer of no little consequence on board.
Though the passage–way between the cabin and the
steerage was open, he could not see, from the place
where he was seated, what the prisoners were about, or
hear their conversation. They had their books in the
brig, though they did not study their neglected lessons.
But what they said and what they did must be reserved
till a later time in the day; for it would not be fair to
leave all the good students to wander about Barcelona
without any attention.
The boats landed, and for the first time the young
voyagers stood on the soil of Spain. Captain Wainwright,
Scott, and O’Hara were among those who were
permitted to take care of themselves, while not a few
were in charge of the vice–principals and the professors.
Those who were privileged to go where they pleased
without any supervision chose their own companions.
Scott and O’Hara were inclined to train in the same
company; and Captain Sheridan and Lieutenant Murray
of the steamer, with whom both of them had been
formerly very intimate, hailed them as they came on
shore. The four formed a party for the day. It was a
very desirable party too, for the reason that Dr. Winstock,
an old traveller in Spain, as indeed he was in all
the countries of Europe, was as great a crony of Sheridan
as he once had been of Paul Kendall, the first
captain of the Josephine, and a commander of the
Young America. The surgeon shook hands with Scott
and O’Hara, and then led the way to the _Rambla_,
which is the broad avenue extending through the centre
of the city.
“Barcelona, I suppose you know, young gentlemen,
is the second city in Spain in population, and has nearly
or quite two hundred thousand inhabitants,” said the
doctor, as the party entered the _Rambla_. “It is by
far the most important commercial city, and is quite a
manufacturing place besides. There are several cotton,
silk, and woollen mills outside of the walls; and
ten years ago the imports of cotton from the United
States were worth nearly five millions of dollars.”
“What do you call our country in Spanish, doctor?”
asked Sheridan.
“_Los Estados Unidos de America_,” replied Dr. Winstock.
“By the way, O’Hara, do you speak Spanish?”
“No, sir: I spake only Oyrish and Oytalian,”
laughed the fourth lieutenant of the Tritonia.
“Though Spanish and Italian are very much alike,
each of them seems to be at war with the other. Ford,
in Murray’s Hand–book for Spain, says that a knowledge
of Italian will prove a constant stumbling–block in
learning Spanish. I found it so myself. Before I
came to Spain the first time I could speak the language
very well, and talked it whole evenings with my professor.
Then I took lessons in Italian; but I soon found
my Spanish so confused and confounded that I could
not speak it at all.”
“Then I won’t try to learn Spanish,” added O’Hara.
“Here is the post–office on your right, and the _Teatro
Principal_ on the left; but it is not the principal theatre
at the present time.”
“This street—I suppose they would call it a boulevard
in Paris—is not unlike ‘_Unter den Linden_’ in
Berlin,” said Murray. “It has the rows of trees in the
middle.”
“But the time to visit the _Rambla_ is just before night
on a pleasant day, when it is crowded with people.
Barcelona is not so thoroughly Spanish as some other
cities of Spain—Madrid and Seville, for instance.
The people are quite different from the traditional
Spaniard, who is too dignified and proud to engage in
commerce or to work at any honest business; while the
Catalans are an industrious and thriving people, first–rate
sailors, quick, impulsive, and revolutionary in their
character. They are more like Frenchmen than Spaniards.”
“There is a square up that narrow street,” said
Sheridan.
“That’s the _Plaza Real_,—Royal Square,—surrounded
by houses with arcades, like the _Palais Royal_
in Paris. In the centre of it is a fine monument, dedicated
to the Catholic kings, as distinguished from the
Moorish sovereigns, and dedicated to Ferdinand and
Isabella; and you remember that Catalonia became a
part of Aragon, and was annexed to Castile by the marriage
of their respective sovereigns. This is the _Rambla
del Centro_, for this broad avenue has six names in its
length of three–quarters of a mile. Here is the _Calle
Fernando_ on our right, which is the next street in importance
to the _Rambla_, and, like it, has several names for
its different parts. Now we have the _Teatro del Lico_ on
our left, which is built on the plan of _La Scala_ at Milan,
and is said to be the largest theatre in Europe, seating
comfortably four thousand people.”
Dr. Winstock continued to point out the various
objects of interest on the way; but most of them were
more worthy to be looked at than to be written about.
The party walked the entire length of the _Rambla_ to
the _Plaza de Cataluña_, which is a small park, with a
fountain in the centre. Taking another street, they
reached a point near the centre of the city, where the
cathedral is located. It is a Gothic structure, built in
the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In 1519 Charles V.
presided in the choir of this church over a general
assembly of the Knights of the Golden Fleece. Under
the high altar is the crypt or tomb of St. Eulalia, the
patron saint of the city. She suffered martyrdom in
the fourth century; and it is said that her remains were
discovered five hundred years after her death, by the
sweet odor they emitted. Her soul ascended to heaven
in the visible form of a dove.
Near the cathedral, on the _Plaza de la Constitucion_,
or Constitution Square, are the Town Hall and the
Parliament House, in which the commons of Catalonia
met before it became a part of the kingdom of Aragon.
Between this square and the _Rambla_ is the church of
_Santa Maria del Pino_, Gothic, built a little later than
the cathedral. Its name is derived from a tradition that
the image of the Virgin was found in the trunk of a pine–tree,
and because this tree is the emblem of the Catholic
faith, ever green and ever pointing to heaven. On
the altars of two of its chapels, Jews were allowed to
take an oath in any suit with a Christian, or to establish
the validity of a will, and for similar purposes. In
another church Hebrews are permitted to take oath on
the Ten Commandments, placed on an altar.
The party visited several other churches, and finally
reached the great square near the head of the port, on
which are located the Royal Palace, the Exchange, and
the Custom House; but there is nothing remarkable
about them. There are fifty fountains in the city, the
principal of which is in the palace square. It is an
allegorical representation of the four provinces of Catalonia.
“There is not much to see in Barcelona,” said Dr.
Winstock, as they walked along the sea–wall, in the
resort called the _Muralla del Mar_. “This is a commercial
city, and you do not see much that is distinctively
Spanish. Commerce with other nations is very
apt to wear away the peculiarities of any people.”
“But where are the Spaniards? I don’t think I have
seen any of them,” added Sheridan.
“Probably most of the people you have met in our
walk were Spaniards,” replied the doctor.
“Don’t we see the national costume?”
“You will have to go to a bull–fight to see that,”
laughed the surgeon; “and then only the men who
take part in the spectacle will wear the costume. The
audience will be dressed in about the same fashion you
have seen all over Europe. Perhaps if you go over
into Barceloneta you will find some men clothed in the
garb of the Catalans.”
“Shall we see a bull–fight?” asked Scott.
