[1]

[2]

YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD—SECOND SERIES.

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.

[3]

COPYRIGHT:
By WILLIAM T. ADAMS.
1876.

[4]

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.

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[6] 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.

VINE AND OLIVE.

[10]

[11]

VINE AND OLIVE;

OR,

YOUNG AMERICA IN SPAIN AND PORTUGAL.

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,[12] 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[13] 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[14] 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[15].”

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.[16] 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[17].”

“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[18]”—

“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[19].”

“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.

[20]

“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[21].”

“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[22] 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,[23] 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[24] 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[25].”

“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.

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.

[27]

“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;[28] 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[29] 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,[30] 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[31] 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[32].”

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[33] 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[34].”

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[35].”

“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[36].”

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.

[37]

“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[38].”

“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[39] 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[40] 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.

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[42] 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[43] 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[44] 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[45] 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[46] 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[47] 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[48] 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[49].”

“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[50] 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[51] 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[52] 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.

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.

[54]

“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[55] 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[56] 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[57] 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[58] 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[59] 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.[60] 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[61] 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[62] 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[63] 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[64] 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.

[65]

“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[66] 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[67] 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[68] 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[69] 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[70] 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.

[71]

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[72] 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[73] 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.[74] 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,[75] 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[76] 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[77] 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;[78] 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.

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[80] 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.

[81]

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[82] 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[83] 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.

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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[85].”

“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[86].”

“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.

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.

[88]

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[89] 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.

[90]

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[91]?”

“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[92] 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[93] 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.

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“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[95] 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[96] 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,[97] 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[98].”

“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.[99] 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[100] 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[101] 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.

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[103] 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.

[104]

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.

[105]

“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[106] 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[107] 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.

[108]

“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[109] 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[110] 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[111].”

“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[112].”

“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[113].”

“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[114] 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;[115] 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.

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[117] 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[118] 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,[119] 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[120] 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.

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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[122] 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.

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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[124] 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[125] 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[126] 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[127] 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[128] 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[129] 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[130] 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.

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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.

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“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.

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.

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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.

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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[136] 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[137] 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, unless you wish to have the chief steward know you are here,” replied Bill, when he had recovered his self-possession, and taken a hurried view of the situation.

“Stout!” exclaimed Raimundo, identifying the familiar voice.

But he spoke in a low tone, for he was not disposed to summon Mr. Salter to the hold, though he had felt that he sacrificed himself and his plan when he showed himself to the incendiary.

“That’s my name,” replied the young villain.

“I understand what you were scheming at in your watch on deck. Lingall, Pardee, and Gibbs are your associates in this rascality,” added Raimundo.

Stout, who was not before aware that he had been watched by the second master or by any other officer, was rather taken aback by this announcement; but he[138] promptly denied that the students named were concerned in the affair.

“Lingall is with you, I know. I see how you have managed the affair. He is your companion in the brig, which was built over the midship scuttle,” continued Raimundo. “But why do you desire to burn the vessel?”

“Because I want to get out of her,” replied Bill sullenly. “But I can’t stop here to talk.”

“Do you really mean to burn the Tritonia?”

“That’s what I did mean; but, since you have found me out, I shall not be likely to do it now.”

“Whatever you do, don’t do that. You are in the waters of Spain now, and I don’t know but you would have to be tried and punished for it in this country.”

Bill Stout had no idea of being tried and punished for the crime in any country; and he had not even considered it a crime when he thought of the matter. He did not expect to be found out when he planned the job: villains never expect to be. But he was alarmed now; and the deed he had attempted seemed to be a hundred times more wicked and dangerous than at any time before.

“I can’t stop here: Salter will miss me if I do,” added Bill, moving up the ladder.

“Wait a minute,” interposed Raimundo, who was willing to save himself from exposure if he could.

“I’ll come down again, after a while,” answered Bill, as he opened the scuttle, and got into the brig.

“Why did you stay down so long?” demanded Bark Lingall nervously.

“It’s all up now, and we can’t do any thing,” replied[139] Bill sullenly, as he seated himself on his stool, and picked up one of his books.

“What’s the matter?”

“We are found out.”

“Found out!” exclaimed Bark; and his heart rose into his throat at the announcement. “How can that be?”

“I was seen doing it.”

“Who saw you?”

“You couldn’t guess in a month,” added Bill, who fixed his gaze on his book while he was talking.

“Didn’t I hear you speaking to some one in the hold, Bill?” asked Bark, as he picked up a book, in order to follow the studious example of his companion.

“I was speaking to some one,” replied Bill.

“Who was it?”

“Raimundo; and he knew that you were concerned in the job without my mentioning your name;” and Bill explained what had passed between himself and the second master.

“Raimundo!” exclaimed Bark, in a musing manner. “Then he mysteriously disappeared into the hold.”

“He did; and he has us where the hair is short,” added Bill.

“And perhaps we have him where the hair is long enough to get hold of. All we have to do is to tell Salter, when he comes to look at us, that Raimundo is in the hold.”

“We won’t do it; and then Raimundo won’t say we set the vessel on fire,” protested Bill.

“Wait a bit, Bill. He is a spooney, a chaplain’s lamb. He may keep still till he gets out of his own[140] scrape, whatever it may be, and then blow on us when he is safe himself.”

“I don’t know: I shall see him again after Salter has paid us another visit.”

The chief steward came into the steerage a few minutes later; and seeing both of the prisoners engaged in study, as he supposed, he probably believed the hour of reformation had come. As soon as he had gone, Bill opened the scuttle again, and went down into the hold; but he was unwilling to leave the brig for more than a few moments at a time, lest some accident should betray his absence to the chief steward. He arranged a plan by which he could talk with Raimundo without danger from above. Returning to the brig, he lay down on the floor, with a book in his hand, so that his head was close to the scuttle. Bark was seated on the floor, also with a book in his hand, in such a position as to conceal the trap-door, which was raised a few inches, from the gaze of Mr. Salter, if he should happen suddenly to enter the steerage. Raimundo was to stand on the steps of the ladder, with his head on a level with the cabin floor, where he could hear Bill, and be heard by him.

“I think we can’t afford to quarrel,” said Bill magnanimously. “We are all in the same boat now. I suppose you are wanted on shore for some dido you cut up before you left your home.”

“I did nothing wrong before I left my home,” replied Raimundo; and it galled him terribly to be obliged to make terms with the rascals in the brig. “My trouble is simply a family affair; and, if captured, I shall be subjected to no penalty whatever[141].”

“Is that all?” asked Bill, sorry it was no worse.

“That’s all; but for reasons I don’t care to explain, I do not wish to be taken back to my uncle in Barcelona. But I will give myself up before I will let you burn the Tritonia,” replied Raimundo, with no little indignation in his tones.

“Of course, as things stand now, we shall not burn the vessel,” added Bill: “we will make a fair trade with you.”

“I shall make no trades of any kind; but I leave you free to do what you think best, and I shall remain so myself,” said Raimundo, who was too high-toned to bargain with fellows wicked enough to burn the beautiful Tritonia. “It is enough that I wish to get away from this city.”

“If you clear out, you won’t blow on us,” added Bill, willing to put the best construction on the statement of the second master.

“I promise nothing; but this I say: if you burn the Tritonia, whether I am on board or a thousand miles away, I will inform the principal who set the fire.”

“Of course we should not do any thing of that sort now,” added Bark, whose head was near enough to the scuttle to enable him to hear all that was said.

“I shall be obliged to keep out of the way of all on board, for the present at least,” said Raimundo.

“We are satisfied with that,” replied Bill, who seemed to be in haste to reach some other branch of the subject.

“Very well: then there is nothing more to be said,” answered Raimundo, who was quite willing to close the interview at this point.

[142]

The conspirators were not so willing; for the chance of escape held out to them by the burning of the vessel was gone, and they were very much dissatisfied with the situation. It would be madness to repeat the attempt to destroy the vessel; and the future looked very unpromising. All hands were going off on a very desirable cruise in the steamer. Ben Pardee and Lon Gibbs had apparently deserted them when tempted by the voyage to Lisbon. They had a dismal prospect of staying in the brig, under the care of Marline and Rimmer, for the next three weeks.

The second master had plenty of time to think over his arrangements for the next week or two; and he was not much better satisfied with the immediate prospect for the future, than were the occupants of the brig. His accommodations were far less comfortable than theirs; and the experience of a single night had caused him to fear that he might take cold and be sick. Besides, he had not calculated that the Tritonia was to lie at this port for two or three weeks, thus increasing the danger and discomfort of his situation. If he had to abandon his hiding-place, he preferred to take his chances at any other port rather than Barcelona. It was more than probable that Marline and Rimmer would overhaul the hold, and re-stow the boxes and barrels while the vessel was at anchor; and possibly the principal had ordered some repairs at this favorable time.

His chance of getting on board of the Prince before she sailed was too small to afford him any hope. The change the principal had made in the programme interfered sadly with his calculations. Mr. Lowington had made this alteration in order to enable the students to[143] visit the northern and central parts of the peninsula before the weather became too cold to permit them to do so with any degree of comfort. The fugitive was willing, therefore, to change his plans if it was possible.

“Hold on a minute,” interposed Bill Stout, when Raimundo was about to descend the ladder. “What are you going to do with yourself while the vessel lies here for the next three weeks?”

“I shall have to keep out of sight in the hold,” replied the second master.

“But you can’t do that. You will starve to death.”

“I have looked out for that.”

Though Bill Stout asked some questions on this point, Raimundo declined to say in what manner he had provided for his rations.

“Do you know who are in charge on board now?” asked Bill.

“Only Mr. Salter and one of the stewards,” replied the fugitive.

“Why don’t you use your chance while Marline and Rimmer are ashore, and leave the vessel? You can get away without being seen.”

“I can’t get out of the vessel without going through the cabin where Mr. Salter is,” answered Raimundo; but the suggestion gave him a lively hope.

“Yes, you can: you can get out by the fore-scuttle, go over the bow, and roost on the bobstay till a shore boat comes along,” added Bill. “Only you musn’t let the steward see you. Salter is in the cabin, and he won’t know any thing about it.”

Raimundo was grateful for the suggestion, though he was not willing to acknowledge it, considering the[144] source from which it came. Hugo would help him, instead of being a hinderance. The steward would call a boat, and have it all ready for him when he got out of the vessel. He could even keep Mr. Salter in the cabin, while he made his escape, by engaging his attention in some matter of business.

“I will see what I can do,” said the fugitive as he left the ladder.

He went aft to the cabin ladder, and raised the scuttle an inch. Hugo was setting the table for Mr. Salter’s lunch. He saw the trap-door raised, and he immediately went below for a jar of pickles. In five minutes Raimundo had recited his plan to him. In five minutes more Hugo had a boat at the bow of the Tritonia, waiting for its passenger. At half-past twelve, Hugo called Mr. Salter to his lunch; and, when this gentleman took his seat at the table, Hugo raised the trap, and slammed it down as though it had not been in place before. Raimundo understood the signal.

The fugitive went forward, and ascended to the deck by the fore-scuttle. He was making his way over the bow when he found that he was followed by Bill Stout and Bark Lingall.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Raimundo, astonished and annoyed at the action of the incendiaries.

“We are going with you,” replied Bill Stout. “Over with you! if you say a word, we will call Salter.”

Raimundo dropped into the boat that was waiting for him, and the villains from the brig followed him.

THE ESCURIAL AND PHILIP II.

Before the train stopped, the students obtained a fair view of the Escurial, which is a vast pile of buildings, located in the most desolate place to be found even in Spain. The village is hardly less solemn and gloomy than the tremendous structure that towers above. The students breakfasted at the two fondas in the place; and then Mr. Mapps, as usual, had something to say to them:—

“The Escurial, or El Escorial as it is called in Spanish, is a monastery, palace, and church. The name is derived from scoriæ, the refuse of iron-lore after it is smelted; and there were iron-mines in this vicinity. The full name of the building is ‘El Real Sitio de San Lorenzo el Real del Escorial,’ or, literally, ‘The Royal Seat of St. Lawrence, the Royal, of the Escurial.’ It was built by Philip II. in commemoration of the battle of St. Quentin, in 1557, won by the arms of Philip, though he was not present at the battle. He had made a vow, that, if the saint gave him the victory, he would build the most magnificent monastery in the world in his honor. St. Lawrence was kind enough to[146] accommodate him with the victory; and this remarkable pile of buildings was the result. Philip redeemed his vow, and even did more than this; for, in recognition of the fact that the saint was martyred on a gridiron, he built this monastery in the form of that useful cooking implement. As you see, the structure is in the form of a square; and, within it, seventeen ranges of buildings cross each other at right angles. The towers at each corner are two hundred feet high; and the grand dome in the centre is three hundred and twenty feet high.

