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The Chronicles of
a Gay Gordon _By_
Brig.-General J. M. Gordon, C.B.
_With Eleven Half-tone Illustrations_
Cassell and Company, Limited, London
New York, Toronto and Melbourne 1921
[Illustration: _Photo: Lafayette, Ltd., Glasgow._]
CONTENTS
PAGE
By Way of Introduction 1
Genealogical Table 7
Part I
CHAPTER
1. My Scots-Spanish Origin 11
2. My Schooling 20
3. A Frontier Incident 30
4. First War Experience 35
5. My Meetings with King Alfonso 42
6. With Don Carlos Again 46
7. My First Engagement 53
8. Soldiering in Ireland 62
9. Unruly Times in Ireland 71
10. Sport in Ireland 77
11. A Voyage to New Zealand 87
12. A Maori Meeting 98
13. An Offer from the Governor of Tasmania 104
14. I Become a Newspaper Proprietor 109
15. A Merchant, then an Actor 120
16. As Policeman in Adelaide 132
Military Appointments and Promotions 147
Part II
1. Soldiering in South Australia 151
2. Polo, Hunting and Steeplechasing 162
3. The Russian Scare and its Results 175
4. The Soudan Contingent 185
5. A Time of Retrenchment 192
6. My Vision Fulfilled 200
7. The Great Strikes 209
8. The Introduction of "Universal Service," and
Two Voyages Home 215
9. Military Adviser to the Australian Colonies in London 224
10. Off to the South African War 232
11. With Lord Roberts in South Africa 238
12. In Command of a Mounted Column 244
13. Some South African Reminiscences 252
Part III
1. Organizing the Commonwealth of Australia 263
2. Commandant of Victoria 273
3. Commandant of New South Wales 281
4. Lord Kitchener's Visit to Australia 290
5. The American Naval Visit 302
6. Chief of the General Staff 308
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BRIGADIER-GENERAL J. M. GORDON, C.B. _Frontispiece_
WARDHOUSE, ABERDEENSHIRE 10
KILDRUMMY CASTLE, ABERDEENSHIRE 10
ALFONSO XII. 34
THE PRINCE IMPERIAL 34
DON CARLOS 50
"TURF TISSUE," FACSIMILE OF FIRST PAGE 84
OPENING OF THE COMMONWEALTH PARLIAMENT, 1901 120
LORD HOPETOUN 150
VISCOUNT KITCHENER 220
THE COMMONWEALTH MILITARY BOARD, 1914 254
BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION
By J. M. BULLOCH
Jose Maria Jacobo Rafael Ramon Francisco Gabriel del Corazon de Jesus
Gordon y Prendergast--to give the writer of this book the full name with
which he was christened in Jerez de la Frontera on March 19,
1856--belongs to an interesting, but unusual, type of the Scot abroad.
These virile venturers group themselves into four categories.
Illustrating them by reference to the Gordons alone, there was the
venturer, usually a soldier of fortune, who died in the country of his
adoption, such as the well-known General Patrick Gordon, of
Auchleuchries, Aberdeenshire (1635-1690), who, having spent thirty-nine
years of faithful service to Peter the Great, died and was buried at
Moscow. Or one might cite John Gordon, of Lord Byron's Gight family, who,
having helped to assassinate Wallenstein in the town of Eger, in 1634,
turned himself into a Dutch Jonkheer, dying at Dantzig, and being buried
at Delft.
Sometimes, especially in the case of merchants, the venturers settled
down permanently in their new fatherland, as in the case of the Gordons
of Coldwells, Aberdeenshire, who are now represented solely by the family
of von Gordon-Coldwells, in Laskowitz. So rapid was the transformation of
this family that when one of them, Colonel Fabian Gordon, of the Polish
cavalry, turned up in Edinburgh in 1783, in connexion with the sale of
the family heritage, he knew so little English that he had to be
initiated a Freemason in Latin. To this day there is a family in Warsaw
which, ignoring our principle of primogeniture, calls itself the
Marquises de Huntly-Gordon.