“Not in Barcelona. I suppose, if there should be an
opportunity, the principal would allow all who wished
to see it to do so; for it is a Spanish institution, and the
traveller ought not to leave Spain without seeing one.
But it is a sickening sight; and, after you have seen one
or two poor old horses gored to death by the bull, you
will not care to have any more of it. The people of
this city are not very fond of the sport; and the affair
is tame here compared with the bull–fights of Madrid
and Seville.”
At three o’clock those of the party who belonged to
the steamer departed for Saragossa. Scott and O’Hara
wandered about the city the rest of the day, visiting
Barceloneta, and taking an outside view of the bull–ring,
or _Plaza de Toros_, which is about the same thing
as in all the other large cities of the country. They
dined at a French restaurant in the _Rambla_, where
they did not go hungry for the want of a language. At
an early hour they returned to the Tritonia, where they
were to spend another night before their departure in
the American Prince.
CHAPTER VII.
FIRE AND WATER.
“What’s going on, Bark?” asked Bill Stout,
as all hands were called to go on shore; and
perhaps this was the hundredth time this question had
been put by one or the other of the occupants of the
brig since the ship’s company turned out that morning.
“All hands are going on shore,” replied Bark Lingall.
“I hope they will have a good time; and I am
thankful that I am not one of them, to be tied to the
coat–tail of Professor Primback.”
The marines knew all about the events that had
transpired on board of the vessel since she anchored,
including the strange disappearance of Raimundo.
Ben Pardee had contrived to tell them all they wanted
to know, while most of the students were on deck.
But he and Lon Gibbs had not been informed of the
conspiracy to burn the Tritonia. Bark had simply
told them that “something was up,” and they must do
some mischief to get committed to the brig before they
could take a hand in the game. Lon and Ben had
talked the matter over between themselves, and were
ready to do as required till the orders came for the
Josephines and the Tritonias to proceed to Lisbon in
the Prince. The voyage in the steamer had too many
attractions to permit them to lose it. They had done
better in their lessons than Bill and Bark, who had
purposely neglected theirs.
“I should not object to the voyage in the Prince,”
said Bark.
“Nor I, if I had known about it; but it is too late
now to back out. We are in for it,—in the brig.
We shall have a better chance to get off when all the
professors are away,” added Bill.
“There don’t appear to be any one taking care of
us just now,” said Bark, after he had looked through
the bars of the prison, and satisfied himself that no
one but themselves was in the steerage. “Marline
had to go on shore with the crowd to take care of the
boats; and so had the carpenter.”
“Some one has the care of us, I know,” replied
Bill. “But I can soon find out.”
Bill Stout began to pound on the slats of the cage;
and the noise soon brought the chief steward to the
brig.
“What are you about in there?” demanded Mr.
Salter.
“I want to see Mr. Marline or Mr. Rimmer,” replied
Bill, meekly enough.
“They are both gone on shore to take charge of the
boats, and won’t be back till night,” added Salter.
“What do you want?”
“I want a drink of water: I am almost choked,”
answered Bill.
“You don’t want Mr. Rimmer for that,” said Salter,
as he left the brig.
In a moment he returned with a pitcher of water,
which he handed into the cage through the slide.
Having done this, he returned to the cabin to resume
his work.
“I’ll bet he is alone on board!” exclaimed Bill, as
soon as Salter had gone.
“I think not,” replied Bark.
“Why did he bring the water himself, then?”
“I don’t know; perhaps the stewards are all on
deck.”
“No: he always lets most of his men go on shore
when we are in port. I don’t believe there is more
than one of them on board,” continued Bill, with no
little excitement in his manner.
“I heard some one walking on deck since the boats
went off. It may have been Salter; but I am sure he
is not alone on board.”
“No matter, if there are only two or three left.
Now is our time, Bark!” whispered Bill Stout.
“We may be burnt up in the vessel: we are locked
into the brig,” suggested Bark.
“No danger of that. When the fire breaks out,
Salter will unlock the door of the cage. If he don’t we
can break it down.”
“What then?” queried Bark. “Every boat belonging
to the vessel is gone, and we might get singed in
the scrape.”
“Nonsense, Bark! At the worst we could swim
ashore to that old light–house.”
“Well, what are we going to do then? We wear the
uniform of the fleet, and we shall be known wherever
we go,” added the more prudent Bark.
“You have money enough, and so have I. All we
have to do is to buy a suit of clothes apiece, and then
we shall be all right.”
They discussed the matter for half an hour longer.
Bark was willing to admit that the time for putting the
villanous scheme in operation was more favorable than
any that was likely to be afforded them in the future.
Though the professors were all on shore, they believed
they could easily keep out of their way in a city so
large as Barcelona.
“Suppose Salter should come into the steerage when
you are down in the hold?” suggested Bark.
“That would be bad,” replied Bill, shaking his head.
“But we must take some risk. We will wait till he
comes in to take a look at us, and then I will do the job.
He won’t come in again for half an hour; for I suppose
he is busy in the cabin, as he always is while we are in
port.”
They had to wait half an hour more before the chief
steward came into the steerage. Though he intended to
be a faithful officer, Mr. Salter was wholly absorbed in
his accounts, and he did not like to leave them even for
a moment. He went into the steerage far enough to see
that both of the prisoners were safe in the cage, and
hastened back to his desk.
“We are all right now,” whispered Bill, as he bent
down to the scuttle that led into the hold.
“If you make any noise at all the chief steward will
hear you,” replied Bark, hardly less excited than his
companion in villany.
Bill raised the trap–door with the utmost care. As
he made no noise, Mr. Salter heard none. Bill had his
matches all ready, with the paper he had prepared for
the purpose. He had taken off his shoes, so as to
make no noise on the steps. He was not absent from
the brig more than two minutes, and Salter was still
absorbed in his accounts. Bark carefully adjusted the
scuttle when Bill came up; and he could smell the
burning straw as he did so.
Bill put on his shoes with all the haste he could,
without making any noise; and both the conspirators
tried to look as though nothing had happened, or was
about to happen. They were intensely excited, of
course, for they expected the flames would burst up
through the cabin floor in a few moments. Bark
looked over the slats of the cage to find where the
weakest of them were, so as to be ready, in case it
should be necessary, to break out.
“Do you smell the fire?” asked Bill, when his anxiety
had become so great that he could no longer keep
still.
“I did smell it when the scuttle was off; but I don’t
smell it now,” replied Bark.
“What was that noise?” asked Bill.
Both of them had heard it, and it seemed to be in
the hold. They could not tell what it was like, only
that it was a noise.
“What could it be?” mused Bill. “It was in the
hold, and not far from the foot of the ladder.”
“Perhaps it was the noise of the fire,” suggested
Bark. “It may have burned away so that one of the
boxes tumbled down.”