“The total length of the building is seven hundred and forty feet, by five hundred and eighty feet wide. It was begun in 1563, when Philip laid the corner-stone with his own hands; and was completed twenty-one years later. It cost, in money of our time, fifteen millions of dollars. It has four thousand windows; though you may see that most of them are rather small. The church, which is properly the chapel of the monastery, is three hundred and seventy-five feet long, and contains forty chapels. The high altar is ninety feet high, and fifty feet wide, and is composed of jasper. Directly under it is the royal tomb, in which are laid the remains of all the sovereigns of Spain from Charles V. to the present time. The Spaniards regard the Escurial as the eighth wonder of the world. It is grand, solemn, and gloomy, like Philip who built it. In the mountain, a mile and a half from the Escurial, is a seat built of granite, which Philip used to occupy while watching the progress of the work.”

The students separated, dividing into parties to suit[147] themselves. All the available guides were engaged for them; and in a few minutes the interior of the church presented a scene that would have astonished the gloomy Philip if he could have stepped out of his shelf below to look at it, for a hundred young Americans—from the land that Columbus gave to Castile and Leon—was an unusual sight within its cold and deserted walls.

“I suppose you have read the lives of Charles V. and Philip II.,” said Dr. Winstock, as he entered the great building with his young friends.

Both of them had read Robertson and Prescott and Irving; and it was because they were generally well read up that the doctor liked to be with them.

“It isn’t of much use for any one who has not read the life of Philip II. to come here: at least, he would be in the dark all the time,” added the doctor.

“I have seen it stated that Charles V. and his mother, Crazy Jane, both wanted a convent built which should contain a burial-place for the royal family,” said Sheridan.

“That is true. All of them were very pious, and inclined to dwell in convents. Charles V. showed his taste at his abdication by retiring to Yuste,” replied the surgeon.

“The architecture of the building is very plain.”

“Yes,—simple, massive, and grand.”

“Like Philip, as Professor Mapps said.”

“It took him two years to find a suitable spot for the building,” said the doctor.

“I don’t think he could have found a worse one,” laughed Murray.

[148]

“But he found just the one he wanted; and he did not select it to suit you and me. Look off at those mountains on the north,—the Guadarramas. They tower above Philip’s mausoleum, but they do not belittle it. The region is rough but grand: it is desolate; but that makes it more solemn and impressive. It is a monastery and a tomb that he built, not a pleasure-house.”

“But he made a royal residence of it,” suggested Murray.

“For the same reason that his father chose to end his days in a monastery. Philip would be a wild fanatic in our day; but he is to be judged by his own time. He was really a king and a monk, as much one as the other. When we go into the room where he died, and where he spent the last days of his life, and recall some of his history there, we shall understand him better. I don’t admire his character, but I am disposed to do justice to him.”

The party entered the church, called in Spanish templo: it is three hundred and twenty feet long, and it is the same to the top of the cupola.

“The interior is so well proportioned that you do not get an adequate idea of the size of it,” said the doctor. “Consider that you could put almost any church in our own country into this one, and have plenty of room for its spire under that dome. It is severely plain; but I think it is grand and impressive. The high altar, which I believe the professor did not make as large as it really is, is very rich in marbles and precious stones, and cost about two hundred thousand dollars.”

“That’s enough to build twenty comfortable country[149] churches at home,” added Murray. “And this whole building cost money enough to build fifteen thousand handsome churches in any country. Of course there are plenty of beggars in Spain.”

“That is the republican view of the matter,” replied Dr. Winstock. “But the builder of this mighty fabric believed he was serving God acceptably in rearing it; and we must judge him by his motive, and consider the age in which he lived. Observe, as Mr Ford says in his hand-book, that the pantheon, or crypt where the kings are buried, is just under the steps of the high altar: it was so planned by Philip, that the host, when it was elevated, might be above the royal dead. Now we will go into the relicario.”

“I think I have seen about relics enough to last me the rest of my lifetime,” said Sheridan.

“You need not see them if you do not wish to do so,” laughed the surgeon. “This is a tolerably free country just now, and you can do as you please.”

But the captain followed his party.

“The French carried away vast quantities of the treasures of the church when they were engaged in conquering the country. But they left the bones of the saints, which the pious regard as the real treasures. Among other things stolen was a statue presented by the people of Messina to Philip III., weighing two hundred pounds, of solid silver, and holding in its hand a gold vessel weighing twenty-six pounds; besides forty-seven of the richest vases, and a heavy crown set with rubies and other precious stones,” continued Dr. Winstock, consulting a guide-book he carried in his hand. “This book says there are 7,421 relics here now, among[150] which are ten whole bodies, 144 heads, 306 whole legs and arms; here is one of the real bars of the gridiron on which St. Lawrence was martyred, with portions of the broiled flesh upon it; and there is one of his feet, with a piece of coal sticking between the toes.”

“But where did they get that bar of the gridiron?” asked Murray earnestly. “St. Lawrence was broiled in the third century.”

“I don’t know,” replied the doctor. “You must not ask me any questions of that kind, for I cannot answer them.”

The party returned to the church again; and the surgeon called the attention of his companions to the oratorios, one on each side of the altar, which are small rooms for the use of the royal persons when they attend the mass.

“The one on the left is the one used by Philip II.,” added the doctor. “You see the latticed window through which he looked at the priest. Next to it is his cabinet, where he worked and where he died. We shall visit them from the palace.”

After looking at the choir, and examining the bishop’s throne, the party with a dozen others visited the pantheon, or royal tomb. The descent is by a flight of marble steps, and the walls are also of the same material. At the second landing are two doors, that on the left leading to the “pantheon de los infantes,” which is the tomb of those queens who were not mothers of sovereigns of Spain, and of princes who did not sit on the throne. There are sixty bodies here, including Don Carlos, the son of Philip, Don John of Austria, who asked to be buried here as the proper reward for[151] his services, and other persons whose names are known to history.

After looking at these interesting relics of mortality, the tourists descended to the pantheon, which is a heathenish name to apply to a Christian burial-place erected by one so pious as Philip II. It is octagonal in form, forty-six feet in diameter and thirty-eight feet high. It is built entirely of marble and jasper. It contains an altar of the same stone, where mass is sometimes celebrated. These mortuary chapels were not built by Philip II., who made only plain vaults; but by Philip III. and Philip IV., who did not inherit the taste for simplicity of their predecessor on the throne. Around the tomb are twenty-six niches, all of them made after the same pattern, each containing a sarcophagus, in most of which is the body of a king or queen. On the right of the altar are the kings, and on the left the queens. All of them are labelled with the name of the occupant, as “Carlos V.,” “Filipe II.,” “Fernando VII.,” &c.

“Can it be possible that we see the coffins of Charles V. and Philip II.?” said Sheridan, who was very much impressed by the sight before him.

“There is no doubt of it,” replied the doctor.

“I can hardly believe that the body of Philip II. is in that case,” added the captain. “I see no reason to doubt the fact; but it seems so very strange that I should be looking at the coffin of that cold and cruel king who lived before our country was settled, and of whom I have read so much.”

“I think before you leave Spain you will see something that will impress you even more than this[152].”

“What is it?”

“I will not mention it yet; for it is better not to anticipate these things. All the kings of Spain from Charles V. are buried here, except Philip V. and Ferdinand VI.”

“What an odd way they have here of spelling Charles and Philip!” said Murray. “These names don’t look quite natural to me.”

“Carlos Quinto is the Spanish for Charles Fifth; and Ferdinand Seventh is Fernando Septimo, as you see on the urn. But our way of writing these things is as odd to the Spaniards as theirs is to us. The late queen and her father, when they came to the Escurial, used to hear mass at midnight in this tomb.”

“That was cheerful,” added Sheridan.

“They had a fancy for that sort of thing. Maria Louisa, Philip’s wife, scratched her name on one of these marble cases with her scissors.”

The party in the pantheon returned to the church to make room for another company to visit it. Dr. Winstock and his friends ascended the grand staircase, and from the top of the building obtained a fine view of the surrounding country, which at this season was as desolate and forbidding as possible. After this they took a survey of the monastery, most of which has the aspect of a barrack. They looked with interest at some of the portraits among the pictures, especially at those of Philip and Charles V. In the library they glanced at the old manuscripts, and at the catalogue in which some of Philip’s handwriting was pointed out to them.

They next went to the palace, which is certainly a[153] mean abode for a king, though it was improved and adorned by some of the builder’s successors. Philip asked only a cell in the house he had erected and consecrated to God; and so he made the palace very simple and plain. Some of the long and narrow rooms are adorned with tapestries on the walls; but there is nothing in the palace to detain the visitor beyond a few minutes, except the apartments of Philip II. They are two small rooms, hardly more than six feet wide. One of them is Philip’s cabinet, where he worked on affairs of state; and the other is the oratory, where he knelt at the little latticed window which commanded a view of the priests at the high altar of the church. The old table at which he wrote, the chair in which he sat, and the footstool on which he placed his gouty leg, are still there. The doctor, who had been here before, pointed them out to the students.

“It almost seems as though he had just left the place,” said Sheridan. “I don’t see how a great king could be content to spend his time in such a gloomy den as this.”

“It was his own fancy, and he made his own nest to suit himself,” replied the doctor. “He was writing at that table when the loss of the invincible armada was announced to him. It is said he did not move a muscle, though he had wasted eighteen years of his life and a hundred million ducats upon the fleet and the scheme. He was kneeling at the window when Don John of Austria came in great haste to tell him of the victory of Lepanto; but he was not allowed to see the king till the latter had finished his devotions.”

“He was a cool old fellow,” added Murray.

[154]

“When he was near the end, he caused himself to be carried in a litter all over the wonderful building he had erected, that he might take a last look at the work of his hands,” continued the doctor. “He was finally brought to this place, where he received extreme unction; and, having taken leave of his family, he died, grasping the crucifix which his father had held in his last moments.”

The party passed out of the buildings, and gave some time to the gardens and grounds of the Escurial. There are some trees, a few of them the spindling and ghostly-looking Lombardy poplars; but, beyond the immediate vicinity of the “eighth wonder,” the country is desolate and wild, without a tree to vary the monotony of the scene. The doctor led the way down the hill to the Casita del Principe, which is a sort of miniature palace, built for Charles IV. when he was a boy. It is a pretty toy, containing thirty-three rooms, all of them of reduced size, and with furniture on the same scale. It contains some fine pictures and other works of art.

The tourists dined, and devoted the rest of the day to wandering about in the vicinity of the village. Some of them walked up to the Silla del Rey, or king’s chair, where Philip overlooked the work on the Escurial. At five o’clock the ship’s company took the slow train, and arrived at Madrid at half-past seven, using up two hours and a half in going thirty-two miles.

“I am sorry it is too dark for you to see the country,” said the doctor, after the train started.

“Why, sir, is it very fine?” asked Sheridan.

“On the contrary, it is, I think, the most desolate[155] region on the face of the globe; with hardly a village, not a tree, nothing but rocks to be seen. It reminds me of some parts of Maine and New Hampshire, where they have to sharpen the sheep’s noses to enable them to feed among the rocks. The people are miserable and half savage; and it is said that many of them are clothed in sheepskins, and live in burrows in the ground, for the want of houses; but I never saw any thing of this kind, though I know that some of the gypsys in the South dwell in caves in the sides of the hills. Agriculture is at the lowest ebb, though Spain produces vast quantities of the most excellent qualities of grain. Like a portion of our own country, the numerous valleys are very fertile, though in the summer the streams of this part of Spain are all dried up. The gypsys camp in the bed of the Manzanares, at Madrid. Alexandre Dumas and his son went to a bull-fight at the capital. The son was faint, as you may be, and a glass of water was brought to him. After taking a swallow, he handed the rest to the waiter, saying, ‘Portez cela au Manzanares: cela lui fera plaisir.’ (Carry that to the Manzanares: it will give it pleasure).”

“Good for Dumas, fils!” exclaimed Murray.

“There is a prejudice against trees in Spain. The peasants will not plant them, or suffer them to grow, except those that bear fruit; because they afford habitations for the birds which eat up their grain. Timber and wood for fuel are therefore very scarce and very dear in this part of the country. But this region was not always so barren and desolate as it is now. In the wars with the Moors, both armies began by cutting down the trees and burning the villages. More of[156] this desolation, however, was caused by a very remarkable privilege, called the mesta, granted to certain of the nobility. It gave them the right of pasturage over vast territories, including the Castiles, Estremadura, and La Mancha. It came to be a legal right, and permitted immense flocks of sheep to roam across the country twice a year, in the spring and autumn. In the time of Philip II., the wandering flocks of sheep were estimated at from seven to eight millions. They devoured every thing before them in the shape of grass and shrubs. This privilege was not abolished till 1825.”

“I should think Philip and the rest of the kings who lived at the Escurial would have had a nice time in going to and from the capital,” said Sheridan. “He did not have a palace-car on the railroad in those days.”