Occasionally the exiles returned home, either to succeed to the family
heritage, or to rescue it from ruin with the wealth they had acquired
abroad. Thus General Alexander Gordon (1669-1751) of the Russian army,
the biographer of Peter the Great, came home to succeed his father as
laird of Auchintoul, Banffshire, and managed by a legal mistake to hold
it in face of forfeiture for Jacobitism. His line has long since died
out, as soldier stock is apt to do--an ironic symbol of the death-dealing
art. But the descendants of another ardent Jacobite, Robert Gordon, wine
merchant, Bordeaux, who rescued the family estate of Hallhead,
Aberdeenshire, from clamant creditors, still flourish. One of them became
famous in the truest spirit of Gay Gordonism, in the person of Adam
Lindsay Gordon, the beloved laureate of Australia.
The vineyard and Australia bring us to the fourth, and rarest, category,
represented by the writer of this book, namely, the family which has not
only retained its Scots heritage, but also flourishes in the land of its
adoption, for Mr. Rafael Gordon is not only laird of Wardhouse,
Aberdeenshire, but is a Spaniard by birth and education, and a citizen of
Madrid: and this double citizenship has been shared by his uncles Pedro
Carlos Gordon (1806-1857), Rector of Stonyhurst; and General J. M.
Gordon, the writer of this book, who will long be remembered as the
pioneer of national service in Australia.
The Gordons of Wardhouse, to whom he belongs, are descended (as the
curious will find set forth in detail in the genealogical table) from a
Churchman, Adam Gordon, Dean of Caithness (died 1528), younger son of the
first Earl of Huntly, and they have remained staunch to the Church of
Rome to this day: that indeed was one of the reasons for their sojourning
aboard. The Dean's son George (died 1575) acquired the lands of
Beldorney, Aberdeenshire, which gradually became frittered away by his
senior descendants, the seventh laird parting with the property to the
younger line in the person of Alexander Gordon, of Camdell, Banffshire,
in 1703, while his sons vanished to America, where they are untraceable.
From this point the fortunes of the families increase. Alexander's son
James, IX of Beldorney, bought the ancient estate of Kildrummy in 1731,
and Wardhouse came into his family through his marriage with Mary Gordon,
heiress thereof. This reinforcement of his Gordon blood was one of the
deciding causes of the strong Jacobitism of his son John, the tenth
laird, who fought at Culloden, which stopped his half Russian wife,
Margaret Smyth of Methven, the great grand-daughter of General Patrick
Gordon of Auchleuchries, in the act of embroidering for Prince Charles a
scarlet waistcoat, which came to the hammer at Aberdeen in 1898.
This Jacobite laird's brothers were the first to go abroad. One of them,
Gregory, appears to have entered the Dutch service; another, Charles, a
priest, was educated at Ratisbon; and a third, Robert, settled at Cadiz.
That was the first association of the Wardhouse Gordons with Spain, for,
though Robert died without issue, he seems to have settled one of his
nephews, Robert (son of his brother Cosmo, who had gone to Jamaica), and
another, James Arthur Gordon (who was son of the twelfth laird), at
Jerez.
But the sense of adventure was also strong on the family at home,
especially on Alexander, the eleventh laird, who was executed as a spy at
Brest in 1769. A peculiarly handsome youth, who succeeded to the estates
in 1760, he started life as an ensign in the 49th Foot in 1766. He
narrowly escaped being run through in a brawl at Edinburgh, and, taking a
hair of the dog that had nearly bitten him, he fatally pinked a butcher
in the city of Cork in 1767. He escaped to La Rochelle, and ultimately
got into touch with Lord Harcourt, our Ambassador in Paris. Harcourt sent
the reckless lad to have a look at the fortifications of Brest. He was
caught in the act; Harcourt repudiated all knowledge of him; and he was
executed November 24, 1769, gay to the end, and attracting the eyes of
every pretty girl in the town. The guillotine which did its worst is
still preserved in the arsenal at Brest, and the whole story is set forth
with legal precision in the transactions of the Societe Academique de
Brest.
Poor Alexander was succeeded as laird by his younger brother Charles
Edward (1750-1832), who became an officer in the Northern Fencibles, and
was not without his share of adventure, which curiously enough arose out
of his brother's regiment, the 49th. He married as his second wife
Catherine Mercer, the daughter of James Mercer, the poet, who had been a
major in that regiment. In 1797, his commanding officer, Colonel John
Woodford, who had married his chief, the Duke of Gordon's, sister, bolted
at Hythe with the lady, from whom the laird of Wardhouse duly got a
divorce. That did not satisfy Gordon, who thrashed his colonel with a
stick in the streets of Ayr. Of course he was court-martialled, but
Woodford's uncle-in-law, Lord Adam Gordon, as Commander-in-Chief of North
Britain, smoothed over the sentence of dismissal from the Fencibles by
getting the angry husband appointed paymaster in the Royal Scots.