“That must have been it,” replied Bill, satisfied with
this plausible explanation. “But why don’t the fire
break out? It is time for it to show itself, for fire travels
fast.”
“I suppose it has not got a–going yet. Very likely
the straw and stuff is damp, and does not burn very
freely.”
“It will be a sure thing this time, for I saw the blaze
rising when I came up the ladder,” added Bill.
“And I saw it myself also.”
“But it ought to be a little hot by this time,” replied
Bill, who began to have a suspicion that every thing was
not working according to the programme.
“You know best how you fixed things down below.
The fire may have burned the straw all up without lighting
the ceiling of the vessel.”
At least ten minutes had elapsed since the match
had been applied to the combustibles, and it was certainly
time that the fire should begin to appear in the
steerage. But there was no fire, and not even the
smell of fire, to be perceived. The conspirators were
astonished at the non–appearance of the blaze; and
after waiting ten minutes more they were satisfied that
the fire was not making any progress.
“It is a failure again,” said Bark Lingall. “There
will be no conflagration to–day.”
“Yes, there will, if I have to set it a dozen times,”
replied Bill Stout, setting his teeth firmly together. “I
don’t understand it. I certainly saw the blaze before I
left the hold; and I couldn’t have done the job any
better if I had tried for a week.”
“You did it all right, without a doubt; but a fire will
not always burn after you touch it off,” answered Bark,
willing to console his companion in his failure.
“I will go down again, and see what the matter is, at
any rate. If I can’t get up a blaze in the hold, I will
see what I can do in one of the mess–rooms,” added
Bill stoutly.
“How can you get into one of the mess–rooms?”
asked Bark. “You forget that we are locked into the
brig.”
“No, I don’t forget it; but you seem to forget that
we can go down into the hold, and go up by the forward
scuttle into the steerage.”
“You are right, Bill. I did not think of that,” said
Bark. “And you can also go aft, and up by the after
scuttle into the cabin. I remember now that there are
three ways to get into the hold.”
“I haven’t forgot it for a moment,” added Bill, with
something like triumph in his tones. “I am going
down once more to see why the blaze didn’t do as it
was expected to do.”
“Not yet, Bill. Wait till Salter has been into the
steerage again.”
“It isn’t twenty minutes since he was here; and he
will not come again for half an hour at least.”
Bill Stout felt that he had done enough, and had
proved that he knew enough, to entitle him to have his
own way. Raising the scuttle, he descended into the
hold. He did not dare to remain long, lest the chief
steward should come into the steerage, and discover
that he was not in the brig. But he remained long
enough to ascertain the reason why the fire did not
burn; and, filled with amazement, he returned to communicate
the discovery he had made to his fellow–conspirator.
When he had closed the trap, and turned
around to confront Bark, his face was the very picture
of astonishment and dismay.
“Well, what’s the matter, Bill?” asked Bark, who
could not help seeing the strange expression on the
countenance of his shipmate.
“Matter enough! I should say that the Evil One was
fighting against us, Bark,” replied his companion.
“I should say that the Evil One is fighting on the
other side, if on either,” added Bark. “But what have
you found?”
“The fire is out, and the straw and other stuff feels
just as though a bucket of water had been thrown
upon it. At any rate, it is wet,” answered Bill.
“Nonsense! no water could have been thrown upon
it.”
“How does it happen to be wet, then?”
“The hold of a vessel is apt to be a damp place.”
“Damp! I tell you it was wet!” protested Bill; and
the mysterious circumstance seemed to awe and alarm
him.
“Certainly no water could have been thrown upon
the fire,” persisted Bark.
“How happens it to be wet, then? That’s what I
want to know.”
“Do you think any water was thrown on the straw?”
“I don’t see how it could have been; but I know it
was wet,” replied Bill.
“Very likely the dry stuff burned off, and the wet
straw would not take fire,” suggested Bark, who was
good for accounting for strange things.
“That may be; I did not think of that,” mused Bill.
“But there is a pile of old dunnage on the starboard
side, and some more straw and old boxes and things
there; and I will try it on once more. I have got
started, and I’m going to do the job if I hang for it.”
“Wait till Salter has been in again before you go
below,” said Bark.
Bill was content to wait. To his desire for freedom,
was added the feeling of revenge for being committed
to the brig when all hands were about to make a
voyage in the Prince. He was determined to destroy
the Tritonia,—more determined than when he first attempted
the crime. In a short time the chief steward
made another visit to the steerage, and again returned
to the cabin.
“Now is my time,” said Bill, when he was satisfied
that Salter had reached the cabin.
“Be careful this time,” added Bark, as he raised the
scuttle.
“I shall be careful, but I shall make a sure thing of
it,” replied Bill, stepping upon the narrow ladder, and
descending.
Bill Stout was absent full five minutes this time; and,
when he returned to the brig, he had not lighted the
train that was to complete the destruction of the Tritonia.
“I had no paper, and I could not make a blaze,”
said he. “Have you a newspaper about you, Bill?”
“No, I have not: I do not carry papers around with
me.”
“What shall I do? I can’t light the rubbish without
something that is entirely dry.”
“Here,” answered Bark, picking up one of the neglected
text–books on the floor. “You can get as much
paper as you want out of this book.”
“But that won’t do,” replied Bill. “I thought you
were a very prudent fellow.”
“So I am.”
“If I should miss fire again, and this book or any
part of it should be found in the pile, it would blow the
whole thing upon us.”
“Tear out a lot of the leaves; and they will be sure
to be burnt, if you light them with the match.”
As no other paper could be obtained, Bill consented
to tear out some of the leaves of the book, and use
them for his incendiary purpose. Bark declared that
what was left of it would soon be in ashes, and there
was nothing to fear as to its being a telltale against
them. Once more Bill descended into the hold; and,
as he had made every thing ready during his last visit,
he was absent only long enough to light the paper, and
thrust it into the pile of combustibles he had gathered.
He had placed several small sticks of pine, which had
been split to kindle the fire in the galley, on the heap
of rubbish, in order to give more body to the fire when
it was lighted. He paused an instant to see the flame
rise from the pile, and then fled up the ladder.
“Hurry up!” whispered Bark at the scuttle. “I
hear Salter moving about in the cabin.”
But the trap–door was returned to its place before
the chief steward appeared; and he only looked into
the steerage.
“The job is done this time, you may bet your life!”
exclaimed Bill, as he seated himself on his stool, and
tried to look calm and self–possessed.
“I saw the blaze,” added Bark. “Let’s look down,
and see if it is going good.”
“No, no!” protested Bill earnestly. “We don’t
want to run a risk for nothing.”