“After Philip’s day they did not live there a great deal of the time, not so much because it was inconvenient as because it was a gloomy and cheerless place. They used to make it a rule to spend six weeks of the year there; though the last of the sovereigns did not live there at all, I believe. But they had good roads and good carriages for their time. The Spaniards do not make many roads; but what they do make are first-class. I am sorry we do not go to Segovia, though there is not much there except the cathedral and the Roman aqueduct, which is a fine specimen. But you have seen plenty of these things. Six miles from Segovia is La Granja, or the Grange, which is sometimes called the palace of San Ildefonso. It is a real sitio, or royal residence, built by Philip V. It is a summer[157] retreat, in the midst of pine forests four thousand feet above the sea-level. We went through Valladolid in the night. Columbus died there, you remember; and Philip II. was born there; but there is nothing of great interest to be seen in the city.”

When the train arrived at Madrid, a lot of small omnibuses, holding about eight persons each, were waiting for the company; and they were driven to the Puerta del Sol, where the principal hotels are located. Half of the party went to the Grand Hotel de Paris, and the other half to the Hotel de los Principes. Dr. Winstock and his protégés were quartered at the former.

On shore no distinction was made between officers and seamen, and no better rooms were given to the former than to the latter. As two students occupied one wide bed, they were allowed to pair off for this purpose. It so happened that the captain and the first lieutenant had one of the worst rooms in the house. After they had gone up two pairs of stairs, a sign on the wall informed them that they had reached the first story; and four more brought them to the seven-by-nine chamber, with a brick floor, which they were to occupy. The furniture was very meagre.

In Spain hotels charge by the day, the price being regulated by the size and location of the room. Such as that we have just described was thirty-five reales. A good sized inside room, two flights nearer the earth, was fifty reales, with an increase of five reales for an outside room looking into the street. The table was the same for all the guests. The price per day varies from thirty to sixty reales in Spain, forty being the[158] most common rate at the best hotels out of Madrid. From two to four reales a day is charged for attendance, and one or two for candles. Two dollars a day is therefore about the average rate. Only two meals a day are served for this price,—a breakfast at ten or eleven, and dinner at six.

It is the fashion in Spain, for an individual or company to conduct several hotels in different cities. The Fallola brothers run the grand Hotel de Paris in Madrid, the ones with the same name in Seville and in Cadiz, and the Hotel Suiza in Cordova; and they are the highest-priced hotels on the peninsula, and doubtless the best. The company that manages the Hotel de Los Principes in Madrid also have the Rizzi in Cordova, the Londres in Seville, the Cadiz in Cadiz, and the Siete Suelos in Granada, in which the prices are more moderate. The Hotel Washington Irving at Granada, and the Alameda in Malaga, are under the same management, and charge forty-four and forty reales a day respectively, besides service and lights. Though Spain is said to be an expensive country to live in, these prices in 1870 were only about half those charged in the United States.

Railroad fares are about two cents and a half a mile, second class; and about a third higher, first class. A one-horse carriage for two costs forty cents an hour in Madrid; and for four persons, two horses, fifty cents. A very handsome carriage, with driver and footman in livery, may be had for five dollars a day.

After supper the students walked about the Puerta del Sol, and took their first view of the capital of Spain.

THE CRUISE IN THE FELUCCA.

Raimundo was very much disgusted when he found that Bill Stout and Bark Lingall were to be the companions of his flight. Thus far he had felt that his conduct was justifiable. His uncle Manuel had taught him to believe that his guardian intended to “put him out of the way.” Don Alejandro had not actually attempted to do any thing of this kind, so far as was known; and no case could be made out against him. Don Manuel did not mean that he should have an opportunity to attempt any thing of the kind. Certainly it was safer to keep out of his way, than to tempt him to do a deed which his own brother believed he was capable of doing. Raimundo thought Don Manuel was right: indeed, he could remember enough of Don Alejandro’s treatment of him before he left Barcelona, to convince him of his guardian’s intentions.

But when he found himself in the boat, escaping from the Tritonia with two of the worst “scalliwags” of the crew, the case seemed to present a different aspect to him. He realized that he was in bad company; and he felt contaminated by their presence, Yet he did not see how he could help himself. The only[160] way he could get out of the scrape was to surrender to the chief steward, and in due time be handed over to the agent of his guardian. Whether he was correct or not in his estimate of his uncle’s character, he was sincere in his belief that Don Alejandro intended to do him harm, even to the sacrificing of his life. Independently of his personal fears, he did not think it would be right to give himself up to one who might be tempted to do an evil deed. He concluded to make the best of the situation, and as soon as possible to get rid of his disagreeable companions.

“Where shall we go, Raimundo?” asked Bill Stout, as confidentially as though he had been a part of the enterprise from the beginning.

“We must go on shore, of course,” replied the young Spaniard, who was not yet sufficiently reconciled to the situation to be very cordial.

More than this, he had not yet considered what his course should be when he had left the vessel; but it occurred to him, as Bill asked the question, that the alguacil, whose action had been fully reported to him by Hugo, might be watching the vessel from the shore. Raimundo looked about him to get a better idea of the situation. The wind was from the north-west, which swung the Prince so that she lay between the Tritonia and the landing-place, and hid her hull from the view of any one on the city side.

“I think we had better not land at any of the usual places,” suggested Bark. “Marline, Rimmer, and all the rest of the forward officers, are in charge of the boats at the principal landing.”

“I had no idea of going to the city. It would not[161] be safe for me to show my face there,” answered Raimundo; and he directed the boatman to pull to the Barceloneta side of the port, and in such a direction as to keep in the shadow of the vessels of the fleet.

The man offered to land them at a more convenient place; but Raimundo insisted upon going to the point indicated. Very likely the boatman suspected that his passengers were not leaving the vessel to which they belonged in a perfectly regular manner; but probably this would not make any difference to him, as long as he was well paid for his services. Presently the boat grounded on some rocks at the foot of the sea-wall, which rose high above them. As usual the boatman was anxious to obtain another job; and he offered to take them to any point they wished to go to.

“I will take you back to your ship when you are ready to go,” continued the man with a smile, and a twinkle of the eye, which was enough to show that he did not believe they intended to return.

Raimundo replied that they had no further use for the boat that day.

“I have a big boat like that,” persisted the man, pointing to a felucca which was sailing down the bay.

The craft indicated was about thirty feet long, and carried a large lateen sail.

“Where is she?” asked Raimundo, with interest.

The man pointed up the harbor, and said he could have her ready in a few minutes.

“Do you go out to sea in her?”

“Oh, yes! go to Majorca in her,” replied the boatman, quite excited at the prospect of a large job.

“Can you take us to Tarragona in her?” continued[162] the young Spaniard, to whom the felucca suggested the best means of getting away from Barcelona.

“Certainly I can: there is no trouble about it.”

“How much shall you charge to take us there?”

“It is fifteen leagues to Tarragona,” replied the boatman, who proceeded to magnify the difficulties of the enterprise as soon as the price was demanded.

“Very well: we can go by the railroad,” added Raimundo, who fully comprehended the object of the man.

“Your officers will see you if you go into the city,” said the boatman, with a cunning smile.

There was no longer any doubt that the fellow fully comprehended the situation, but the fugitive saw that he would not betray them; for, if he did, he would lose the job, which he evidently intended should be a profitable one.

“Name your price,” he added; and he was willing to pay liberally for the service he desired.

“Five hundred reales,” answered the man.

“Do you think we have so much money?” laughed the fugitive. “We can’t make a bargain with you.”

“What will you give?” asked the boatman.

“Two hundred reales.”

After considerable haggling, the bargain was struck at three hundred reales, or fifteen dollars; and this was less than the fugitive had expected to pay. The rest of the arrangements were readily made. Filipe, for this was the name he gave, was afraid his passengers would be captured while he went for his felucca; and, keeping in the shadow of the sea-wall, he pulled them around the point on which the old light-house stands, and landed them on some rocks under the wall.[163] In this position they could not be seen from the vessels of the fleet, or from the landing-place on the other side, while the high wall concealed them from any person on the shore who did not take the trouble to look over at them.

“We shall want something to eat,” said Raimundo, as the boatman was about to leave them. “Take this, and buy as much bread and cold meat as you can with it.”

Raimundo handed him three dollars in Spanish silver, which Hugo had obtained for him. The large sum of money he had was in Spanish gold, obtained in Genoa. He had a few dollars in silver left for small expenses.

“What are we here for?” asked Bill Stout, who, of course, had not understood a word of the conversation of his companion and the boatman.

Both he and Bark had asked half a dozen times what they were talking about; but Raimundo had not answered them.

“What has been going on between you and that fellow all this time?” asked Bill, in a tone so imperative that the young officer did not like it at all.

“I have made a bargain with him to take us to Tarragona,” replied Raimundo coldly.

“And did not say a word to Bark and me about it!” exclaimed Bill.

“If you don’t like it you need not go. I did not invite you to come with me.”

“Did not invite me!” sneered Bill. “I know you didn’t; but we are in the party, and want you to understand that we are no longer under your orders. You needn’t take it upon yourself to make arrangements for me[164].”

“I made the arrangement for myself, and I don’t ask you to go with me,” answered Raimundo with dignity.

“Come, come! Bill, dry up!” interposed Bark. “Do you want to make a row now before we are fairly out of the vessel?”

“I got out of the vessel to get clear of those snobs of officers, and I am not going to have one of them lording it over me here.”

“Nonsense! He hasn’t done any thing that you can find fault with,” added Bark.

“He has made a trade with that boatman to take us somewhere without saying a word to us about it,” blustered Bill. “I want to put a check on that sort of thing in the beginning.”

“He has done just the right thing. If we had been alone we could not have managed the matter at all.”

“I could have managed it well enough myself.”

“You can’t speak a word of Spanish, nor I either.”

“I don’t even know where that place is—Dragona—or whatever it is,” growled Bill.

“I am not to blame for your ignorance,” said Raimundo. “You heard every thing that was said; and, if you don’t like it, I am willing to get along without you.”

“Come, Bill; we must not get up a row. Raimundo has done the right thing, and for one I am very much obliged to him,” continued Bark.

“He might have told us what he was about,” added Bill, somewhat appeased by the words of his fellow-conspirator.

“We had no time to spare; and he could not stop to tell the whole story twice over[165].”

“Where is the place we are going to?” demanded Bill in the same sulky tone.

“Tarragona, a seaport town, south of here. How far is it, Mr. Raimundo?”

“About fifty miles.”

“Will you tell us now, if you please, what arrangements you made with the boatman?” continued Bark, doing his best to smooth the ruffled feelings of the young Spaniard.

“Certainly I will; but I want to say in the first place that I had rather return to the Tritonia at once than be bullied by Stout or by anybody else. I don’t put on any airs, and I mean to treat everybody like a gentleman. I am a Spaniard, and I will not be insulted by any one,” said Raimundo, with as much dignity as an hidalgo in Castile.

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” said Bill mildly.

“Let it pass; but, if it is repeated, we part company at once, whatever the consequences,” added Raimundo, who then proceeded to explain what had passed between Filipe and himself.

The plan was entirely satisfactory to Bark; and so it was to Bill, though he had not the grace to say so. The villain had an itching to be the leader of whatever was going on himself; and he was very much afraid that the late second master of the Tritonia would usurp this office if he did not make himself felt in the beginning. He was rather cowed by the lofty stand Raimundo had taken; and he had come to the conclusion that he had better wait till the expedition was a little farther along before he attempted to assert himself again.

[166]

“Have you any money?” asked Raimundo, when he had finished his explanation.

“Yes. Both of us have money; and we will pay our share of the cost of the boat,” replied Bark, who was ten times more of a man than his companion in mischief.

“Is it Spanish money?”

“No, not any of it. I have seven English sovereigns in gold, and some silver. Bill has twelve sovereigns. I can draw over eighty pounds on my letter of credit; and Bill can get fifty on his.”

“I only wanted to know what ready money you had,” added Raimundo. “You must not say a word about money when we get into the felucca.”

“Why not?” asked Bill, in his surly way, as though he was disposed to make another issue on this point.

“I don’t know the boatman; and it is very likely he may have another man with him. There he comes, and there is another man with him,” replied Raimundo, as the felucca appeared off the light-house. “If you should show them any large sum of money, or let them know you had it, they might be tempted to throw us overboard for the sake of getting it. Of course, I don’t know that they would do any thing of the kind; but it is best to be on the safe side.”

“Some of these Spaniards would cut a man’s throat for half a dollar,” added Bill.

“So would some Americans; and they do it in New York sometimes,” replied Raimundo warmly. “I repeat it: don’t say a word about money.”

“The men in the boat cannot understand us if we do,” suggested Bark.

[167]

“They may speak English, for aught I know.”

“The one you talked with could not.”

“I don’t know about that. I did not try him in English. We must all pretend that we have very little money, whether we do it in English or in Spanish. When Filipe—that’s his name—asked me five hundred reales for taking us to Tarragona, I said that I had not so much money.”

