The Colonel looked quite relieved; the company, also, appeared content.
"Well, gentlemen," said he, "as it seems to meet your approval, suppose
we accept Mr Y--'s proposition. I will begin. Sooner, any day, tell a
dozen stories, than sing one song. My story, at any rate, like Captain
Gabion's last song this morning, when he had only twelve minutes to
spare, will have the merit of being short.--A little more punch, if you
please.--Allow me, then, to break ground, by relating an anecdote of my
esteemed and much-lamented friend
MAJOR KRAUSS.
Some of you knew the Major well--are doubtless aware, also, that in
a fit of excitement, which led to temporary insanity, he fell by
his own hand. The circumstances, however, which gave occasion to
that melancholy event were known only to myself. At the time when
we were forming and drilling the Portuguese army, which afterwards
proved so effective in the field, the Major and I were both stationed
in winter-quarters at L--. In the same town were two regiments of
newly-raised Portuguese cavalry, which it was requisite to have in
complete efficiency against the opening of the campaign in the spring.
The Major--a stiff hand I need not say, a regular Titan of the German
school--was appointed to drill one; and I, for want of something to do,
undertook the other. In this duty, there sprang up between us a little
rivalry, amicable of course, as to which of us should first have his
regiment ready. The Major had his own ideas; and, I thought, teazed his
men, and exacted too much. He had an eye to a field-day; I had an eye
to actual service. Foreigners say, we teach our cavalry everything,
except pulling up. But I can tell you, before an enemy superior in
force, and pressing you too close, nothing acts more effectually as a
check, than riding through them. Well, we both drilled according to
our views. One morning the Major announced to me, that he considered
his regiment perfect, and that I must go with him and inspect it. We
went. He put them through; I looked on; they performed admirably.
Finally, he drew them up in line. Riding to the front, he surveyed
his work with pride. Then, taking a flank position, he made me notice
how accurate the perspective--every sabre sloped at the same angle,
everything in its place--you might have stretched a gardening line from
one end of the regiment to the other. Just then, unfortunately, a new
idea entered the Major's mind: he proposed riding to the rear. Away we
went. Alas! his discipline had not extended to the horses' tails! Every
tail was whisking: horses, Spanish and Portuguese--all long tails, no
cock-tails--every tail in motion. In front, they stood like a wall: in
the rear, it was whisk, whisk, whisk,--swirl, swirl, swirl--switch,
switch, switch--all down the line. It was too much for the poor Major.
He was perfectly dumfounded--looked like a man out of his wits--took a
hasty leave--rode home to his billet, and shot himself. I now beg leave
to call on Mr Y--, for either a story or a song."
"I thought Major Krauss was still living," said Pledget.
"Mr Capsicum," said the Colonel, "have the kindness to fill Mr Pledget
a bumper. Always the fine, you know, if any one calls a statement in
question, when story-telling is going on. Now, if you please, Mr Y--."
"Gentlemen," I said, "I have seen nothing of service, and little of the
world. Perhaps, therefore, you will permit me to relate an anecdote,
which I had from a near relative of mine, a naval officer; and which
remarkably illustrates the characteristic coolness of British seamen.
It was the act of a common sailor, who bore among his messmates, in
consequence, the name of
SLUICY SAM.
It was at the evacuation of Toulon. My aforesaid relative was then a
lieutenant, and had been landed with a party from his ship, to take
charge of one of the forts in the harbour. When Buonaparte, through
the remissness of our Spanish allies, took the hill which commanded
the anchorage, and we were forced to withdraw, the lieutenant received
orders to bring off his party, and the ammunition which had been landed
from the ship. There were several barrels of gunpowder to be brought
away. These were stowed in the after part of the boat, between the
officers and the men, to be under inspection; and were set on end,
to save room. In pulling for the ship, the boat had to pass another
fort, which was on fire. The English, you know, on coming away, burnt
everything they could--that is, I mean, everything connected with the
public service, ships, stores, storehouses, buildings. Just as the boat
was passing, the fort blew up. The fragments of the explosion filled
the air; and a rafter charred with fire fell into the boat, stove in
the head of one of the powder-barrels, and stood upright in the powder.