Both of the young villains waited with throbbing
hearts for the bursting out of the flames, which they
thought would run up the ceiling of the vessel, and
communicate the fire to the berths on the starboard
side of the steerage. Five minutes—ten minutes—a
quarter of an hour, they waited for the catastrophe;
but no smoke, no flame, appeared. Bill Stout could not
understand it again. Another quarter of an hour they
waited, but less confidently than before.
“No fire yet, Bill,” said Bark, with a smile.
“I don’t know what it means,” replied the puzzled
incendiary. “You saw the fire, and so did I; and I
can’t see why the blaze don’t come up through the
deck.”
“It is very odd, Bill; and I can’t see through it any
better than you can,” added Bark. “It don’t look as
though we were to have a burn to–day.”
“We are bound to have it!” insisted Bill Stout. “I
shall try next time in one of the mess–rooms.”
“With all the pains and precautions to prevent fire
on board, it seems that the jolly craft won’t burn. No
fellow has been allowed to have a match, or even to
take a lantern into the hold; and now you can’t make
the vessel burn when you try with all your might.”
“The Evil One is working against us,” continued Bill,
who could make no other explanation of the repeated
failures.
“If he is, he is on the wrong side; for we have done
nothing to make him desert us,” laughed Bark. “We
certainly deserve better of him.”
“I am going below to see what was the matter this
time,” added Bill, as he raised the trap–door.
Bark offered no opposition to his purpose, and Bill
went down the ladder. He was not gone more than a
couple of minutes this time; and when he returned he
looked as though he had just come out of the abode of
the party who was working against him. He seemed
to be transfixed with wonder and surprise; and for a
moment he stood in silence in the presence of his fellow–conspirator.
“What’s the matter with you, Bill? You look like a
stuck pig that has come back to haunt the butcher,”
said Bark, trying to rally his associate. “Did you see
any spirits in the hold? This is a temperance ship,
and the principal don’t allow any on board.”
“You may laugh, Bark, if you like; but I believe
the evil spirit is in the hold,” replied Bill impressively.
“What makes you think so, Bill?”
“The pile of rubbish is as wet as water can make it.
Do you suppose there is any one in the hold?”
“Who could be there?” demanded Bark.
“I don’t know; but it seems to me some one is down
there, who puts water on the fire every time I light it.
I can’t explain it in any other way.”
“Nonsense! No one could by any possibility be in
the hold. If any one of the stewards had gone down,
we should have seen him.”
After more discussion neither of the conspirators
was willing to believe there was any person in the hold.
It was not a place a man would be likely to stay in any
longer than he was compelled to do so. It was partially
ventilated by a couple of small shafts, and very
dimly lighted by four small panes of heavy glass set in
the cabin and steerage floors, under the skylights. It
was not more than four feet high where the greatest
elevation was had; that is, between the dunnage that
covered the ballast, and the timbers on which the floors
of the between–decks rested. It was not a desirable
place for any one to remain in, though there was nothing
in it that was destructive to human life. It was
simply a very dingy and uncomfortable retreat for a
human being.
“I am going to try it on just once more,” said Bill
Stout, after his suspicions of a supernatural interference
had subsided. “I know there was water thrown on the
pile of rubbish. It seems to me the Evil One must have
used a fire–engine on the heap, after I had lighted the
fire. But I am going to know about it this time, if I
am condemned to the brig for the rest of my natural
life. There is quite a pile of old boxes and cases split
up in the hold, ready for use in the galley. I am going
to touch off this heap of wood, and stand by till I see
it well a–going. I want you to shut the door when I go
down next time; for Salter will not come in for half an
hour or more. I am going to see what puts the fire
out every time I light it.”
“But suppose Salter comes into the steerage, and
finds you are not here: what shall I say to him?”
“Tell him I am in the hold,—any thing you please.
I don’t care what becomes of me now.”
Bill Stout raised the trap–door, and descended; and,
in accordance with the instructions of that worthy,
Bark closed it as soon as his head disappeared below
the steerage floor. Bill lighted up the pile of kindling–wood;
and then, with a quantity of leaves he had torn
from the book, he set fire to the heap of combustibles.
The blaze rose from the pile, and promised that the
result that the conspirators had been laboring to produce
would be achieved. True to the plan he had
arranged, Bill waited, and watched the blaze he had
kindled; but the fire had scarcely lighted up the
gloomy hold, before a bucket of water was dashed on
the pile of wood, and the flames were completely extinguished.
There was somebody in the hold, after all; and
Bill was almost paralyzed when he realized the fact.
The fire was put out; and the solitary fireman of the
hold moved aft. Bill watched him, and was unable to
determine whether he was a human being, or a spirit
from the other world. But he was desperate to a degree
he had never been before. He stooped down
over the extinguished combustibles to ascertain whether
they were really wet, or whether some magic had
quenched the flame which a minute before had promised
to make an end of the Tritonia. The water still
hung in drops on the kindling–wood. He stirred up
the wood, and lighted another match, which he applied
to the dryest sticks he could find.
“What are you about, you villain? Do you mean
to burn the vessel?” demanded a voice near him, the
owner of which instantly stamped out the fire with his
feet.
The mystery was solved; for Bill recognized the
voice of Raimundo, whose mysterious disappearance
had excited so much astonishment on board of the
vessel.
CHAPTER VIII.
SARAGOSSA AND BURGOS.
The ship’s company of the American Prince departed
from Barcelona at three o’clock in the
afternoon, for Saragossa, or Zaragoza as the Spaniards
spell it. At first the route was through a beautiful and
highly cultivated country, and then into the mountains.
By five o’clock it was too dark to see the landscape;
and the students, tired after the labors of the day, were
disposed to settle themselves into the easiest positions
they could find, and many of them went to sleep.
At Manresa the train stopped for supper, which was
all ready for the students when they arrived, Mr. Lowington
had employed four experienced couriers for the
double tour across the peninsula. One was to precede
each of the two parties to engage accommodations, and
make terms with landlords, railroad agents, and others;
and one was to attend each party to render such service
as might be required of him. The journeys were all
arranged beforehand, so that trains were to have extra
cars, and meals were to be ready at stations and hotels.
The train arrived at Saragossa just before four o’clock
in the morning. The cars, or carriages as they are
called in Europe, were precisely like those in use in
England. Only six persons were put in each compartment;
and the boys contrived various plans to obtain
comfortable positions for sleeping. Some of them
spread their overcoats on the floor for beds, using
their bags for pillows; and others made couches on the
seats. Most of them were able to sleep the greater
part of the night. But the _Fonda del Universo_ was
prepared for their reception, and they were glad enough
to turn into the fifty beds ready for them.
At nine o’clock all hands were piped to breakfast.