“And that was a lie; wasn’t it?” sneered Bill.

“If it was, it is on my conscience, and not yours; and it may be a lie that will save your life and mine,” answered Raimundo sharply.

“I don’t object to the lie; but I thought you, one of the parson’s lambs, did object to such things,” chuckled Bill.

“I hate a lie: I think falsehood is mean and ungentlemanly; but I believe there is a wide difference between a lie told to a sick man, or to prevent a boatman from being tempted to cut your throat, and a lie told to save you from the consequences of your own misconduct.”

“Well, you needn’t preach: we are not chaplain’s lambs,” growled Bill.

“Neither am I,” added Raimundo. “I am what they call a Christian in Spain, and that is a Roman Catholic. But here is the felucca. Now mind what I have said, for your own safety.”

Filipe ran the bow of his craft up to the rocks on which the fugitives were standing, and they leaped on board of her. The boatman’s assistant shoved her off, and in a moment more she was driving down the harbor before the fresh breeze. The second man in the boat[168] was not more than twenty years old, while Filipe was apparently about forty-five. He introduced his companion as his son, and said his name was John (Juan).

At the suggestion of Raimundo, the fugitives coiled themselves away in the bottom of the felucca, so that no inquisitive glass on board of the vessels or on the shore should reveal their presence to any one that wanted them. In this position they had an opportunity to examine the craft that was to convey them out of the reach of danger, as they hoped and believed. She was not so large as the craft that Filipe had pointed out as the model of his own; but she carried two sails, and was decked over forward so as to form quite a roomy cuddy. She was pointed at both ends, and sailed like a yacht. It was about one o’clock when the party went on board of her, and at her present rate of speed she would reach her destination in six or seven hours. She had the wind on her beam, and the indications were that she would have it fair all the way. There was not a cloud in the sky, and there was every promise of fair weather for the rest of the day. When the felucca had passed Monjuich, the party ventured to move about the craft, as they were no longer in danger of being seen from the city or the fleet; but they took the precaution to keep out of sight when they passed any other craft which might report them to their anxious friends in Barcelona.

“What have you got to eat, Filipe?” asked Raimundo, when the felucca was clear of the city.

“Plenty to eat and drink,” replied the skipper.

“Let me see what you have, for I am beginning to have an appetite.”

[169]

Juan was directed to bring out the hamper of provisions his father had purchased. Certainly there were enough of them; but the quality was any thing but satisfactory. Coarse black bread, sausages that looked like Bolognas, and half a dozen bottles of cheap wine, were the principal articles in the hamper. The whole could not have cost half the money given to the boatman. But Filipe insisted that he had paid a peseta more than the sum handed him.

Raimundo inquired into this matter more because he was anxious to know about the character of the man than because he cared for the sum expended. He felt that he was, in a measure, in this man’s power; and he desired to ascertain what sort of a person he had to deal with. If he was not wicked enough to cut the throats of his passengers, or to throw them overboard for their money, he might betray them when there was no more money to be made out of them. The inquiry was not at all satisfactory in its results. Filipe had cheated him on the provisions; and Raimundo was confident that he would do so in other matters to the extent of his opportunities.

The food tasted better than it looked; and Raimundo made a hearty meal, as did all the others on board, including the boatmen. Raimundo would not drink any of the wine; but his companions did so quite freely, in spite of his caution. He noticed that Filipe urged them to drink, and seemed to be vexed when he could not induce him to taste the wine.

“Where are you going when you get to Tarragona?” asked the boatman, when the collation was disposed of.

“I think I shall go to Cadiz, and join my ship when she arrives there,” replied Raimundo.

[170]

“To Cadiz!” exclaimed Filipe. “How can you go to Cadiz when you have no money?”

Raimundo saw that he had said too much, and that the skipper wished to inquire into his finances.

“I shall get some money in Tarragona,” he replied; but he did not deem it prudent to mention his letter of credit.

Filipe continued to ply him with questions, which he evaded answering as well as he could. He did his best to produce the impression on his mind that he had no money. The boatman asked him about his companions, whether they could not let him have all the money he wanted to enable him to reach Cadiz. Why did they leave their ship if they had no money? How did he expect to get money in Tarragona?

“How do I know that you will pay me if you are so poor?” demanded Filipe, evidently much vexed at the result of his inquiry.

“I have money enough to pay you, and a few dollars more,” replied Raimundo.

“I don’t know: I think you had better pay me now, before I go any farther.”

“No, I will not pay you till we get to Tarragona,” replied the young Spaniard.

“I don’t know that you have money enough to pay me,” persisted the boatman.

Raimundo took from his pocket the three isabelinos he had reserved for the purpose of paying for the boat, with the silver he had left, and showed them to the rapacious skipper.

“That will convince you that I have the money,” said he, as he returned the gold and silver to his pocket.

[171]

He resolutely refused to pay for the boat till her work was done. By this time Bill and Bark, overcome by the wine they had drunk, were fast asleep in the cuddy where they had gone at the invitation of the boatman. Raimundo was inclined to join them; but the skipper was a treacherous fellow, and it was not prudent to do so. After all the man’s efforts to ascertain what money he had, he was actually afraid the fellow would attack him, and attempt to search his pockets. There were brigands in Spain,—at least, a party had been recently robbed by some in the south; and there might be pirates as well. So confident was the passenger of the evil intentions of Filipe, that he believed, if he was not robbed, it would be because the man supposed he had no more money than he had shown him. He kept his eye on a spare tiller in the boat, which he meant to use in self-defence if the occasion should require.

Just before dark Bill and Bark, having slept off the effect of the wine, awoke, and came out of the cuddy. Filipe proposed that they should have supper before dark, and ordered Juan to bring out the hamper. Raimundo did not want any supper, and refused to eat or drink. Bark and Bill were not hungry, and also declined. Then the skipper urged them to drink.

“Don’t taste another drop,” said Raimundo earnestly. “That man means mischief.”

“Do you mean to insult me?” demanded Filipe, fixing a savage scowl upon Raimundo.

It was plain enough now that the man understood English, though he had not yet spoken a word of it, and had refused to answer when spoken to in that language.[172] At the same time he left the helm, which Juan took as though he was beside his father for that purpose. Raimundo leaped from his seat, with the tiller in his hand; for he had kept his place where he could lay his hand upon it.

“Stand by me!” shouted he to his companions.

Filipe rushed upon Raimundo, and attempted to seize him by the throat. The young officer struck at him with the tiller, but did not hit him. He dodged the blow; but it fanned his wrath to the highest pitch. Raimundo saw him thrust his hand into his breast-pocket; and he was sure there was a knife there. He raised his club again; but at this instant Bark Lingall threw his arms around the boatman’s throat, and, jamming his knees into his back, brought him down on his face in the bottom of the boat.

“Hold him down! don’t let him up!” cried Raimundo.

Bark was a stout fellow; and he held on, in spite of the struggles of the Spaniard. At this moment Juan left the tiller, and rushed forward to take a hand in the conflict, now that his father had got the worst of it. He had a knife in his hand, and Raimundo did not hesitate to strike him down with the heavy tiller; and he lay senseless in the bottom of the felucca. The young officer then went to the assistance of Bark Lingall; and, in a few minutes more, they had bound the skipper hand and foot, and lashed him down to the floor.

SIGHTS IN MADRID.

After an early breakfast—early for Spain—the students were assembled in a large hall provided by the landlord; and Professor Mapps gave the usual lesson relating to the city they were visiting:—

“The population of Madrid has fallen off from about four hundred thousand to the neighborhood of three hundred thousand. The city was in existence in the tenth century, but was not of much account till the sixteenth, when Charles V. took up his residence here. Toledo was at that time the capital, as about every prominent city of Spain had been before. In 1560 Philip III. made Madrid the sole capital of the country; and it has held this distinction down to this day, though Philip II. tried to move it to Valladolid. It is twenty-two hundred feet above the level of the sea; and the cutting off of all the trees in the vicinity—and I may add in all Spain—has injuriously affected the climate. This region has been said to have but two seasons,—‘nine months of winter, and three months of hell.’ If it is very cold in winter, it is probably by comparison with the southern part of the peninsula. Like many other cities of Spain, Madrid has been captured by the English and the French[174].”

Though the professor had much more to say, we shall report only these few sentences. The students hastened out to see the city; and the surgeon took the captain and the first lieutenant under his wing, as usual. They went into the Puerta del Sol,—the Gate of the Sun. Most of the city in early days lay west of this point, so that its eastern gate was where the centre now is. As the sun first shone on this gate, it was called the gate of the sun. Though the gate is gone, the place where it was located still retains the name. It is nearly in the shape of an ellipse; and most of the principal streets radiate from it. It usually presents a very lively scene, by day or by night. It is always full of peddlers of matches, newspapers, lottery-tickets, and other merchandise.

“Where shall we go?” said the doctor.

“We will leave that to you,” replied Sheridan. “You know the ropes in this ship, and we don’t.”

“I think we will go first to the royal palace; and we had better take a berlina, as they call it here.”

“A berlina? Is it a pill?” asked Murray.

“No; it is a carriage,” laughed the doctor. “Do you see that one with a tin sign on the corner, with ‘se alquila’ painted on it? That means that the vehicle is not engaged.”

The berlina was called, and the party were driven down the Calla del Arenal to the palace. It is a magnificent building, one of the finest in Europe, towering far above every thing else in the city. It is the most sightly structure in Madrid. In front of it is the Plaza del Oriente, and in the rear are extensive gardens, reaching down to the Manzanares. On the right of it are[175] the royal stables, and on the left is the royal armory.

“When I was in Madrid, in the time of the late queen, no one was admitted to the palace because some vandal tourists had damaged the frescos and marbles,” said Dr. Winstock. “But for the last year it has been opened. Your uniform and my passport will open the doors to us.”

“What has the uniform to do with it?” asked Murray.

“A uniform is generally respected in Europe; for it indicates that those who wear it hold some naval or military office.”

“We don’t hold any such office,” added Sheridan.

“But you are officers of a very respectable institution.”

As the doctor anticipated, admission was readily obtained; and the trio were conducted all over the palace, not excepting the apartments of the late queen. There is nothing especially noteworthy about it, for it was not unlike a score of other palaces the party had visited.

In the stables, the party saw the state coaches; but, as they had seen so many royal carriages, they were more interested in an American buggy because it looked like home. The doctor pointed out the old coach in which Crazy Jane carried about with her the body of her dead husband. The provisional government had sold off most of the horses and mules. In the yard is a bath for horses.

From the stables the trio went to the armory, which contains many objects of interest. The suits of armor[176] are kept as clean and nice as they were when in use. Those worn by Charles V. and Philip II. were examined with much care; but there seemed to be no marks of any hard knocks on them. At the head of the room stands a figure of St. Ferdinand, dressed in regal robes, with a golden crown on the head and a sword in the hand, which is borne in solemn procession to the royal chapel by priests, on the 29th of May, and is kept there two weeks to receive the homage of the people.

In another room is a great variety of articles of historic interest, among which may be mentioned the steel writing-desk of Charles V., the armor he wore when he entered Tunis, his camp-stool and bed, and, above all, the steel armor, ornamented with gold, that was worn by Columbus. In the collection of swords were those of the principal kings, the great captain, and other heroes.

“There is the armor of Isabella, which she wore at the siege of Granada,” said the doctor.

“Did she fight?” asked Murray.

“No more than her husband. Both were sovereigns in their own right; and it was the fashion to wear these things.”

“Very likely she had this on when Columbus called to see her at Granada,” suggested Sheridan.

“I don’t know about that. I fancy she did not wear it in the house, but only when she presented herself before the army,” replied the doctor.

The party spent a long time in this building, so interested were the young men in viewing these memorials of the past grandeur of Spain. After dinner they went to the naval museum, which is near the armory.[177] It contains a great number of naval relics, models of historic vessels, captured flags, and similar mementos of the past. The chart of Columbus was particularly interesting to the students from the New World. There are several historical paintings, representing scenes in the lives of Cortes, Pizarro, and De Soto. A portrait of Columbus is flanked on each side by those of the sovereigns who patronized him.

“This is a beautiful day,” said Dr. Winstock, as they left the museum. “They call it very cold here, when the mercury falls below the freezing point. It does not often get below twenty-four, and seldom so low as that. I think the glass to-day is as high as fifty-five.”

“I call it a warm day for winter,” added Sheridan.

“But the air of this city is very subtle. It will kill a man, the Spaniards say, when it will not blow out a candle. I think we had better take a berlina, and ride over to the Prado. The day is so fine that we may possibly see some of the summer glories of the place.”

“What are they?” asked Murray.

“To me they are the people who walk there; but of course the place is the pleasantest when the trees and shrubs are in foliage.”