Gordon's eldest son John David, by his first marriage (with the
grand-daughter of the Earl of Kilmarnock, who was executed at the Tower
with Lord Lovat), had wisely kept out of temptation amid the peaceful
family vineyards at Jerez, from which he returned in 1832 to Wardhouse.
But John David's half-brother stayed at home and became Admiral Sir James
Alexander Gordon (1782-1869), who as the "last of Nelson's Captains"
roused the admiration of Tom Hughes in a fine appreciation in
_Macmillan's Magazine_. Although he had lost his leg in the capture of
the Pomone in 1812, he could stump on foot even as an old man all the way
from Westminster to Greenwich Hospital, of which he was the last
Governor, and where you can see his portrait to this day.
Although John David Gordon succeeded to Wardhouse, his family remained
essentially Spanish, and his own tastes, as his grandson, General Gordon,
points out, were coloured by the character of the Peninsula. The General
himself, as his autobiography shows in every page, has had his inherited
Gay Gordonism aided and abetted by his associations with Spain and with
Australia. His whole career has been full of enterprising adventure, and,
while intensely interested in big imperial problems, he has an inevitable
sense of the colour and rhythm of life as soldier, as policeman, as
sportsman, as actor, as journalist. He is, in short, a perfect example of
a Gay Gordon.
BRIG.-GENERAL J. M. GORDON'S DESCENT AT A GLANCE
ALEXANDER (GORDON), 1st Earl of Huntly (died 1470).
|
ADAM GORDON, Dean of Caithness (died 1528).
|
GEORGE GORDON (died 1575).
I of Beldorney, Aberdeenshire.
|
ALEXANDER GORDON (alive 1602).
II of Beldorney.
|
+--------------------+------------+
| |
GEORGE GORDON, ALEXANDER GORDON,
III of Beldorney. of Killyhuntly, Badenoch.
| |
GEORGE GORDON, JAMES GORDON (died 1642),
IV of Beldorney. of Tirriesoul and Camdell.
| |
JOHN GORDON (died 1694), ALEXANDER GORDON,
V of Beldorney. IX of Beldorney (buying it in 1703).
| |
JOHN GORDON, JAMES GORDON,
VI of Beldorney, X of Beldorney.
Frittered his fortune. Bought Kildrummy.
Died 1698. Got Wardhouse by marriage.
| |
JOHN GORDON, JOHN GORDON (died 1760),
VII of Beldorney. XI of Beldorney.
| |
| +-----------+-------------+
| | |
JAMES GORDON, ALEXANDER MARIA GORDON, CHARLES EDWARD GORDON
Went to U.S.A. XII of Beldorney. (1754-1832). Sold Beldorney.
Lost sight of. Executed at Brest, 1769. Of Wardhouse & Kildrummy.
|
+-------------------------+--+
| |
JOHN DAVID GORDON. Admiral Sir J. A. GORDON.
(1774-1850) Went to Spain. One of Nelson's Captains.
Inherited Wardhouse. (1782-1869.)
|
+---------------------+---+
| |
PEDRO CARLOS GORDON, CARLOS PEDRO GORDON,
of Wardhouse, of Wardhouse.
1806-57. 1814-97.
| |
| +--------------+
| | |
JUAN JOSE GORDON, CARLOS PEDRO GORDON, JOSE MARIA GORDON,
of Wardhouse, 1844-76. Brig.-General,
1837-66. d.v.p. Author of this book.
|
RAFAEL GORDON,
of Wardhouse.
Lives in Madrid.
Born 1873.
Part I
[Illustration: Wardhouse, Aberdeenshire]
[Illustration: Kildrummy Castle, Aberdeenshire]
THE CHRONICLES OF A
GAY GORDON
_PART I_
CHAPTER I
MY SCOTS-SPANISH ORIGIN
At a period in the history of Scotland, we find that a law was passed
under the provisions of which every landowner who was a Catholic had
either to renounce his adherence to his Church or to forfeit his landed
property to the Crown. This was a severe blow to Scotsmen, and history
tells that practically every Catholic laird preferred not to have his
property confiscated, with the natural result that he ceased--at any rate
publicly--to take part in the outward forms of the Catholic religion.