The meal was served in courses, and was essentially
French. Some of the waiters spoke French; but there
was really no need of saying any thing, for each dish of
the bill of fare was presented to every person at the
table. After the meal, the students were assembled in
the large reading–room,—the hotel had been recently
built,—and Professor Mapps was called upon by the
principal to say something about Saragossa, in order
that the tourists might know a little of the history of
the place they were visiting. The instructor took a
convenient position, and began his remarks:—
“The old monks used to write history something
after the manner of the Knickerbocker’s History of
New York; and they put it on record that Saragossa
was founded by Tubal, nephew of Noah; but you will
not believe this. The city probably originated with the
Phoenicians, and was a place of great importance in
the time of Julius Cæsar, who saw its military value as
commanding the passage of the Ebro, and built a wall
around it. It was captured by the Suevi in 452, and
taken from them by the Goths fourteen years later. In
the eighth century the Moors obtained possession of
the city, and held it till the twelfth, when it was conquered
by Alfonso of Aragon. It contains many relics
of the Roman and Moorish works.
“Saragossa has been the scene of several noted
sieges, the most famous of which was that of 1808,
when the French captured the place after the most
desperate resistance on the part of the Aragonese.
The brave defenders of the city had no regular military
organization, and were ill–provided with arms and
ammunition. The people chose for a leader a young
man whose name was Palafox: he was as brave as a
lion, but not versed in military science. The siege
lasted sixty–two days, and the fighting was almost incessant.
It was ‘war to the knife’ on the part of the
Aragonese, and they rejected all overtures to surrender.
Famine made fearful havoc among them, and every
house was a hospital. Even the priests and the women
joined in the strife. I dare say you have all heard of
the ‘Maid of Saragossa,’ who is represented in pictures
as a young woman assisting in working a gun in
the battle. Her name was Augustina; and she was a
very pretty girl of twenty–two. Her lover was a cannonneer,
and she fought by his side. When he was
mortally wounded, she worked the gun herself. You
will find something about her in ‘Childe Harold.’
“At length the French got into the town; but the
conflict was not finished, for the people fought for
twenty–one days more in the streets. Fifteen thousand
were either dead or dying when the French entered the
city. At last the authorities agreed to surrender, but
only on the most honorable terms. It has been estimated,
that, out of a population of one hundred and
fifty thousand, fifty–four thousand perished in battle or
by famine and pestilence.”
After these brief remarks, the party separated, and
divided up into small squads to see the city as they
pleased. As usual, Captain Sheridan and Murray
joined themselves to Dr. Winstock, who was as much
at home in Saragossa as he was in Paris.
“You will find that this city is thoroughly Spanish;
and doubtless you will see some of the native costumes,”
said the doctor, as they left the hotel.
“But this hotel is as much French as though it were
in France,” added Murray, who desired when in Spain
to do as the Spaniards did, so as to learn what they do.
“That is very true; but we shall come to the true
Spanish hotel in due time, and I have no doubt you
will get enough of it in a very short time,” laughed
Dr. Winstock. “There are three classes of hotels in
Spain, though at the present time they are all about the
same thing. A _fonda_ is a regular hotel; a _posada_ is
the tavern of the smaller country towns; and a _venta_
is a still lower grade of inn. A drinking–shop, which
we sometimes call a ‘saloon’ in the United States, is
a _ventorro_ or a _ventorillo_; and a _taberna_ is a place
where smoking and wine–drinking are the business of
their frequenters. A _parador_ is a hotel where the diligences
stop for meals, and may also be a _fonda_.”
“A _fonda_ is a hotel,” said Sheridan; “and we may
not be able to remember any more than that.”
“When you see the names I have given you on the
signs, you will understand what they mean. But our
business now is to see this city. Like Barcelona, it has
one principal wide street extending through the middle
of it: all the other avenues are nothing more than
lanes, very narrow and very dirty. It is on the Ebro,
and has a population of some eighty thousand people.”
“How happens it that this place is not colder? It
is in about the same latitude as New York City; and
now, in the month of December, it is comfortably
warm,” said Sheridan.
“These valleys have a mild climate; and the vine
and olive are their principal productions. It is not so
on the high table–land in the centre of Spain. At
Madrid, for instance, the weather will be found to be
quite cold at this time. The weather is so bitter there
sometimes that the sentinels on guard have to be
changed every quarter of an hour, as they are in
danger of being frozen to death.”
The party walked first to the great square, in the
centre of which is a public fountain. They paused to
look at the people. Most of the men wore some kind of
a mantle or cloak. This garment was sometimes the
Spanish circular cloak, worn with a style and grace
that the Spaniard alone can attain. That of the poorer
class was often nothing but a striped blanket, which,
however, they slung about them with no little of the air
of those who wore better garments. They were generally
tall, muscular, but rather bony fellows, with an
expression as solemn as though they were doing duty
at a funeral. Some of them wore the broad–brimmed
_sombrero_; some had handkerchiefs wound around their
heads, like turbans; and others sported the ordinary
hat or cap.
The party could not help laughing when they saw,
for the first time, a priest wearing a hat which extended
fore and aft at least three feet, with the sides rolled up
close to the body. Everybody was dignified, and
moved about at a funeral pace.
At the fountain women and girls were filling the jars
of odd shape with water, and bearing them away poised
on one of their hips or on the head. Several donkeys
were standing near, upon which their owners were loading
the sacks of water they had filled.
“Bags of water!” exclaimed Murray.
“They do not call them bags, but skins,” said the
doctor. “You can see the legs and neck of the animal,
which are very convenient in handling them. These
skins are more easily transported on the backs of the
donkeys than barrels, kegs, or jars could be. Many
kinds of wine are transported in these skins, which
could hardly be carried on the back of an animal in any
other way. Except a few great highways, Spain is not
provided with roads. In some places, when you ride in
a carriage, you will take to the open fields; and very
rough indeed they are sometimes.”
The party proceeded on their walk, and soon reached
the Cathedral of San Salvador, generally called _El Seo_;
a term as applicable to any other cathedral in Aragon
as to this one. It is a sombre old structure: a part of
it is said to have been built in the year 290; and pious
people have been building it till within three hundred
and fifty years of the present time. There are some
grand monuments in it; among them that of Arbues,
who was assassinated for carrying out the decrees of
the Inquisition. The people of Aragon did not take
kindly to this institution; but the murder was terribly
avenged, and the Inquisition established its authority in
the midst of the tumult it had excited. Murillo, the
great Spanish painter, made the assassination of Arbues
the subject of one of his principal pictures.