A berlina was called, and the party drove through the Calle Mayor, the Puerta del Sol, and the Calle de Alcala, which form a continuous street, the broadest and finest in Madrid, from the palace to the Prado, which are on opposite sides of the city. A continuation of this street forms one end of the Prado; and another of the Calle de Atocha, a broad avenue reaching from the Plaza Mayor, near the palace, forms the other end.[178] These are the two widest streets of Madrid. The Calle de Alcala is wide enough to be called a boulevard, and contains some of the finest buildings in the city.

“That must be the bull-ring,” said Sheridan, as the party came in sight of an immense circular building. “I have read that it will hold twelve thousand people.”

“Some say sixteen thousand; but I think it would not take long to count all it would hold above ten thousand. Philip V. did not like bull-fights, and he tried to do away with them; but the spectacle is the national sport, and the king made himself very unpopular by attempting to abolish it. As a stroke of policy, to regain his popularity, he built this Plaza de Toros. It is what you see; but it is open to the weather in the middle; and all bull-fights are held, ‘Si el tiempo no lo impide’ (if the weather does not prevent it). This is the Puerta de Alcala,” continued the doctor, pointing to a triumphal arch about seventy feet high, built by Charles III. “The gardens on the right are the ‘Buen Retiro,’ pleasant retreat. Now we will turn, and go through the Prado, though all this open space is often called by this name.”

“But what is the ‘pleasant retreat’?”

“It is a sort of park and garden, not very attractive at that, with a pond, a menagerie, and an observatory. It is not worth the trouble of a visit,” added the doctor, as he directed the driver to turn the berlina.

“I have often seen a picture of that statue,” said Sheridan, as they passed a piece of sculpture representing a female seated on a chariot drawn by lions.

“That is the Cybele.”

“Who is she[179]?”

“Wife of Saturn, and mother of the gods,” replied Sheridan.

“This is the Salon del Prado” continued the doctor, as the carriage turned to the left into an avenue two hundred feet wide. “There are plenty of people here, and I think we had better get out and walk, if you are not too tired; for you want to see the people.”

The berlina was dismissed, and the party joined the throng of Madrileños. Dr. Winstock called the attention of his young friends to three ladies who were approaching them. They wore the mantilla, which is a long black lace veil, worn as a head-dress, but falling in graceful folds below the hips. The ladies—except the high class, fashionable people—wear no bonnets. The mantilla is a national costume, and the fan is a national institution among them. They manage the latter, as well as the former, with peculiar grace; and it has even been said that they flirt with it, being able to express their sentiments by its aid.

“But these ladies are not half so pretty as I supposed the Spanish women were,” said Murray.

“That only proves that you supposed they were handsomer than they are,” laughed Sheridan.

“They are not so handsome here as in Cadiz and Seville, I grant,” added the doctor; “but still I think they are not bad looking.”

“I will agree to that,” replied Murray. “They are good-looking women, and that’s all you can say of them.”

“Probably you have got some extravagant ideas about Spanish girls from the novels you have read,” laughed the doctor; “and it is not likely that your[180] ideal beauty will be realized, even in Cadiz and Seville. Here is the Dos de Mayo.”

“Who’s she?” asked Murray, looking rather vacantly at a granite obelisk in the middle of an enclosed garden.

“It is not a woman,” replied the doctor.

“Excuse me; I think you said a dose of something,” added Murray.

“That monument has the name of ‘El Dos de Mayo,’ which means ‘the second of May.’ It commemorates a battle fought on this spot in 1808 by the peasants, headed by three artillerymen, and the French. The ground enclosed is called ‘The Field of Loyalty.’”

“What is this long building ahead?” inquired Sheridan.

“That’s the Royal Museum, which contains the richest collection of paintings in Europe.”

“Isn’t that putting it pretty strong, after what we have seen in Italy and Germany?” asked Sheridan.

“I don’t say the largest or the best-arranged collection in Europe, but the richest. It has more of the old masters, of the best and most valuable pictures in the world, than any other museum. We will go there to-morrow, and you can judge for yourselves.”

“Of course we are competent to do that,” added Murray with a laugh.

“We haven’t been to any churches yet, doctor,” said Sheridan.

“There are many churches in Madrid, but none of any great interest. The city has no cathedral.”

“I am thankful for that!” exclaimed Murray. “I have seen churches enough, though of course I shall go to the great cathedrals when we come to them[181].”

“You will be spared in Madrid. Philip II. was asked to erect one; but he would appropriate only a small sum for the purpose, because he did not wish any church to rival that of the Escurial.”

“I am grateful to him,” added Murray.

“The Atocha church contains an image which is among the most venerated in Spain. It works miracles, and was carved by St. Luke.”

“Another job by St. Luke!” exclaimed Murray.

“That is hardly respectful to an image whose magnificent dress and rich jewels would build half a score of cheap churches.”

“Are there any theatres in Madrid, doctor?” asked Murray.

“Of course there are; half a dozen of them. The principal is the Royal Theatre, near the palace, where the performance is Italian opera. It is large enough to hold two thousand; but there is nothing Spanish about it. If you want to see the Spanish theatre you must go to some of the smaller ones. As you don’t understand Spanish, I think you will not enjoy it.”

“I want to see the customs of the country.”

“The only custom you will see will be smoking; and you can see that anywhere, except in the churches, where alone, I believe, it is not permitted. Everybody smokes, even the women and children. I have seen a youngster not more than five years old struggling with a cigarillo; and I suppose it made him sick before he got through with it; at least, I hope it did, for the nausea is nature’s protest against the practice.”

“But do the ladies smoke?”

“Not in public; but in private many of them do. I have seen some very pretty girls smoking in Spain[182].”

“I don’t remember that I have seen a man drunk in Spain,” said Sheridan.

“Probably you have not; I never did. The Spaniards are very temperate.”

This long talk brought the party back to the hotel just at dark. The next day was Sunday; but many of the students visited the churches, though most of them were willing to make it a day of rest, in the strictest sense of the word. On Monday morning, as the museum did not open till one o’clock, the doctor and his protégés took a berlina, and rode out to the palace of the Marquis of Salamanca, where they were permitted to explore this elegant residence without restraint. In one of the apartments they saw a large picture of the Landing of the Pilgrims, by a Spanish artist; and it was certainly a strange subject. Connected with the palace is a museum of antiquities quite extensive for a private individual to own. The Pompeian rooms contain a vast quantity of articles from the buried city.

“Who is this Marquis of Salamanca?” asked Sheridan, as they started on their return.

“He is a Spanish nobleman, a grandee of Spain I suppose, who is somewhat noted as a financier. He has invested some money in railroads in the United States. The town of Salamanca, at the junction of the Erie and Great Western, in Western New York, was named after him,” replied Dr. Winstock.

“I have been through the place,” added Sheridan.

“This is not a very luxurious neighborhood,” said Murray, when they came to one of those villages of poor people, of which there were several just outside of the city.

[183]

“Generally in Europe the rich are very rich, and the poor are very poor. Though the rich are not as rich in Spain as in some other countries, there is no exception to the rule in its application to the poor. These hovels are even worse than the homes of the poor in Russia. Wouldn’t you like to look into one of them?”

“Would it be considered rude for us to do so?” asked Sheridan.

“Not at all. These people are not so sensitive as poor folks in America; but, if they are hurt by our curiosity, a couple of reales will repair all the damages.”

“Is this a château en Espagne?” said Murray. “I have read about such things, but I never saw one before.”

“Châteaux en Espagne are castles in the air,—things unreal and unsubstantial; and, so far as the idea of comfort is concerned, this is a château en Espagne. When we were in Ireland, an old woman ran out of a far worse shanty than this, and, calling it an Irish castle, begged for money. In the same sense we may call this a Spanish castle.”

The carriage was stopped, and the party alighted.

“You see, the people live out-doors, even in the winter,” said the doctor. “The door of this house is wide open, and you can look in.”

The proprietor of the establishment stood near the door. He wore his cloak with as much style as though he had been an hidalgo. Under this garment his clothes were ragged and dirty; and he wore a pair of spatterdashes, most of the buttons of which were wanting, and it was only at a pinch that they staid on his ankles. His wife and four children stopped their work, or their[184] play, as the case was, and gazed at the unwonted visitors.

“Buenos dias, caballero,” said the doctor, as politely as though he had been saluting a grandee.

The man replied no less politely.

“May we look into your house?” asked the doctor.

“Esta muy a la disposicion de usted,” replied the caballero (it is entirely at your disposal).

This is a cosa de España. If you speak of any thing a Spaniard has, he makes you a present of it, be it his house or his horse, or any thing else; but you are not expected to avail yourself of his generosity. It would be as impolite to take him at his word as it would be for him not to place it “at your disposal.”

The house was of one story, and had but one door and one window, the latter very small indeed. The floor was of cobble-stones bedded in the mud. The little window was nothing but a hole; there was no glass in it; and the doctor said, that, when the weather was bad, the occupants had to close the door, and put a shutter over the window, so that they had no light. The interior was divided into two rooms, one containing a bed. Every thing was as simple as possible. The roof of the shanty was covered with tile which looked like broken flower-pots. In front, for use in the summer, was an attempt at a veranda, with vines running up the posts.

The doctor gave the smallest of the children a peseta, and bade the man a stately adieu, which was answered with dignity enough for an ambassador. The party drove off, glad to have seen the interior of a Spanish house.

[185]

“Why did you give the money to the child instead of the father?” asked Sheridan.

“I suppose your experience in other parts of Europe would not help you to believe it, but the average Spaniard who is not a professional beggar is too proud to receive money for any small favor,” replied the doctor. “I have had a peseta indignantly refused by a man who had rendered me a small service. This is as strange as it is true, though, when you come to ride on a diligencia, you will find that driver, postilion, and zagal will do their best to get a gratuity out of you. I speak only of the Spaniard who does you a favor, and not those with whom you deal; but, as a general rule, the people are too proud to cheat you.”

“They are very odd sort of people,” added Murray. “There is one shovelling with his cloak on.”

“Not an unusual sight. I have seen a man ploughing in the field with his cloak on, and that on a rather warm day. You notice here that the houses are not scattered as they are with us; but even these shanties are built in villages,” continued the doctor.

“I noticed that the houses were all in villages in all the country we have come through since we left Barcelona,” said Murray.

“Can you explain the reason?”

“I do not see any reason except that is the fashion of the country.”

“There is a better reason than that. In early days the people had to live in villages in order to be able to defend themselves from enemies. In Spain the custom never changes, if isolated houses are even safe at the present time[186].”

“What is that sheet of paper hanging on the balcony for?” asked Murray. “There is another; and now I can see half a dozen of them.” The berlina was within a short distance of the Puerta del Sol.

“A sheet of white paper in the middle of the balcony signifies that the people have rooms to let; if at the corner, they take boarders.”

The party arrived at the hotel in season for dinner; and, when it was over, they hastened to the Museo, or picture-gallery. The building is very long, and of no particular architectural effect. It has ten apartments on the principal floor, in which are placed the gems of the collection. In the centre of the edifice is a very long room which contains the burden of the paintings. There are over two thousand of them, and they are the property of the Crown. Among them are sixty-two by Rubens, fifty-three by Teniers, ten by Raphael, forty-six by Murillo, sixty-four by Velasquez, twenty-two by Van Dyck, forty-three by Titian, thirty-four by Tintoretto, twenty-five by Paul Veronese, and hundreds by other masters hardly less celebrated.

The doctor’s party spent three hours among these pictures, and they went to the museum for the same time the next day; for they could better appreciate these gems than most of the students, many of whom were not willing to use a single hour in looking at them. Our party visited the public buildings, and took many rides and walks in the city and its vicinity, which we have not the space to report. On Wednesday morning the ship’s company started for Toledo.

AFTER THE BATTLE IN THE FELUCCA.

We left the second master of the Tritonia and the two runaway seamen in a rather critical situation on board of the felucca. We regret the necessity of jumping about all over Spain to keep the run of our characters; but we are obliged to conform to the arrangement of the principal,—who was absolute in his sway,—and follow the young gentlemen wherever he sends them. Though Mr. Lowington was informed, before his departure with the ship’s company of the Prince, of the escape of Raimundo and the two “marines,” he was content to leave the steps for the recovery of the runaways to the good judgment of the vice-principal in charge of the Tritonia.

Raimundo had managed his case so well that the departure of the three students from the vessel was not discovered by any one on board or on shore. If the alguacil was on the lookout for his prisoner, he had failed to find him, or to obtain any information in regard to him. The circumstances had certainly favored the escape in the highest degree. The distance across the harbor, the concealment afforded by the hulls of the vessels of the fleet, and the shadow of the sea-wall[188] under which the fugitives had placed themselves, had prevented them from being seen. Indeed, no one could have seen them, except from the deck of the Tritonia or the Josephine; and probably those on board of the latter were below, as they were on the former.