Its superior extremity was still burning. There was a dead silence. The
men went on pulling, as if nothing had happened. In an instant they
might all be blown to atoms. It seemed the easiest thing in the world
to seize the smoking and crackling brand, pluck it out of the powder,
and throw it into the sea. But that, doubtless, would have been instant
destruction; one spark, shaken off in the operation and falling, would
have done the business. Everybody saw the hitch. Still the men pulled
away. It wouldn't do to stir the brand; and it evidently wouldn't do to
leave it where it was. "Ship your oar, Sam," said the lieutenant. Sam,
did so. Not a word more was spoken, or necessary. Sam coolly took off
his hat, dipped it into the sea, filled it, carefully and thoroughly
_sluiced_ the whole surface of the exposed powder in the barrel; and
then, having in this way made all safe, slowly drew the rafter out
of the barrel, and pitched it overboard.--I beg here to call on Mr
Commissary Capsicum."
"Well, gentlemen," said Capsicum, "I will tell you another boat-story;
and though the care of Providence was singularly illustrated in the
wonderful preservation which Johnny has just related, I think it
appeared quite as remarkably in the case which I am about to relate, of
THE MAN THAT WASN'T DROWNED.
I am now a military commissary; I was once a naval one. I made my
_debut_ in the British service as a captain's clerk, and sailed in
that capacity on board the Negotiator, 74, which was under orders for
Lisbon. On our arrival in the Tagus, we found there the Protocol, 120,
the Pacificator, 100, the Persuasive, 80, the Conciliator, 74, the
Preliminary, 50, the Envoy, bomb, and the Intervention, fire-ship. The
next day, the captain of the Protocol came on board, and was invited
by our own skipper to stay and dine. But he knew the Lisbon weather
too well--foresaw a gale; and, not relishing the idea of getting a wet
jacket in returning at night to his ship, persuaded our skipper to go
and dine with _him_. The Negotiator's boat was to fetch the skipper.
Sure enough, the wind freshened about sunset, and in an hour or two it
began to blow great guns. Our boat went, however, as arranged. Nasty
work, boating at Lisbon. You may think it's nothing, in harbour. But I
can tell you this--whenever there's a storm at sea, there's sure to be
a little hurricane in the Tagus. No matter what's the direction of the
wind outside--in the Tagus you have it right up or right down. Well,
gentlemen, Protocol advised Negotiator not to think of returning such a
night as that--offered him a shake-down on board--assured him he'd be
swamped--all to no purpose; Negotiator would go, as his boat was come.
Just as they were leaving the ship's side, one of the boat's crew fell
overboard. Every effort was made to recover him, but with what success
you may easily suppose. The tide was running down like a torrent; the
wind came roaring up from the bar, and lashed the water into froth and
fury; the spray half filled the boat; it was pitch-dark. All was done
that could be done, but to no purpose: the man was given up for lost;
the boat returned to the ship. The skipper came into the cabin quite
sorrowful-like, that he had lost one of his best men, but didn't forget
to tell me to jump down into the boat, and see to the handing up of
half-a-dozen fine melons, presented to him by Protocol. Down I went,
in the dark, over the ship's side, got into the boat, groped about,
found five melons and handed them up; couldn't find the sixth. I was
just stepping out of the boat to return on board, when the thought
struck me, what a blowing-up I should get from the skipper, when I
told him a melon was missing. I paused, renewed my search, happened
to put my hand down to the gunnel of the boat, to support myself in
stooping. My hand lighted upon something; it wasn't the gunnel. I felt
it--pitch-dark; couldn't see the tip of my own nose. It was a man's
foot! I felt further--a man's leg! Someone was hanging on, outside
the boat, with his heel uppermost, and his head under water. I held
him fast by the leg, and sung out for help. The man was got on board
insensible, and to all appearance past recovery. When he fell overboard
alongside the Protocol, he had hooked on by his foot, and in that way
had been dragged under water all the time they had been rowing about in
the dark to find him, as well as afterwards, while they were pulling
for the ship. We all thought him a dead man. The doctor said, 'No: if
he had been, he would have let go.' Doctor ordered a sailor's flannel
shirt and a kettle of boiling water; had the patient stripped, and laid
in hot blankets; rolled up the flannel shirt into a ball, poured into
it the boiling water, and clapt it to the pit of his stomach." (Here
Pledget took out his tablets, and made a note.) "What with this, and
other gentle restoratives," continued Capsicum, "the man recovered.
The skipper, glad as he was when the doctor reported it, didn't forget
to give me a good blowing-up for the melon, which I suppose one of the
boat's crew had grabbed in the dark."