Saragossa has two cathedrals, the second of which
is called _El Pilar_, because it contains the very pillar
on which the Virgin landed when she came down from
heaven in one of her visits to Spain. It appears
that St. James—Santiago in Spanish—came to Spain
after the crucifixion of the Saviour, in the year 40, to
preach the gospel to the natives. When he had got
as far as Saragossa, he was naturally tired, and went to
sleep. In this state the Virgin came to him with a
message from the Saviour, requiring him to build a
chapel in honor of herself. She stood on a jasper
pillar, and was attended by a multitude of angels. St.
James obeyed the command of the heavenly visitor,
and erected a small chapel, only sixteen feet long and
half as wide, where the Virgin often attended public
worship in subsequent years. On this spot, and over
the original chapel, was built the present church. On
the pillar stands a dingy image of the Virgin, which
is said to be from the studio of St. Luke, who appears
to have been both a painter and a sculptor. It is
clothed in the richest velvet, brocade, and satin, and
is spangled with gold and diamonds. It cures all diseases
to which flesh is heir; for which the grateful
persons thus healed have bestowed the most costly
presents. It is little less than sacrilege to express
any disbelief in this story of the Virgin, or in the
miracles achieved by the image.
Dr. Winstock and his young companions went from
the churches, to take a walk in the older part of the
city. The narrow streets reminded them of Constantinople,
while many of the buildings were similar, the
upper part projecting out over the street. The balconies
were shaded with mats, like the parti–colored
draperies that hang from the windows in Naples.
Many of the houses were of the Moorish fashion, with
the _patio_, or court–yard, in the centre, with galleries
around it, from which admission to the various apartments
is obtained. Saragossa has a leaning tower
built of brick, which was the campanile, or belfry, of
the town.
The party of the surgeon spent the rest of the day in
a walk through the surrounding country, crossing the
Ebro to the suburb of the city. Near the bridge they
met a couple of ladies who wore the mantilla, a kind of
veil worn as a head–dress, instead of the bonnet, which
is a part of the national costume of Spain. All over
Spain this fashion prevails, though of course the modes
of Paris are adopted by the most fashionable ladies of
the capital and other cities.
At four o’clock the ship’s company dined at the
hotel, and then wandered about the city at will till dark.
They were advised to retire at an early hour, and most
of them did so. They were called at half–past four in
the morning, and at six were on the train. At half–past
eight they were at Tudela, the head of navigation on
the Ebro. At quarter past one they were at Miranda,
on the line from Bayonne to Madrid, where dinner was
waiting for them. This meal was decidedly Spanish,
though it was served in courses. The soup was odorous
of garlic, which is the especial vice of Spanish
cookery to those who have an aversion to it. Then
came the national dish, the _olla podrida_, a kind of stew
made of every kind of meat and every kind of vegetable,
not omitting a profusion of garlic. Some of the
students declared that it was “first–rate.” A few did
not like it at all, and more were willing to tolerate it.
We do not consider it “bad to take.” The next dish
was calves’ brains fried in batter, which is not national,
but is oftener had at the hotels than _olla podrida_. The
next course was mutton chops, followed by roast
chicken, with a salad. The dessert was fruit and
raisins. On the table was plenty of _Val de Peñas_ wine,
which the students were forbidden to taste.
At half–past two the tourists departed, and at twenty
minutes to six arrived in the darkness at Burgos. The
port watch went to the _Fonda del Norte_, and the starboard
to the _Fonda Rafaela_. The doctor and the captain were
at the latter, and it was more like the inns of Don
Quixote’s time than any that Sheridan had seen. It
had no public room except the _comedor_, or dining–room.
The hotel seemed to be a number of buildings thrown
together around a court–yard, on one side of which was
the stable. Sheridan and Murray were shown to a
room with six other students, but the apartment contained
four beds. It was large enough for four more,
being not less than thirty feet long, and half as wide.
It was comfortably furnished, and every thing about it
was clean and neat. The establishment was not unlike
an old–fashioned country tavern in New England.
Dinner, or, as the students called it, supper, was
served at six o’clock. The meal was Spanish, being
about the same as the one they had taken at Miranda.
Instead of the _olla podrida_ was a kind of stew, which
in the days of Gil Blas would have been called a
_ragout_.
“This isn’t a bad dinner,” said Murray, when they
had finished the third course.
“It is a very good one, I think,” replied Sheridan.
“I have been reading books of travel in Spain for
the last two weeks, most of them written by Englishmen;
and I had come to the conclusion that we should
be starved to death if we left the ship for more than
a day or two. The writers found a great deal of fault
with their food, and growled about garlic. I rather like
garlic.”
“The doctor says the English are very much given
to grumbling about every thing,” added Sheridan. “I
don’t think we shall starve if we are fed as well as we
have been so far.”
“Our room is as good as we have found in most of
the hotels in other countries. So far, the trains on the
railroads have been on time instead of an hour late, as
one writer declared they always were.”
“If one insists upon growling, it is easy enough to
find something to growl at.”
In the evening some of the party strolled about town,
but it was as quiet as a tomb; for the rule in Spain is,
“Early to bed, and late to rise.” But the students
were out of bed in good time in the morning, and
taking a view of the city. They found a very pretty
promenade along the little river Arlanzon, whose waters
find their way into the Duero; and at a considerable
distance from it obtained a fine view of the great
cathedral. It is impossible to obtain any just view of it,
except at a distance, on account of the mass of buildings
which are huddled around it, and close to it. But the
vast church towers above them all, and presents to
the eye a forest of spires great and small. Near the
river, in an irregular _plaza_, is an old gateway, which is
quite picturesque. The structure looks like a castle,
with round towers at the corners, and circular turrets.
On the front are a number of figures carved in stone.
Breakfast was served at half–past ten, and dinner at
six, at the _Fonda_; but special tables were set for the
students at more convenient hours. A Spanish meal
could not be agreeable to nice and refined American
people. The men often sit with their hats on, and
between the courses smoke a cigarette, or _cigarillo_ in
Spanish. They converse in an energetic tone, but are
polite if addressed, though they mind their own business
severely, and seem to be devoid of curiosity—or at
least are too dignified to stare—in regard to strangers.
The food is very odorous of onions and garlic, and in
the smaller inns consists largely of stews or ragouts,
generally of mutton or kidneys. New cheese, not
pressed, is sometimes an item of the bill of fare. _Val
de Pañas_ wine is furnished free all over Spain at the
_table d’hote_; but it always tastes of the skins in which
it is transported, and most Americans who partake of
it think it is poor stuff. Great quantities of it are
exported to Bordeaux, where it is manufactured into
claret.
After breakfast, the students were assembled to enable
Professor Mapps to tell them something about the
history of the city, to which he added a very full account
of the Cid. Of his remarks we can give only an
abstract.