Of course Mr. Salter, the chief steward of the Tritonia, was very much astonished when he found that the prisoners had escaped from the brig. Doubtless he made as much of an excitement as was possible with only one of his assistants to help him. He had no boat; and he was unable to find one from the shore till the felucca was well out of the harbor. Probably Hugo was as zealous as the occasion required in the investigation of the means by which the fugitives had escaped; but he was as much astonished as his chief when told that Bill Stout and Bark Lingall were gone. The brig was in its usual condition, with the door locked; but the unfastened scuttle soon disclosed the mode of egress selected by the rogues. Mr. Pelham, assisted by Mr. Fluxion, vice-principal of the Josephine, did all they could to find the two “marines,” without any success whatever; but they had no suspicion that the second master, who had disappeared the night before, was one of the party.

The next morning all hands from the two consorts were sent on board of the American Prince. Mr. Fluxion was the senior vice-principal, and had the command of the vessel. The ship’s company of the Josephine formed the starboard, and that of the Tritonia the port watch. The officers took rank in each grade according to seniority. Mr. Fluxion was unwilling to[189] sail until he had drilled this miscellaneous ship’s company in their new duties. He had a superabundance of officers, and it was necessary for them to know their places. In the morning he had telegraphed to the principal at Saragossa, in regard to the fugitives; and the order came back for him to sail without them. Mr. Lowington was not disposed to waste much of his time in looking for runaways: they were pretty sure to come back without much assistance. At noon the Prince sailed for Lisbon; and all on board of her were delighted with the novelty of the new situation. As it is not necessary to follow the steamer, which safely arrived at Lisbon on the following Sunday morning, we will return to Raimundo and his companions.

Filipe, struggling, and swearing the heaviest oaths, was bound hand and foot in the bottom of the felucca, and lashed to the heel of the mainmast. Juan lay insensible in the space between the cuddy and the mainmast, where he had fallen when the young Spaniard hit him with the spare tiller. The boat had broached to when the helm was abandoned by the boatman’s son, to go to the assistance of his father. Of course Raimundo and Bark were very much excited by this sudden encounter; and it had required the united strength of both of them to overcome the boatman, though he was not a large man. Bill Stout had done nothing. He had not the pluck to help secure Filipe after he had been thrown down, or rather dragged down, by Bark.

As soon as the victory was accomplished, Raimundo sprang to the helm, and brought the felucca up to her course again. His chest heaved, and his breathing was[190] so violent as to be audible. Bark was in no better condition; and, if Juan had come to his senses at that moment, he might have conquered both of them.

“Pick up that knife, Lingall,” said Raimundo, as soon as he was able to speak.

He pointed to the knife which the boatman had dropped during the struggle; and Bark picked it up.

“Now throw it overboard,” added the second master. “We can handle these men, I think, if there are no knives in the case.”

“No; don’t do that!” interposed Bill Stout. “Give it to me.”

“Give it to you, you coward!” replied Raimundo. “What do you want of it?”

“I will use it if we get into another fight. I don’t like to tackle a man with a knife in his hand, when I have no weapon of any kind,” answered Bill, who, when the danger was over, began to assume his usual bullying tone and manner.

“Over with it, Lingall!” repeated Raimundo sharply. “You are good for nothing, Stout: you had not pluck enough to touch the man after your friend had him down.”

Bark waited for no more, but tossed the knife into the sea. He never “took any stock” in Bill Stout’s bluster; but he had not suspected that the fellow was such an arrant coward. As compared with Raimundo, who had risen vastly in his estimation within the last few hours, he thoroughly despised his fellow-conspirator. If he did not believe it before, he was satisfied now, that the gentlest and most correct students could also be the best fellows. However it had[191] been before, Bill no longer had any influence over him; while he was ready to obey the slightest wish of the second master, whom he had hated only the day before.

“See if you can find the other knife,—the one the young man had,” continued Raimundo.

“I see it,” replied Bark; and he picked up the ugly weapon.

“Send it after the other. The less knives we have on board, the better off we shall be,” added the second master. “I don’t like the habit of my countrymen in carrying the cuchilla any better than I do that of yours in the use of revolvers.”

“I think it was stupid to throw away those knives, when you have to fight such fellows as these,” said Bill Stout, as he glanced at the prostrate form of the older boatman, who was writhing to break away from his bonds.

“Your opinion on that subject is of no value just now,” added Raimundo contemptuously.

“What do you say, Bark?” continued Bill, appealing to his confederate.

“I agree with Raimundo,” answered Bark. “I don’t want to be mixed up in any fight where knives are used.”

“And I object just as much to knifing a man as I do to being knifed,” said Raimundo. “Though I am a Spaniard, I don’t think I would use a knife to save my own life.”

“I would,” blustered Bill.

“No, you wouldn’t: you haven’t pluck enough to do any thing,” retorted Bark. “I advise you not to say any thing more on this subject, Stout[192].”

At this moment Filipe made a desperate attempt to free himself; and Bill retreated to the forecastle, evidently determined not to be in the way if another battle took place. Bark picked up the spare tiller the second master had dropped, and prepared to defend himself. Another club was found, and each of those who had the pluck to use was well prepared for another attack.

“Lie still, or I will hit you over the head!” said Bark to the struggling skipper, as he flourished the tiller over him.

But the ropes with which he was secured were strong and well knotted. Bark was a good sailor, and he had done this part of the work. He looked over the fastenings, and made sure that they were all right.

“He can’t get loose, Mr. Raimundo,” said he.

“But Juan is beginning to come to his senses,” added the second master. “He has just turned half over.”

“I hope he is not much hurt: we may get into a scrape if he is.”

“I was just thinking of that. But I don’t believe he is very badly damaged,” added Raimundo. “If the old man can’t get away, suppose you look him over, and see what his condition is.”

Bark complied with this request. Filipe seemed to be interested in this inquiry; and he lay quite still while the examination was in progress. The young sailor found a wound and a considerable swelling on the side of Juan’s head; but it was now so dark that he could not distinctly see the nature of the injury.

“Have you a match, Mr. Raimundo?” he asked.

[193]

“I have not. We were not allowed to have matches on board the Tritonia,” replied the second master.

“Tengo pajuelas,” said Filipe. “Una linterna en el camarote de proa.”

“What does he say?” inquired Bark, glad to find that the skipper was no longer pugnacious.

“He says he has matches, and that there is a lantern in the cuddy,” replied Raimundo. “Here, Stout, look in the cuddy, and see if you can find a lantern there.”

Bill had the grace to obey the order, though he was tempted to refuse to do so. He found the lantern, for he had seen it while he lay in the cuddy. He brought it to Bark, and took the lamp out of the globe.

“You will find some matches in Filipe’s pockets,” added Raimundo.

“I have matches enough,” answered Bill.

“I forgot that you used matches,” said the second master; “but I am glad you have a chance to make a better use of them than you did on board of the Tritonia.”

“You needn’t say any thing! You are the first officer that ever run away from that vessel,” growled Bill, as he lighted a match, and communicated the blaze to the wick of the lamp.

It was a kerosene-lamp, just such as is used at home, and probably came from the United States. Bark proceeded to examine the wound of Juan, and found it was not a severe one. The young man was rapidly coming to himself, and in a few minutes more he would be able to take care of himself.

“I think we had better move him into the cuddy[194],” suggested Bark. “We can make him comfortable there, and fasten him in at the same time.”

“That’s a capital idea, Lingall; and if Stout will take the helm I will help you move him,” answered Raimundo.

“I will help move him,” volunteered Bill.

“I supposed you were afraid of him,” added the second master. “He has about come to himself.”

Juan spoke then, and complained of his head. Bark and Bill lifted him up, and carried him to the cuddy, where they placed him on the bed of old garments upon which they had slept themselves during the afternoon. Bark had some little reputation among his companions as a surgeon, probably because he always carried a sheet of court-plaster in his pocket, and sometimes had occasion to attend to the wounds of his friends. Perhaps he had also a taste for this sort of thing; for he was generally called upon in all cases of broken heads, before the chief steward, who was the amateur surgeon of the Tritonia, was summoned. At any rate, Bark, either from genuine kindness, or the love of amateur surgical dressing, was not content to let the wounded Spaniard rest till he had done something more for him. He washed the injury in fresh water, closed the ugly cut with a piece of court-plaster, and then bound up the head of the patient with his own handkerchief.

The wounded man tried to talk to him; but he could not understand a word he said. If his father spoke English, it was certain that the son did not. When he had done all this, Bark relieved Raimundo at the helm, and the latter went forward to talk with the patient,[195] who was so quiet that Bark had not thought of fastening the door of the cuddy.

“I am well now,” said Juan, “and I want to go out.”

“You must not go out of this place; if you do, we shall hit you over the head again,” replied the second master sternly.

“Where is my father?” asked the patient.

“He is tied hand and foot; and we shall tie you in the same way if you don’t keep still and obey orders,” added Raimundo. “Lie still where you are, and no harm shall be done to you.”

Raimundo, taking the lantern with him, left the cuddy, and fastened it behind him with the padlock he found in the staple. Putting the key in his pocket, he made an examination into the condition of Filipe, with the aid of the lantern. He found him still securely bound, and, better than that, as quiet as a lamb.

“How is my son?” asked he.

“He is doing very well. We have dressed his wound, and he will be as well as ever in a day or two,” replied Raimundo.

“Gracias, muchos gracias!” exclaimed the prisoner.

“If we had been armed as you were, he might have lost his life,” added Raimundo, moving aft to the helm. “I think we are all right, Lingall.”

“I am very glad of it. We came very near getting into a bad scrape,” replied Bark.

“It is bad enough as it is. I have been afraid of something of this kind ever since we got well out of the port of Barcelona,” continued the second master. “The villain asked me so many questions about my money that my suspicions were excited, and I was on[196] the watch for him. Then he was so anxious that we should drink wine, I was almost sure he meant mischief.”

“I am very sorry I drank any wine. It only makes my head ache,” replied Bark penitently.

“I have heard my uncle speak of these men; and I know something about them.”

“The wine did not make my head ache,” said Bill.

“That’s because there is nothing in it,” answered Raimundo, who could not restrain his contempt for the incendiary.

“But I do not understand exactly how the fight was begun,” said Bark. “The first I knew, the boatman sprang at you.”

“That’s the first I knew, though I was on the lookout for him, as I had been all the afternoon. He understood what I meant when I told you this man means mischief.”

“But he told you he could not speak English.”

“Most of the boatmen speak more or less English: they learn it from the passengers they carry. He wanted to know whether we had money before he did any thing. He was probably satisfied that we had some before he attempted to assault us.”

“I know you have money,” cried Filipe, in English; and he seemed to be more anxious to prove the correctness of his conclusion than to disprove his wicked intentions.

“You have not got any of it yet,” replied Raimundo.

“But I will have it!” protested the villain.

“You tempt me to throw you and your son overboard,” said Raimundo sternly, in Spanish.

[197]

“Not my son,” answered the villain, suddenly changing his tone. “He is his mother’s only boy.”

“You should have thought of that before you brought him with you on such business.”

The boatman, for such a villain as he was, seemed to have a strange affection for his son; and Raimundo was almost willing to believe he had not intended till some time after they left the port to rob his passengers. Perhaps, with the aid of the wine, he had expected an easy victory; for, though the students were all stout fellows, they were but boys.

“I will not harm you if you do not injure my boy,” pleaded Filipe.

“It is not in your power to harm us now; for we have all the power,” replied the second master.

“But you are deserters from your ship. I can tell where you are,” added Filipe, with something like triumph in his tones.

“We expect you to tell all you know as soon as you return.”

“I can do it in Tarragona: they will arrest you there if I tell them.”

“We are not afraid of that: if we were, we should throw you and your son overboard.”

Filipe did not like this side of the argument, and he was silent for some time. It must be confessed that Raimundo did not like his side any better. The fellow could inform the police in Tarragona that the party were deserters, and cause them to be sent back to Barcelona. Though this was better than throwing the boatman and his son overboard, which was only an idle threat, it would spoil all his calculations, and defeat[198] all his plans. He studied the case for some time, after he had explained to Bark what had passed between himself and Filipe in Spanish.

“You want more money than you were to receive for the boat; do you, Filipe?” asked he.

“I have to pay five hundred reales on this boat in three days, or lose it and my small one too,” replied the boatman; and the passenger was not sure he did not invent the story as he went along. “I am not a bad man; but I want two hundred reales more than you are to pay me.”

“Then you expect me to pay what I agreed, after what has happened, do you?”

“You promised to pay it.”

“And you promised to take me to Tarragona; and you have been trying to murder me on the way,” exclaimed Raimundo indignantly.

“Oh, no! I did not mean to kill you, or to hurt you; only to take two hundred reales from you,” pleaded the boatman, with the most refreshing candor.

“That’s all; is it?”