"Of course he didn't forget that," said Joey, who had listened to this
narrative with professional interest. "Pray, do you happen to know what
time elapsed from the man's falling overboard till he was unhooked?"
"The little dog forgot to mention," replied Capsicum.
"What little dog?" said Joey eagerly. "I am quite an _animal_ man. I am
particularly fond of dogs."
"The little dog whose tail curled so tight, that it lifted him off his
hind legs. Will you oblige us, Mr. Gingham?"
"It is extraordinary enough, gentlemen," said Gingham, "that though
three most interesting anecdotes have been related, we have not yet had
either a ghost story, a love story, or a touch of the pathetic. The
first of these omissions I will now endeavour to supply, by relating an
occurrence which befel me during the short time I was at school, and in
which the party most prominent was a strange sort of an individual, who
went among the boys by the name of
THE CONJUROR.
He was our writing-master. He was our ciphering-master. He was also
our drawing-master. He was a foreigner. Not a boy in the school knew
whence he came; but he certainly was not an Englishman. In person
he was gaunt and uncouth. He was a mild, quiet sort of a man; but
his eye had a sinister expression, and he was savage when provoked.
It was commonly reported among the boys, not only that he could do
extraordinary conjuring tricks, but that he was a master of magic,
far deeper and darker than legerdemain. He lived alone in a solitary
cottage, which, with its garden and long shrubbery, skirted the road,
about a mile out of the town where was our school. This cottage had
never been entered by any of the boys; strange stories were told about
it; and we viewed it with a sort of awe. You must know the gentleman
in question had a remarkable habit of sitting. When he came to us at
one o'clock, he immediately took his seat at his desk; and never rose
till his two hours were up. This circumstance suggested to my mind
a conjuring trick, to be played off on the conjuror. One day, just
before his arrival, I spread some shoemakers' wax on his bench; and
afterwards, when he was fairly seated, I gave out among the boys that
I had conjured the conjuror, and that at three o'clock he wouldn't
be able to go. The boys were all expectation. It struck three. He
attempted to rise--an unseen power held him fast. At length, amidst
much tittering, he contrived to get free; but only by extricating
himself from that part of his habiliments which was in immediate
contact with the bench. He did not exactly pull them off; but, poor
man! he was obliged to pull himself out of them. The master lent him
another pair; he went home filled with rage, but perfectly cool, having
first contrived to identify the culprit; and his own, having been
carefully detached with a hot knife by the master's daughter, Miss
Quintilian, as the boys called her, were sent after him with a message
of kind condolence, packed by her fair hands in a brown paper parcel,
into which I contrived to slip a fig-leaf. Next day he reappeared
at the usual hour. All went on smoothly for about a fortnight. At
the end of that time, one afternoon when I was showing up my sum, he
addressed me, observing that I had always been particularly diligent
with my arithmetic, and that, as the holidays were at hand, he hoped
I would do him the favour of drinking tea with him that evening.
Some of the boys tried to frighten me--said he bottled the thunder
and lightning, and kept it corked down, ready for use--oh, wouldn't
he give me a touch of it? Others encouraged me. I went. Tea over, he
told me that he had contrived a little exhibition for my amusement;
then flung open the folding doors of the parlour, and disclosed a
large sheet, hanging as a curtain in the doorway. 'I must go into the
next room,' said he, 'and take the candles with me, or you will not
be able to see the exhibition.' He withdrew, leaving me alone in the
dark, went into the next room, and commenced the exhibition--a sort of
phantasmagoria--to me, sufficiently surprising; for the phantasmagoria
had not at that time been brought before the public. One of the figures
was a whole-length likeness of myself, which suddenly vanished, and was
replaced by a skeleton. The exhibition finished, the conjuror returned
with the lights; and, by way of supper, treated me to a glass of negus
and a slice of seed-cake. He then intimated that it was time for me
to think of playing the Bedfordshire march, but that before I went he
had something to say to me, if I would follow him into the next room.