Burgos is one of the most famous cities of Castile, of
which it was at one time the capital. The name comes
from the same word as “Burg,” and means a fortified
eminence; and such it is, being on the watershed between
the basins of the Ebro and the Duero. It was
founded in 884 by a Castilian knight. It was the
birthplace of Ferdinand Gonzales, who first took the
title of Count of Castile, shook off the yoke of Leon,
and established the kingdom of Castile. The city is
on the direct line to Madrid from Paris. The French
captured the place in 1808; and it was twice besieged
and taken by the Duke of Wellington in the peninsular
war.
The Cid is the popular hero of Spain, and especially
of the people of Burgos. He was the King Arthur of
Spain, and there is about as much romance in his history
as in that of the British demigod. The Cid Campeador,
“knight champion,” was born about 1040, and
died when he was not much over fifty. His name was
Rodrigo Ruy Diaz; and his marvellous exploits are
set forth in the “Poem of the Cid,” believed to have
been written in the twelfth century. It is the oldest
poem in the Spanish language. His first great deed
was to meet the Count Gomez, who had grossly insulted
the Cid’s aged father, in a fair fight in the field, and
utterly vanquish him, cutting off his head. The old
man was unable to eat from brooding over his wrong;
but, when Ruy appeared with the head of the slain
count, his appetite was restored. By some he is said
to have married Ximena, the daughter of his dead
adversary. Great was the fame of the Cid’s prowess
after this exploit. Shortly after this event, five Moorish
kings, with a powerful force, entered Castile; and
the Cid roused the country to oppose their progress,
and fell upon the enemy, routing the five kings with
great slaughter, and making all of them his prisoners.
Then he fought for King Ferdinand against the Aragonese,
and won all that was in dispute. When France
demanded the homage of his king, he entered that
country, and won a victory which settled the question
of homage for all time. After this event he did considerable
domestic fighting when Castile was divided
among the sons of the dead sovereign; and was finally
banished by the new king. He departed with his
knights and men–at–arms, and took up a strong position
in the territory of the Moors, where he made war,
right and left, with all the kingdoms of the peninsula
except his own country, which he had the grace to
except in his conquests. He took Valencia, where he
seems to have established himself. His last exploit in
the flesh was the capture of Murviedro. Then he died,
and was buried in Valencia.
Now that the Cid, who had been the scourge of the
Moors, was dead, the Christians could no longer hold
out against the infidels, and were in danger of losing
what they had gained. In this emergency they clothed
the corpse of the dead hero in armor, and fastened it
on his war–steed, placing his famous sword in his hand.
Thus equipped for battle, the dead Cid was led into the
field in the midst of the soldiers. The very sight of
him struck terror to the hearts of the Moslems, and
the defunct warrior won yet another battle. He was
marched through the land, the enemy fleeing before
him in every direction, to Burgos. He seems not to
have been buried when he got there, but was embalmed
and placed in a chair of state, where he went into the
business of working miracles. His long white beard
fell upon his breast, his sword was at his side, and he
seemed to be alive rather than dead. One day a Jew,
out of bravado, attempted to take hold of his venerable
beard, when the Cid began to draw his sword, whereat
the Jew was so frightened that he fainted away. When
he recovered he at once became a Christian. The Cid
was a fiery man, and did not hesitate to slap the face of
a king or the pope, if he was angry. Even after he was
dead, and sitting in his chair, he sometimes lost his
temper; and Ximine found it expedient to bury him, in
order to keep him out of trouble.
The students went to the cathedral first. It is a vast
pile of buildings, and is considered one of the finest
churches in Europe. There is an immense amount of
fine and delicate work about it, which cannot be described.
The dome is so beautiful that Philip II. said
it was the work of angels rather than men. The choir
is quite a lofty enclosure, which obstructs the view
from the pavement. The archbishop’s palace, and the
cloister, on one side, seem to be a part of the church.
It contains, as usual, a great many chapels, each of
which has its own treasures of art or antiquity. In
one of them is the famous Christ of Burgos, which is
said to have been made by Nicodemus after he and
Joseph of Arimathea had buried the Saviour. As
usual, it was found in a box floating in the sea.
The hair, beard, eyelashes, and the thorns, are all
real; and a French writer says the skin of the figure
is human. The image works miracles without number,
sweats on Friday, and even bleeds at times; and is
held in the highest veneration by the people.
In another chapel is the coffer of the Cid, an old
worm–eaten chest bound with iron. When the champion
was banished by the king, as he wanted to go off
with flying colors, and was in need of a large sum of
money, he filled this chest with sand and stones, and,
without allowing them to look into it, assured a couple
of rich Jews that it was full of gold and jewels. They
took his word for it (strange as such a transaction would
be in modern times), and loaned the money he needed.
When he had captured Valencia, he paid the loan, and
exposed the cheat he had put upon them. Of course
they were willing to forgive him after he had paid the
money.
The next point of interest with the students was the
town hall, where they were permitted to look upon the
bones of the Cid and his wife, which are kept in a box,
with a wire screen over them to prevent any heathen
from stealing them. The bones are all mixed up, and
no one can tell which belong to the Cid and which to
his wife.
At noon Dr. Winstock procured an antiquated carriage
at the hotel stable, and took Sheridan and Murray
out into the country. After a ride of a couple of miles
they reached Miraflores, which is a convent founded by
John II., and finished by Isabella I. Its church contains
the royal tomb in which John II. is buried, and is
one of the finest things of the kind in the world, the
sculpture being of the most delicate character. Several
other Castilian kings are buried in this place.
The little party took the carriage again, intending to
visit the Monastery of San Pedro de Cardeña. There
was no road, only an ill–defined track across the fields;
and very rough fields they were, covered with rocks so
thick that the vehicle often had to pass over many of
them. The passengers were terribly shaken up. On
the way they occasionally met a peasant riding on or
leading a mule or donkey loaded with various commodities
carried in panniers. They were interesting as a
study.
San Pedro is nothing but a ruin. It was established
in the fifth century; and in the ninth the Moors destroyed
the edifice, and killed two hundred monks who
lived in it. It was rebuilt; and, being the favorite convent
of the Cid, he requested that he might be buried in
it. The monument is in a side chapel, and looks as
though it had been whitewashed at no very remote
period. The doctor read the inscription on the empty
tomb. A dirty peasant who joined the party as soon
as they got out the carriage followed them at every
step, almost looking into their mouths when they spoke.
When the party started to return, things began to be
very lively with them. First Sheridan rubbed his legs;
then Murray did so; and before long the doctor
joined in the recreation.
“What’s the matter?” asked the surgeon, laughing.
“I don’t know; but my legs feel as though I had
an attack of the seven–years’ itch,” replied the captain
with a vigorous attempt to reach and conquer the difficulty.
“That’s just my case,” added Murray, with an
equally violent demonstration.
“I don’t understand it,” continued the captain.