Churches, which Catholic families had built and endowed, passed into the
hands of other denominations. Catholic priests who--in devotion to their
duty--were willing to risk their lives, had to practise their devotions
in secrecy.
My great grandfather, Charles Edward Gordon (1754-1832), then quite a
young man, happened to be one of those lairds who submitted to the law,
preferring to remain lairds. His younger brother, James Arthur
(1759-1824), who chanced to be possessed in his own right of a certain
amount of hard cash, began to think seriously. It appeared to him that,
if a law could be passed confiscating landed property unless the owners
gave up the Catholic religion, there was no reason why another law should
not be passed confiscating actual cash under similar conditions. The more
he turned this over in his mind, the surer he became that at any rate the
passing of such a second law could not be deemed illogical. He was by no
means the only one of the younger sons of Scots families who thought
likewise. It seemed to him that it would be wise to leave the country--at
any rate for a while.
In those days there were no Canadas, Australias and other new and
beautiful countries appealing to these adventurous spirits, but there
were European countries where a field was open for their enterprise. My
great grand-uncle--youthful as he was--decided that the South of Spain,
Andalusia, La Tierra de Santa Maria, would suit him, and he removed
himself and his cash to that sunny land. It is there that the oranges
flourish on the banks of the Guadalquivir. It is there that the green
groves of olive trees yield their plentiful crops. It is there that the
vine brings forth that rich harvest of grapes whose succulent juice
becomes the nectar of the gods in the shape of sherry wine. He decided
that white sherry wine offered the best commercial result and resolved to
devote himself to its production. Business went well with him. It was
prosperous; the wine became excellent and the drinkers many.
By this time his brother had married and the union had been blessed with
two sons. When the elder was fifteen years old, it appeared to his uncle
James Arthur that it would be a good thing if his brother, the laird,
would send the boy to Spain, to be brought up there, with a view to his
finally joining him in the business. He decided, therefore, to visit his
brother in Scotland, with this object in view. He did so, but the laird
did not appear to be kindly inclined to this arrangement. He was willing,
however, to let his second son go to Spain, finish his education, and
then take on the wine business. This was not what the uncle wanted. He
wished for the elder son, the young laird, or for nobody at all. The
matter fell through and the uncle returned to the Sunny South.
A couple of years later on, the laird changed his mind, wrote to his
brother, and offered to send his eldest son, John David (1774-1850). A
short time afterwards the young laird arrived in Spain. His father, the
laird, lived for many years, during which time--after the death of his
uncle--his eldest son had become the head of one of the most successful
sherry wine firms that existed in those days in Spain. He had married in
Spain and had had a large family, who had all grown up, and had married
also in that country, and it was not till he was some sixty years of age
that his father, the laird, died and he succeeded to the Scots properties
of Wardhouse and Kildrummy Castle.
The law with reference to the forfeiture of lands held by Catholics had
become practically void, so that he duly succeeded to the estates. The
old laird had driven over in his coach to the nearest Catholic place of
worship and had been received back into the Church of his fathers.
Afterwards he had given a great feast to his friends, at which plenty of
good old port was drunk to celebrate the occasion. He drove back to his
home, and on arrival at the house was found dead in the coach. So we
children, when told this story, said that he had only got to Heaven by
the skin of his teeth.
His successor, my grandfather, John David, died in 1850 in Spain, and my
father's elder brother, Pedro Carlos (1806-1857), became the laird and
took up his residence in the old home. He broke the record in driving the
mail coach from London to York without leaving the box seat. And later
on, in Aberdeen, he drove his four-in-hand at full gallop into Castlehill
Barracks. Anyone who knows the old gateway will appreciate the feat.
On his death in 1857, his son, my cousin, Juan Jose (1837-1866),
succeeded to the property. He, of course, had also been brought up in
Spain, and was married to a cousin, and sister of the Conde de Mirasol,
but had no children. When he took up his residence as laird, most of his
friends, naturally, were Spanish visitors whom he amused by building a
bull-fighting ring not far from the house, importing bulls from Spain and
holding amateur bull-fights on Sunday afternoons. This was a sad blow
indeed to the sedate Presbyterians in the neighbourhood. His life,
however, was short, and, as he left no children, the properties passed to
my father, Carlos Pedro (1814-1897), by entail.