We adjourned: and there, amongst other strange sights, I saw one of
the identical bottles containing the thunder and lightning--expected
to be blown up sky-high. The conjuror now addressed me. Alluding to
the unfortunate affair of the wax, he remarked that his conduct to me
had been uniformly kind; that he had always encouraged me, commended
my diligence, and helped me in my difficulties. Then, in an appealing
tone, he inquired how I could have made such an ungrateful return, as
to play him that horrid trick of the wax. At the same time opening a
drawer, and producing his corduroys, he pointed out to me their damaged
condition, and put it to my best feelings, whether that was the way to
recompense kindness such as his. I felt at once that my conduct had
been immeasurably bad, and most humbly expressed my compunction. 'No,'
said he, 'that is not sufficient. The offence was public, so should
be also the reparation. Promise me that to-morrow, before the whole
school, you will come up to my desk and apologise.' Perhaps this was
only just; but I hesitated. He pressed me; but I would make no such
promise. 'Very well,' said he, 'it is now time for you to think of
returning. You will be sorry for your obstinacy, perhaps, before you
get back to the school.' He then accompanied me into the passage, and
kindly helped me on with my greatcoat. 'The front door,' said he, 'is
fastened for the night. Here, step out this way.' He led me through
the back passage into the garden, and opened the garden-gate, outside
of which was a field. 'There,' said he, 'follow that path, which runs
along by the side of the shrubbery. When you have got to the end of it
you will find a gate, which will let you into the road. Good night.'
The night was splendid--a sky without a cloud. The full moon, high
up in the heavens, shed a lustre which gave to every prominent object
the distinctness of day. But the shrubbery, as I skirted it to gain
the road, was dark--dark--dark. At its extremity, however, the moment
I emerged from the garden into the field, I descried the gate; and to
that point, with my eyes fixed upon it, I directed my steps. Suddenly,
to my no small surprise, the gate began to clatter and rattle, as
if violently shaken by the wind. This was the more extraordinary,
because the night was as calm as it was brilliant; not a breath of
air was stirring. Nor was any creature visible; yet still the gate
went on, rattle, rattle, clatter, clatter, as if shaking itself for
its own amusement. Presently, as though violently pushed by invisible
hands, the gate swung wide open; then began swinging backwards and
forwards, swing, swing, backwards and forwards, first into the road,
then into the field, with a bang of the latch at every swing. The
last time it swung fieldways, it stood open of itself; suddenly fixed
by an unseen power at its utmost range. Then appeared a tall dark
form, gliding into the field through the gateway from the road, and
descending towards me by the path. It was the form of the conjuror
himself! Yet, in its appearance, there was something appalling, and,
I may say, unearthly. It did not step out, neither did it altogether
glide. With a motion compounded of the two, it first advanced one leg,
then, after a long interval, the other, still moving towards me at a
slow, uniform rate. One arm was solemnly extended, with the forefinger
pointing to the moon: and, as the tall image approached and passed
me, I could distinctly discern the uplifted visage of the conjuror,
stern but calm, his head turned slightly on one side, his brow knit,
his eyes fixed upon the moon. Without looking behind me to see what
became of him after he passed, I hurried on; and had already arrived
within about fifty paces of the gate, when it again began to rattle and
swing as violently as at first--again stood open--and again the same
form appeared, gliding, as before, from the road into the field, and
descending towards me down the path. The arm was still extended; the
finger still pointed majestically to the moon; the movement also, a
mixture of striding and sliding, was still the same. But the conjuror's
face, not turned as before towards the moon, was this time directed
towards me. The eyes glared full in mine--but, oh, what eyes! They
had stolen the gleam of the luminary on which they were fixed before;
each eye was a moon! the window of a brain that glowed internally with
a white heat! With a look of horrid vacuity fixed on my face, again
it passed; and I, not at all coveting a third interview, cut away for
the gate, and up the road homewards. I had no recollection of what
occurred afterwards, till I was roused from my slumbers next morning
by Miss Quintilian, who stood by my bedside with a lump of sugar and
something nice in a teacup, which, _she said_, her pa had ordered me
to take. We broke up, returned to school after the holidays, and found
a new writing-master, the conjuror's cottage shut up, and the conjuror
himself gone--nobody knew whither. Miss Quintilian said she would tell
me how he went, if I promised not to mention it to her pa:--she had
seen him with her own eyes, riding away over the church, astride on a
broomstick.--Now, sir," added Gingham, bowing to Mr Belvidere, "I trust
that you will favour us. By the bye, Colonel, before We proceed, hadn't
I better brew my promised bowl of punch?"
"My story will be a very short one," said Mr Belvidere, who spoke
little, and, as it afterwards appeared, had a mighty matter on his mind.