The villain protested, by the Virgin and all the saints in the Spanish calendar, that he had not intended any thing more than this; and Raimundo translated what he said to his companion.

“There are a lot of lights on a high hill ahead,” said Bill Stout, who had been looking at the shore, which was only a short distance from them.

“That must be Tarragona,” replied the second master, looking at his watch by the light of the lantern. “It is ten minutes of seven; and we have been six hours on the trip. I thought it would take about this[199] time. That must be Tarragona; it is on a hill eight hundred feet high.”

“We have been sailing very fast, the last three hours,” added Bark. “But how are we to get out of this scrape?”

“I will see. Keep a sharp lookout on the starboard, Lingall; and, when you see a place where you think we can make a landing, let me know.—Can you steer, Stout, and keep her as she is?”

“Of course I can steer. I don’t give up to any fellow in handling a boat,” growled Bill.

Raimundo gave him the tiller; but he watched him for a time, to see that he made good his word. The bully did very well, and kept the felucca parallel with the shore, as she had been all the afternoon.

“There is a mole makes out from the shore,” continued the active skipper to Bark, who had gone forward of the foremast to do the duty assigned to him.

“Ay, ay! I can see it,” replied Bark.

“I think we need not quarrel, Filipe,” said Raimundo, bending over the prisoner, and unloosing the rope that bound his hands to the mast; but they were still tied behind him. “We are almost into Tarragona, and what we do must be done quickly.”

“Don’t harm Juan,” pleaded Filipe.

“That will depend on yourself, whether we do or not,” replied Raimundo, as fiercely as he could speak. “We are not to be trifled with; and Americans carry pistols sometimes.”

“I will do what you wish,” answered Filipe.

“I will give you what I agreed, and two hundred[200] reales besides, if you will keep still about our being deserters; and that is all the money we have.”

“Gracias! I will do it!” exclaimed the boatman. “Release me, and I will land you outside of the mole, and not go near the town to speak to any person.”

“I am afraid to trust you.”

“You can trust a Catalan when he promises;” and Filipe proceeded to call upon the Virgin and the saints to witness what he said.

“Where can we land?” asked the second master.

The boatman looked over the rail of the felucca; and, when he had got his bearings, he indicated a point where a safe landing might be made. It was not a quarter of a mile distant; and Filipe said the mainsail ought to be furled. Raimundo picked up the spare tiller,—for, in spite of the Catalan’s oath and promise, he was determined to be on the safe side,—and then unfastened the ropes that bound the prisoner.

“If you play me false, I will brain you with this club, and pitch your son into the sea!” said Raimundo, as tragically as he could do the business.

“I will be true to my promise,” he replied, as he brailed up the mainsail.

“You see that your money is ready for you as soon as you land us,” continued Raimundo, as he showed the villain five Isabelinos he held in one hand, while he grasped the spare tiller with the other.

“Gracias!” replied Filipe, who was possibly satisfied when he found that he was to make the full sum he had first named as his price; and it may be that he was tempted by the urgency of his creditor to rob his passengers.

[201]

“Have your pistol ready, Lingall!” added Raimundo, as the boatman, who had taken the helm from Bill, threw the felucca up into the wind, and her keel began to grate on the rocks.

“Ay, ay!” shouted Bark.

The boat ran her long bow up to the dry land, and hung there by her bottom. Raimundo gave the five hundred reales to Filipe, and sprang ashore with the tiller in his hand. Calling to Bark, they shoved off the felucca, and then ran for the town.

TOLEDO, AND TALKS ABOUT SPAIN.

Toledo is about fifty-six miles from Madrid. As the principal had laid out a large day’s work, it became necessary to procure a special train, as the first regular one did not reach Toledo till after eleven o’clock. The special was to leave at six; and it was still dark when the long line of small omnibuses that conveyed the company to the station passed through the streets.

“What is the matter with that man?” asked Sheridan, attracted by the cries of a man on the sidewalk with a sort of pole in his hand.

“That’s a watchman,” replied the doctor.

“What’s he yelling about?”

“‘Las cinco y medio y sereno’ is what he says,” added the surgeon. “‘Half-past five and pleasant weather’ is the translation of his cry. When it rains he calls the hour, and adds ‘fluvioso;’ when there is a fire he informs the people on his beat of the fact, and gives the locality of the conflagration, which he gets from the fire-alarm. In some of the southern cities, as in Seville, the watchman indulges in some pious exclamations, ‘Twelve o’clock, and may the Virgin watch over[203] our good city!’ It used to be the fashion in some of the cities of our country, for the guardian of the night to indulge in these cries to keep himself awake; and I have heard him shout, ‘One o’clock and all is well’ in Pittsburg.”

“I have walked about the Puerta del Sol in the evening; but I have not seen a watchman,” added Sheridan.

“Probably they do not use the cry early in the night, in the streets where the people are gathered; at least, there seems to be no need of it,” replied the doctor. “But I suppose there are a great many things yet in Madrid that you have not seen. For instance, did you notice the water-carriers?”

“I did,” answered Murray. “They carry the water in copper vessels something like a soda-fountain, placed upon a kind of saddle, like the porters in Constantinople.

“Some of them have donkeys, with panniers in which they put kegs, jars, and glass vessels filled with water. These men are called ‘aguadors,’ and their occupation is considered mean business; the caballero whose house we visited would be too proud to be a water-carrier, and would rather starve than engage in it.”

The tourists left the omnibuses, and took their places in the cars. As soon as the train had started, as it was still too dark to see the country, the doctor and his friends resumed the conversation about the sights of Madrid.

“Did you go to the Calle de la Abada?” asked Dr. Winstock.

“I don’t know: I didn’t notice the name of any such street,” replied Sheridan; and Murray was no wiser,[204] both of them declaring that the Spanish names were too much for them.

“It is not unlike Market Street in Philadelphia, twenty years ago, when the middle of the avenue was filled with stalls in a wooden building.”

“I saw that,” added Sheridan. “The street led to a market. All the men and women that had any thing to sell were yelling with all their might. They tackled every person that came near.”

“I saw the dirt-cart go along this same street,” said Murray. “It was a wagon with broad wheels as though it was to do duty in a swamp, with a bell fixed on the forward part. At the ring of the bell, the women came out of their houses, and threw baskets of dirt into the vehicle, which a man in it emptied and returned to them.”

“I was in the city in fruit time once, and saw large watermelons sold for four and six cuartos apiece, a cuarto being about a cent,” continued the doctor. “The nicest grapes sold for six cuartos a pound. Meat is dear, and so is fish, which has to be brought from ports on the Mediterranean and the Bay of Biscay. Bread is very good and cheap; but the shops you saw were not bakeries: these are off by themselves.”

“They don’t seem to have any objection to lotteries in Madrid,” said Sheridan. “I couldn’t move in the great streets without being pestered with the sellers of lottery-tickets.”

“There are plenty of them; for the Spaniards wish to make fortunes without working for them.”

“Many of the lottery-venders are boys,” added Murray. “They called me Señorito[205].”

“They called me the same. The word is a title of respect, which means master. The drawing of a lottery is a great event in the city, and the newspaper is sometimes filled with the premium numbers.”

“I did not see so many beggars as I expected, after all I had read about them,” said Sheridan. “But I could understand their lingo, when they said, ‘For the love of God.’”

“That is their universal cry. You will see enough in the south to make up the deficiency of the capital,” laughed the doctor. “They swarm in Granada and Malaga; and you can’t get rid of them. In Madrid, as in the cities of Russia, you will find the most of the beggars near the churches, relying more upon those who are pious enough to attend divine service than upon those in the busy part of the city. They come out after dark, and station themselves at any blank wall, where there are no doors and windows, and address the passers-by. By the way, did you happen to see a cow-house?” asked the doctor.

Neither of the two students knew what he meant.

“It is more properly a milk-shop. In the front you will see cups, on a clean white cloth on the table, for those who wish to drink milk on the spot. Behind a barred petition in the rear you will notice a number of cows, some with calves, which are milked in the presence of the customers, that they may know they get the genuine article.”

“Don’t they keep any pump-handle?” asked Murray.

“I never saw any,” laughed the surgeon. “The customers are allowed to put in the water to their own taste, which I think is the best arrangement[206].”

“I saw plenty of cook-shops, like those in Paris,” said Sheridan. “In one a cook was frying something like Yankee doughnuts.”

“If you got up early enough to visit the breakfast-stalls of the poorer people, you would have been interested. A cheap chocolate takes the place of coffee, which with bread forms the staple of the diet. But the shops are dirty and always full of tobacco-smoke. The higher classes in Spain are not so much given to feasting and dining out as the English and Americans. They are too poor to do it, and perhaps have no taste for such expensive luxuries. The tertulia is a kind of evening party that takes the place of the dinner to some extent, and is a cosa de España. Ladies and gentlemen are invited,—except to literary occasions, which are attended only by men,—and the evening is passed in card-playing and small talk. Lemonade, or something of the kind, is the only refreshment furnished.

“They go home sober, then,” laughed Murray.

“Spaniards always go home sober; but they do not even have wine at the tertulia.”

“I have heard a great deal said about the siesta in Spain; and I have read that the shops shut up, and business ceased entirely, for two or three hours in the middle of the day,” said Sheridan; “but I did not see any signs of the suspension of business in Madrid.”

“Very many take their siesta, even in Madrid; and in the hot weather you would find it almost as you have described it,—as quiet as Sunday,” replied the doctor.

“Sunday was about as noisy a day as any in Madrid,” added Murray.

[207]

“I meant a Sunday at home or in London. When I was here last, the thirty-first day of October came on Sunday; and it was the liveliest day I ever saw in Spain. The forenoon was quiet; for some of the people went to church. At noon there was a cock-fight, attended by some of the most noted men in Spain; and I went to it, though I was thoroughly disgusted both with the sacrilege and the barbarity of the show. At three o’clock came a bull-fight, lasting till dark, in which eight bulls and seven horses were killed. In the evening was the opera, and a great time at all the theatres. I confess that I was ashamed of myself for visiting these places on the sabbath; but I was in Spain to learn the manners and customs of the people, and excused myself on this plea. Monday was the first day of November, which is All Saints’ Day. Not a shop was open. The streets were almost deserted; and there was nothing like play to be seen, even among the children. It was like Sunday at home or in London, though perhaps even more silent and subdued. On this day the people visit the cemeteries, and decorate the tombs and graves of the dead with wreaths of flowers and immortelles. I pointed out to you the cemetery in the rear of the Museo. I visited it on that day; and it was really a very solemn sight.”

“I wish I had visited the cemetery,” said Sheridan.

“I am sorry you did not; but I did not think of it at the time we were near it. It is a garden surrounded by high walls, like parts of those we saw in Italy. In this wall are built a great many niches deep enough to receive a coffin, the lid of which, in Spain, as in Washington, is dos d’âne, or roof-shaped; and the[208] cell is made like it at the top. Besides these catacombs, there are graves and tombs. As in Paris these are often seen with flowers, the toys of children, portraits, and other mementos of the departed, laid upon them.”

“I saw a funeral in Geronimo Street yesterday,” added the captain. “The hearse was an open one, drawn by four horses covered with black velvet. I followed it to a church, and saw the service, which was not different from what I have seen at home. When the procession started for the grave, it consisted mostly of berlinas; and its length increased with every rod it advanced.”

“I was told, that, when a person dies in Spain, the friends of the family send in a supply of cooked food, on the supposition that the bereaved are in no condition to attend to such matters,” continued the doctor. “But it is light enough now for us to see the scenery.”

The country was flat and devoid of interest at first; but it began to improve as the train approached Aranjuez, where the kings have a royal residence, which the party were to visit on the return from Toledo.

“What river is that, Dr. Winstock?” asked Murray.

“El Tajo,” replied the doctor, with a smile.

“Never heard of it,” added Murray.

“There you labor under one of the disadvantages of a person who does not understand the language of the country in which he is travelling; for you are as familiar with the English name of this river as you are with that of the Rhine,” replied the doctor.

“It is the Tagus,” added Sheridan. “I know that Toledo is on this river[209].”

“Who could suspect that El Tah-hoe was the Tagus?” queried Murray.

“You would if you knew Spanish.”

“There is a Spanish caballero, mounted on a mule,” said Murray, calling the attention of the party to a peasant who was sitting sideways on his steed.

“All of them ride that way,” added Sheridan.

“Not all of them do, for there is a fellow straddling his donkey behind two big panniers,” interposed the surgeon.

The train continued to follow the river till it reached Toledo. The students got out of the cars, and were directed to assemble near the station in full view of the ancient city. The day was clear and mild, so that it was no hardship to stand in the open air, and listen to the description of the city given by Professor Mapps.

Though the walk was rather long, the omnibuses were scarce, and most of the students were obliged to foot it into the city. The doctor and his travelling pupils preferred this, because they wished to look at the bridge and the towers on the way. They spent some time on the former in looking down into the rapid river, and in studying the structures at either end. The original bridge was built by the Romans, rebuilt by the Moors, and repaired by the Spaniards.