It is necessary to have written this short history of the family, from my
great grandfather's time, to let you know how I came to be born in Spain,
and how our branch of the family was the only one of the clan which
remained Catholic in spite of the old Scots law.
I would like to tell you something now about Jerez, the place where I was
born, and where the sherry white wine comes from. Yet all the wine is not
really white. There is good brown sherry, and there is just as good
golden sherry, and there is Pedro Ximenez. If you haven't tasted them,
try them as soon as you get the chance. You'll like the last two--and
very much--after dinner. I am not selling any, but you'll find plenty of
firms about Mark Lane who will be quite willing to supply you if you
wish.
Well, Jerez is a town of some sixty thousand inhabitants. Don't be
afraid. This is not going to be a guidebook, for Jerez has not a single
public building worth the slightest notice, not even a church of which it
can be said that it is really worth visiting compared with other cities,
either from an architectural or an artistic point of view. It is wanting
in the beautiful and wonderful attractions which adorn many of the
Andalusian towns that surround it. In Jerez there are no glorious
edifices dating back to the occupation of the Moors (except the
Alcazar--now part cinema-show). There are no royal palaces taken from the
Moors by Spanish kings. There is no Seville Cathedral, no Giralda. There
is no Alhambra as there is in Granada. There are only parts of the
ancient walls that enclosed the old city. The Moors apparently thought
little of Jerez; they evidently had not discovered the glories of sherry
white wine.
Jerez seems to have devoted all its energies to the erection of
wine-cellars, the most uninteresting buildings in the world. A visitor,
after a couple of days in Jerez, would be tired of its uninteresting
streets, badly kept squares and absence of any places of interest or
picturesque drives. Probably he would note the presence of the stately
and silent ciguenas, who make their home and build their nests upon the
top of every church steeple or tower. They are not exciting, but there
they have been for years, and there they are now, and it is to be
presumed that there they will remain. Yet, Jerez is a pleasant place to
live in. Although there is only one decent hotel in it, there are
excellent private houses, full of many comforts and works of art, though
their comfort and beauty is all internal. They are mostly situated in
side streets, with no attempt at any outside architectural effects.
The citizens of Jerez are quite content with Jerez. They love to take
their ease, and have a decided objection to hustle. The womenkind dearly
love big families: the bigger they are the better they like them. They
are devoted to their husbands and children, and live for them. The men
cannot be called ambitious, but they are perfectly satisfied with their
quiet lives, and with looking after their own businesses. They love to
sit in their clubs and cafes, sit either inside or at tables on the
pavements in the street--and talk politics, bull-fights, and about the
weather, in fact any topic which comes handy; and they are quite content,
as a rule, to talk on, no matter if they are not being listened to. This
habit of general talk without listeners is also common to the ladies. To
be present at a re-union of ladies and listen to the babble of their
sweet tongues is a pleasure which a lazy man can thoroughly enjoy.
The local Press is represented principally by three or four--mostly
one-sheet--newspapers, which you can read in about three minutes. Of
course their all-absorbing interest, as regards sport, is centred in the
bull-fights. For three months before the bull-fighting season
begins--which is about Easter--people talk of nothing but bulls and
matadors. The relative merits of the different studs which are to supply,
not only the local corridas, but practically the tip-top ones throughout
the chief cities of Spain, are discussed over and over again, while the
admirers of Joselito (since killed) are as lavish in words and gestures
of praise as are those of Belmonte, while, at the same time, the claims
of other aspirants to championship as matadors are heard on every side.
Once the season begins--it lasts until towards the end of October--the
whole of everybody's time is, of course, mostly taken up in commenting
upon the merits or demerits of each and every corrida. There does not
appear to be time for much else to be talked about then; unless an
election comes along, and that thoroughly rouses the people for the time
being. It is of very little use for anyone to attempt to describe upon
what lines elections are run in Spain. One has to be there to try and
discover what principles guide them. For instance, the last time I was in
Spain Parliamentary elections were to take place the very week after
Easter Sunday. On that day the first bull-fight of the season was to take
place at Puerto Santa Maria, a small town about ten miles from Jerez. Of
course a large number of sports, with their ladies, motored or drove over
for the occasion.