“I do,” answered the surgeon, vigorously rubbing
one of his legs.
“What is it?” asked Sheridan, suspecting that they
all had some strange disease.
“_Cosas de España_,” laughed the doctor.
“But that is Spanish; and I don’t understand the
lingo.”
“A _cosa de España_ is a ‘thing of Spain;’ fleas
are things of Spain; and that is what is the matter
with you and me. The lining of this carriage has
been repaired by covering it in part with cloth with a
long nap, which is alive with fleas.”
“The wicked flea!” exclaimed Murray.
“He goeth about in Spain, seeking whom he may
devour,” added the doctor.
When they reached the hotel, supper was ready;
but they did not want any just then, for no one feels
hungry while a myriad of fleas are picking his bones.
Garments were taken off, and brushed on the inside;
the skin was washed with cologne–water; and the party
were happy till they took in a new supply.
At about eleven at night, the ship’s company took
the train south, and at quarter past eight the next
morning were at _El Escorial_.
CHAPTER IX.
THE HOLD OF THE TRITONIA.
Raimundo was in the hold of the Tritonia.
He had made for himself a hiding–place under
the dunnage in the run, by removing a quantity of
ballast, and arranging a number of empty casks so as
to conceal his retreat from any who might search the
hold for him. The task had been ingeniously accomplished;
and those who looked for him had examined
every hole and corner above the ballast, that could
possibly hold a person of his size; and they had no
suspicion that there was room even for a cat under
the dunnage.
The young Spaniard had fully considered his situation
before he ventured into the waters of Spain. He
was fully prepared for the event that had occurred.
The plan of his hiding–place was his own; but he
knew that he could not make it, or remain in it for any
considerable time, without assistance. If he spent a
week or even three days in his den, he must have food
and drink. He did not believe the squadron would
remain many weeks in Spanish waters; and it was his
purpose to stay in the hold during this time, if he
found it necessary to do so. A confederate was therefore
indispensable to the success of the scheme.
Certain work required to be done in the hold, such
as getting up stores and keeping every thing in order,
was divided among the stewards. Those employed in
the cabin attended to the after–hold, and those in the
steerage to the fore–hold. One of the former was a
Cuban mulatto, a very bright fellow, who spoke Spanish
as well as English. Raimundo had become quite intimate
with him, because they both spoke their native
tongue, which it was pleasant to each to hear, and the
steward had become very fond of him. His name was
Hugo; and Raimundo was confident the man would be
his friend in the emergency.
During study hours, the vice–principal and the professors
were employed in the steerage. When the
quarter–watch to which the young Spaniard belonged
was off duty, instead of spending his time on deck as
his companions did in fine weather, he remained in
the cabin, which at times was entirely deserted. He
found that Hugo was willing to listen to him; and by
degrees he told him his whole story, as he had related
it to Scott, and disclosed the plan he intended to
adopt when his uncle or his agents should put in a
claim for him. Hugo was ready and anxious to take
part in the enterprise. There could be no doubt in
regard to his fidelity, for the steward would have perilled
his life in the service of the young Spaniard.
At a favorable time they visited the hold together;
and Raimundo indicated what was to be done in the
preparation of the hiding–place. Both of them worked
at the job. The ballast taken from the hold was carefully
distributed in other places under the dunnage.
Hugo had charge of the after–hold, and his being there
so much excited no suspicion.
When the ship’s company returned, after the lecture,
Raimundo waited in the cabin till he was alone with
Hugo; for all hands were on deck, observing the
strange scenes around them. He then descended to
the hold, and deposited himself in the den prepared
for him. His faithful confederate had lined it with
old garments and pieces of sail–cloth, so that the place
was not as uncomfortable as it might have been. The
“mysterious disappearance” had been duly effected.
Hugo carried food and drink to his charge in the
morning, and left a pail of water for his ablutions, if
he chose to make them. Of course the steward was
very nervous while the several searches were in progress;
but, as he spoke Spanish, he was able to mislead
the _alguacil_, even while he professed to desire that
every part of the vessel should be examined. Hugo
not only provided food and water for the self–made
prisoner, but he informed him, when he could, what
was going on; so that he knew when all hands had
gone on shore, and was duly apprised of the fact that
the Josephines and Tritonias were to proceed to Lisbon
in the Prince. But the steward dared not remain long
in the hold, while Salter was in the cabin. Raimundo
wanted to get on board of the steamer that day or
night, if it were possible; but the chances were all
against him.
Hugo assured him that it would be entirely safe
for him to leave his hiding–place, as he could easily
keep out of the way of any chance visitor in the
hold, and he would notify him if another search was
likely to be made. Availing himself of this permission,
Raimundo crawled out of his hole. It was a
relief to his limbs to stretch them; and he exercised
himself as freely as he could. While he was thus engaged,
he saw the fore–scuttle opened, and some one
come down. The fugitive stepped behind the mainmast.
He saw the figure of one of the students, as he
judged that he was from his size, moving stealthily in
the gloom of the place. In a moment more, he rushed
up the steps, and disappeared. In an instant afterwards,
Raimundo saw a flame flash up from the pile of
rubbish.
The vessel was on fire, or she soon would be; for
there was fire near her timbers. Grasping the bucket
of water Hugo had left for his ablutions, he poured
enough on the fire to extinguish it, and then retreated
to the covert of the mainmast. A second time the
incendiary–match was applied; and again the fugitive
put it out with the contents of the pail. For the third
time the incendiary pile that was to doom the beautiful
Tritonia to destruction was lighted; and this time
the wretch who applied the match evidently intended
to remain till the flames were well under way. The
fugitive was greatly disturbed; for, if he showed himself
to the incendiary, he would betray his secret, and
expose his presence. But he could not hesitate to save
the vessel at whatever consequences to himself; and,
as soon as he saw the blaze, he rushed aft, accosted
the villain, and stamped out the fire, for he had entirely
emptied the pail.
“What are you about, you villain? Do you mean to
burn the vessel?” demanded Raimundo, who did not
yet know who the incendiary was.
Bill Stout was startled, not to say overwhelmed, by
this unexpected interference with his plans. He recognized
the second master, whose mysterious disappearance
had excited so much astonishment. But he
was prompt to see, that, if Raimundo had detected him
in a crime, he had possession of the fugitive’s secret.
Somebody on shore wanted the second master, and an
officer had come on board for him. Perhaps he was
guilty of some grave misdemeanor, and for that reason
would not allow himself to be caught; for none of the
students except Scott knew why the young Spaniard
was required on shore. Bill Stout did not care: he
only saw that it was an even thing between himself and
Raimundo.
“Who are you?” asked the fugitive, when he had
waited a moment for an answer to his first question.
“I advise you not to speak too loud, Mr. Raimundo,
un
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