[214]

“You have been in the East enough to know that the Orientals are fond of baths and other water luxuries. The Jews brought to Toledo some knowledge of the hydraulics of the Moslems; and they built an immense water-wheel in the river, which Murray says was ninety cubits—at least one hundred and thirty-five feet—high, to force the water up the hill to the city through pipes,” said the doctor, as he pointed out the ruins of a building used for this purpose.

“I said it was ninety cubits high?” exclaimed Murray.

“I ought to have said ‘Ford,’ since he prepared the hand-book of Spain that goes under your name.”

“I accept the amendment,” laughed Murray,

“And now there are no water-works in Toledo, except such as you see crossing the bridge before us,” added the surgeon, as he indicated a donkey with one keg fixed in a saddle, like a saw-horse, and two others slung on each side.

The party passed through the Puerta del Sol, which is an old and gloomy tower, with a gateway through it. It is a Moorish structure; and, after examining it, they continued up the slope which winds around the hill to the top, and reached the square to which the professor had alluded. To the students the city presented a dull, deserted, desolate, and inhospitable appearance. It looked as though the people had got enough of the place, and had moved out of town. Though full of treasures for the student of architecture and of antiquity, it had but little interest to progressive Young America.

The party went at once to the cathedral. There is no outside view of it except over the tops of the[215] houses, though portions of it may be seen in different places. The interior was grand to look upon, but too grand to describe; and we shall report only some of Dr. Winstock’s talks to his pupils.

“This is the Puerta del Niño Perdido, or the Gate of the Lost Child,” said he as they entered the church. “The story is the foundation of many a romance of the olden time. The clergy accused the wealthy Hebrews of crucifying, as they did the Saviour, a Christian boy, in order to use his heart in the passover service as a charm against the Inquisition. The gate takes the name from a fresco near it, representing the scene when the lost child was missed. The Jews were charged with the terrible deed, and plundered of their wealth, which was the whole object of the persecution.”

The party walked through the grand structure, looked into the choir in the middle, where a service was in progress, and passed through several chapels, stopping a considerable time in the Capilla Mayor, where are monuments of some of the ancient kings and other great men.

“This is the tomb of Cardinal Mendoza,” said the doctor. “He was an historian, a scholar, and, like Ximenes, a statesman and a warrior. The marble-work in the rear of the altar cost two hundred thousand ducats, or six times as many dollars.”

“One hundred and twenty schoolhouses at ten thousand dollars apiece packed into that thing!” exclaimed Murray.

“And Mr. Ford calls it a fricassee of marble!” laughed the doctor, as they walked into the next chapel. “This is the Capilla de Santiago. Do you know who he was[216]?”

“Of course we do. He was the patron saint of Spain,—St. James, one of the apostles,” replied Sheridan.

“Do you remember what became of him?”

“He suffered martyrdom under Herod Agrippa,” answered the captain.

“The Spaniards carry his history somewhat farther than that event. As they wanted a distinguished patron, and Rome had appropriated Peter and Paul, they contented themselves with James the Elder, the son of Zebedee, and the brother of John. When he was dead, his body was conveyed by some miraculous agency to Jaffa, where it embarked in a boat for Barcelona, the legend informs us. Instead of going on shore, like a peaceable corpse, it continued on its voyage, following the coast of Spain, through the Strait of Gibraltar, to the shore of Galicia, where it made a landing at a place called Padron; or rather the dead-boat got aground there. The body was found by some fishermen, who had the grace to carry it to a cave, where, as if satisfied with its long voyage made in seven days, beating the P. and O. Steamers by a week, it rested peaceably for eight hundred years. At the end of this long period, it seems to have become restless again, and to have caused certain telegraphic lights to be exhibited over the cave. They were seen by a monk, who informed the bishop of the circumstance. He appears to have understood the meaning of the lights, and examined the cave. He found the body, and knew it to be that of St. James; but he has wisely failed to put on record the means by which he identified it. A church was built to contain the tomb of the patron[217] saint; but it was afterwards removed to the church of Santiago, twelve miles distant.”

The party crossed the church, and entered the Chapel of San Ildefonso. This saint, a primate of Toledo, was an especial champion of the Virgin, and so won her favor, that she came down from heaven, and seated herself in his chair. She remained during matins, chanting the service, and at its close placed the church robes on his shoulders. The primate’s successor undertook to sit down in this chair, but was driven out by angels, which was rather an imputation upon his sanctity. The Virgin repeated the visit several times. St. Ildefonso’s body was stolen by the Moors, but it was recovered by a miracle. The sacred vestment the Virgin had placed upon his back was taken away at the same time; but no miracle seems to have been interposed to restore it, though it is said to be in Oviedo, invisible to mortal eyes. In another part of the edifice is the very stone on which the Virgin stepped when she came first to the church. It is enclosed by small iron bars, but the fingers may be inserted so as to press it; and holes are worn into it from the frequent touchings of the pilgrims to this shrine.

“Here are the portraits of all the cardinals, from St. Eugenio down to the present time,” said the doctor as they entered the Chapter House. “Cardinal Albornez died in Rome, and the pope desired to send his remains to Toledo. As this was in 1364, there was no regular line of steamers, or an express company, to attend to the transportation: so he offered plenary indulgences to those who would undertake the mission of conveying[218] the body to its distant resting-place. There were plenty of poor people who could not purchase such favors for their souls; and they were glad of the job to bear the cardinal on their shoulders from town to town till they arrived here.”

“Where is the chapel the professor told us about?” asked Sheridan.

“We will go to that now.”

This chapel, though very rich in church treasures, and one of the most venerated in the cathedral as built to preserve the ancient ritual, contained nothing that engaged the attention of the students, and Mr. Mapps had already told its story. They hardly looked at the image of the Virgin, which is dressed in magnificent costume, covered with gold and jewels, when it is borne in procession on Corpus Christi Day.

“I have seen enough of it,” said Murray, as they left the cathedral, and walked to the Alcazar.

The old palace was only a reminder of what had been; but the view from its crumbling walls was the best thing about it. The party decided not to visit the sword-factory, which is two miles out of the city; and they went next to the church of San Juan de los Reyes. It was a court chapel, and was erected by the Catholic king to commemorate a victory. It is Gothic; but the chains that are hung over the outside of it were all that challenged the interest of the students.

“Those chains were the votive offerings of captives who were released when Granada was taken by Ferdinand and Isabella,” said the doctor, when his pupils began to express their wonder. “There are some very fine carvings and frescos in this church[219].”

“I don’t care for them,” yawned Murray: “I will wait here while you and Sheridan go in.” But the captain did not care to go in; and they continued their walk to Santa Maria la Blanca and El Transito, two churches which had formerly been synagogues. They were very highly ornamented; but by this time the students wanted their dinner more than to see the elaborate workmanship of the Jews or the Moors. They were tired too; for Toledo with its up and down streets is not an easy place to get about in. Some of the boys said it reminded them of Genoa; but it is more like parts of Constantinople, with its steep hills and Moorish houses.

The party dined in various places in the city; and at two o’clock they took the train for Aranjuez, and arrived there in an hour.

“The late queen used to live here three months of the year,” said the doctor, as they walked from the station to the palace. “The town is at the junction of the Jarama and the Tagus, and it is really a very pretty place. There is plenty of water. Charles V. was the first of the kings of Spain to make his residence at Aranjuez. A great deal of work has been done here since his time, by his successors.”

The students walked through the gardens, and went through the palace. Perhaps the camels kept here were more interesting to the young gentlemen, gorged with six months’ sight-seeing in all the countries of Europe, than any thing else they saw at the summer residence of the kings of Spain.

At the station there is a very fair hotel with restaurant, where the party had supper. But they had four[220] hours of weary waiting before the train for Ciudad Real would arrive; and most of them tried to sleep, for it had been a long day.

“Better be here than at the junction of this road with that to Toledo,” said the doctor, as he fixed himself for a nap. “The last time I was here I did not understand it; and, when I came from Toledo, I got off the train at the junction, which is Castillejo, ten miles from Aranjuez.”

“I noticed the place when we went down this morning,” replied Sheridan. “The station is little better than a shed, and there is no town there.”

“The train was late; and I had to wait there without my supper from eight o’clock till after midnight. It was cold, and there was no fire. I was never more uncomfortable for four hours in my life. The stations in Spain are built to save money, and not for the comfort of the passengers, at least in the smaller places. But we had better go to sleep if we can; for we have to keep moving for nearly twenty-four hours at the next stretch.”

Not many of the party could sleep, tired as they were, till they took the train at eleven o’clock. The compartments were heated with hot-water vessels, or rather the feet were heated by them. The students stowed themselves away as well as they could; and soon, without much encouragement to do so, they were buried in slumber.

TROUBLE IN THE RUNAWAY CAMP.

“What are you running for?” shouted Bill Stout, as Raimundo and Bark Lingall ran ahead of him after the party landed from the felucca. “We are all right now.”

Bill could not quite get rid of the idea that he was the leader of the expedition, as he intended to be from the time when he began to make his wicked plans for the destruction of the Tritonia. He had the vanity to believe that he was born to command, and not to obey; and such are generally the very worst of leaders.

“Never mind him, Lingall,” said the second master. “When we get to the top of this rising ground we can see where we are.”

“I am satisfied to follow your lead,” replied Bark.

“If our plans are spoiled, it will be by that fellow,” added Raimundo.

But in a few minutes more he halted on the summit of a little hill, with Bark still at his side. Bill was some distance behind; and he was evidently determined to have his own way, without regard to the wishes of the second master. On the rising ground, the lights revealed the position of the city; but the[222] fugitives looked with more interest, for the moment, at the sea. Raimundo had run when he landed, because he saw that the lay of the land would conceal the movements of the felucca from him if he remained where he had come on shore. Perhaps, too, he considered it best to put a reasonable distance between himself and the dangerous boatman. On the eminence they could distinctly see the felucca headed away from the shore in the direction from which she had come when they were on board.

“I was afraid the villain might be treacherous, after all,” said Raimundo. “If he had headed into the port of Tarragona, it would not have been safe for us to go there.”

“What’s your hurry?” demanded Bill Stout, coming up at this moment. “You act as though you were scared out of your wits.”

“Shut up, Bill Stout!” said Bark, disgusted with his companion in crime. “If you are going to get up a row at every point we make, we may as well go back to the Tritonia, kiss the rod, and be good boys.”

“I haven’t made any row,” protested Bill. “I couldn’t see what you were running for, when no one was after you.”

“Raimundo knows what he is about; and, while the thing is going along very well, you set to yelling, so as to let the fellow know where we were, if he took it into his head to follow us.”

“Raimundo may know what he is about,” snarled Bill; “but I want to know what he is about too, if I am to take part in this business.”

“You will not know from me,” added Raimundo[223] haughtily. “I shall not stop to explain my plans to a coward and an ignoramus every time I make a move. We are in Spain; and the country is big enough for all of us. I did not invite you to come with me; and I am not going to be trammelled by you.”

“You are a great man, Mr. Raimundo; but I want you to understand that you are not on the quarter-deck of the Tritonia just now; and I have something to say, as well as you,” replied Bill.

“That’s all! I don’t want to hear another word,” continued Raimundo. “We may as well part company here and now as at any other time and place.”

“Now you can see what you have done, Bill,” said Bark reproachfully.

“Well, what have I done? I had as lief be officered on board of the vessel as here, when we are on a time,” answered Bill.

“All right; you may go where you please,” added Bark angrily. “I am not going about with any such fellow as you are. If I should get into trouble, you would lay back, and let me fight it out alone.”

“Do you mean to say, Bark Lingall, that you will desert me, and go off with that spoony of an officer?” demanded Bill, taken all aback by what his friend had said.

“I do mean to say it; and, more than that, I will stick to it,” said Bark firmly. “You are both a coward and a fool. Before we are out of the first danger, you get your back up about nothing, and make a row. Mr. Raimundo has been a gentleman, and behaved like a brave fellow. If it hadn’t been for him, we should have been robbed of all our money, and perhaps have had our throats cut besides[224].”

“But he got us into the scrape,” protested Bill. “He hired that cut-throat to take us to this place without saying a word to us about the business. I knew that fellow was a rascal, and would just as lief cut a man’s throat as eat his dinner.”

“You knew what he was, did you?”

“To be sure I did. He looked like a villain; and I would not have trusted myself half a mile from the shore with him without a revolver in my pocket,” retorted Bill, who felt safe enough now that he was on shore.

“I don’t care to hear any more of this,” interposed the second master. “It must be half-past seven by this time, and I am going to hurry up to the town. I looked at an old Bradshaw on board, while I was making up my plans, and I noticed that the night trains generally leave at about nine o’clock. There may be one from this place.”

“But where are you going?” asked Bark.