There was an immense crowd at Puerto Santa Maria. In the south of Spain,
especially at a bull-fight, Jack is as good as his master, and each one
has to battle through the crowd as best he can. I personally was relieved
of my gold watch, sovereign case and chain in the most perfect manner; so
perfect that I had not the least idea when or how it was taken. I must
confess I felt very sad over it; not so much over my actual loss, but, I
_did_ think it most unkind and thoughtless of my fellow townsmen to
select me as their victim. The next morning I reported my loss to the
Mayor of Jerez. He didn't appear to be much concerned about it, and he
informed me that he had already had some forty similar complaints of the
loss of watches, pocket-books, etc., from visitors to Puerto Santa Maria
from Jerez the day previous. He had had a telegram also from the Mayor of
Puerto Santa Maria to the effect that some seventy like cases had been
reported to him in that town.
"So that, after all," he said, "I don't really see any particular reason
why you should be hurt. I may tell you that you are in good company.
General Primo de Rivera" (who was then Captain-General Commanding the
Military District) "was with a friend when he saw a man take the latter's
pocket-book from inside his coat. He fortunately grabbed the thief before
he could make off. One of the Ministers of State was successfully robbed
of some thirty pounds in notes; while a friend of yours" (mentioning a
business man in Jerez who hadn't even been to the bull-fight, but had
been collecting rents at Cadiz, and was returning through Puerto Santa
Maria home) "was surprised to find on his arrival there, that the large
sum, which should have been in his pocket had evidently passed, somehow
or other, into some other fellow's hands."
This, of course, somewhat cheered me up, because, after all, there is no
doubt that a common affliction makes us very sympathetic. I asked him how
he accounted for this wonderful display of sleight-of-hand.
"Oh," he said, "don't you know that the elections are on this week, and
that usually, before the elections, the party in power takes the
opportunity of letting out of gaol as many criminals as it dares, hoping
for and counting on their votes? Of course, the responsibility falls on
the heads of the police for making some effort to protect our easy-going
and unsuspicious visitors at such times. The job is too big for us at the
time being, with the result that these gentry make a good harvest. But
yet, after all, we are not really downhearted about it, because, after
the elections are over, especially if the opposition party gets in, we
round them all up and promptly lock them up again."
The explanation, though quite clear, didn't seem to me to be of much help
towards getting back my goods and chattels, so I ventured to ask again
whether he thought there was any chance at all of my recovering them, or
of his recovering them for me. He smiled a sweet smile, and--shaking his
head, I regret to say, in a negative way--answered that he thought there
was not the slightest hope, as, from the description of the watch, chain,
etc., which I had given him, he had no doubt that they had by that time
passed through the melting pot, so that it was not even worth while to
offer a reward.
The house where I was born was at that time one of the largest in the
city. It is situated almost in the centre of Jerez, and occupies a very
large block of ground, for in addition to the house itself and gardens,
the wine-cellars, the cooperage, stables and other accessory buildings
attached to them, were all grouped round it. To-day a holy order of nuns
occupies it as a convent. No longer is heard the crackling of the fires
and the hammering of the iron hoops in the cooperage. No longer the teams
of upstanding mules, with the music of their brass bells, are seen
leaving the cellars with their load of the succulent wine. No longer is
the air filled with that odour which is so well known to those whose
lives are spent amidst the casks in which the wine is maturing. Instead,
peace and quiet reign. Sacrificing their time to the interests of
charity, the holy sisters dwell in peace.
Two recollections of some of my earliest days are somewhat vivid. I seem
to remember hearing the deep sound of a bell in the streets, looking out
of the window and seeing an open cart--full of dead bodies--stopping
before the door of a house, from which one more dead body was added to
the funeral pile. That was the year of the great cholera epidemic. And
again, I remember hearing bells early, very early, in the morning. We
knew what that was. It was the donkey-man coming round to sell the
donkeys' milk at the front door, quite warm and frothy.
My early school days in Spain were quite uneventful. After attending a
day-school at Jerez, kept by Don Jose Rincon, I went into the Jesuit
College at Puerto Real for a year. A new college was being built at
Puerto Santa Maria, to which the school was transferred, and it has been
added to since. It is now one of the best colleges in the south of
Spain.
On the death of my cousin, the entailed properties--as I have
said--became my father's, and the family left Spain to take up its
residence in Scotland.