"The punch will take no time," said Gingham. "I have everything ready."
The chairman, governed by the evident sense of the company, awarded
priority to the punch. Gingham stepped aside, the steward was smart
with the kettle, and in less than two minutes a fresh bowl was on the
table. With such punch in Olympus, suffice it to say, nectar had soon
become a drug. The chairman now called on Mr Belvidere, who proceeded
forthwith to relate
THE TRIAL.
"I was once staying at Bath, about fifteen years ago, and, while there,
became very thick with the officers of an English cavalry regiment.
One day, when I dined at the mess, it so happened that there was also
present a young gentleman, a sub, who had joined that morning. It was
a practice in many regiments, in those days, I suppose I need not
mention, when a sub joined, to take the first opportunity of trying
him, as it was called--that is, trying his mettle. In the present
instance, the time fixed was dinner. The youth was quiet and well-bred,
a little reserved, and apparently not quite at home. Doubts were
expressed whether he would show pluck. When dinner was on table, and
we were all assembled, the senior officer present politely requested
the young stranger to take the office of vice; and he, with equal
politeness assenting, seated himself at the bottom of the table. A
grim-looking countryman of mine, the major of the regiment, a jovial
red-faced off-hand sort of a personage, full of whisky and waggery,
was the individual appointed to make the customary trial, and took his
seat at table to the vice-president's left. Soup and fish removed, an
attendant placed before the young gentleman a boiled leg of mutton.
Presently the major, addressing him, said, 'I'll thank you for a bit
of that vale.'--'I beg your pardon,' said Mr Vice; 'I rather think
it's mutton, not veal: shall I have the pleasure of helping you?' The
major made no reply. Presently the major began again: 'I'll thank you
for a bit of that vale.'--'I tell you,' said the sub, 'it's not veal;
it's mutton. Shall I give you some?' Again the major was silent. After
a pause, the major renewed the attack: 'I'll thank you for a bit of
that vale.'--'I'll soon let you know whether it's veal or mutton,'
said the newly-arrived, jumping up. Then, with one hand seizing the
leg of mutton by the knuckle, with the other the major by the collar,
and wielding the gigot like a club, he banged it about the major's
sconce till the company interposed. The major, fairly basted with
half-raw gravy, and dripping with caper-sauce, flung up both his arms
above his head, in an ecstasy of delight, and, exultingly waving his
hands, exclaimed at the top of his voice, 'He'll do! he'll do!' Perhaps
we shall now be favoured with a story or a song by Mr Staff-surgeon
Pledget."
"Yes, yes," said the Colonel, laughing, "the old major took it all with
a very good grace; a capital fellow he was, too. Sorry to say, one of
his peepers got a little damaged, though, on the occasion. I could not
do that, now that I am minus a claw."
"Why, Colonel d'Arbley!" said Mr Belvidere, looking the Colonel very
hard in the face, "I really ought to apologise. Wasn't at all aware
that the hero of my story was sitting at the head of the table. Ah, I
see--I recollect. The same features; yes, exactly. I think, though,
Colonel, you were not then quite so tall."
"Well," replied the Colonel, "I'm not quite sure that I had done
growing. I entered the service young. Now, Mr Pledget, sir, if you
please."
"I really feel quite at a loss, sir," said Pledget. "I have served in
different parts of the world; but I positively never met with anything
half so curious and interesting as the extraordinary incidents which I
have heard this evening."
"Why, Pledget, man," said the Major, "you were on the expedition to
Buenos Ayres. Come, tell us something about those lassoing fellows,
or the lovely señoras, with their fine-turned ankles and slaughtering
eyes."
"I'll tell you," said Pledget, "something that I picked up at the
Cape, on the passage. It relates to a celebrated traveller, who was
generally known at Cape Town by the name of
THE NATURALIST.
While we were lying at Table Bay, I resided for a few days on shore.
It so happened that I took up my residence in the same lodgings which
had formerly been occupied by the traveller in question, the well-known
Mons. V--. The landlord, antiquated, good-humoured old Dutchman,
delighted to talk of his illustrious guest, and told me anecdotes of
him. V--, it appears, afforded the household much amusement. One day
he had found what he considered a very curious green bug, which he
placed, alive, in a paper box. The green bug, however, thought fit to
make its escape from the box, and walked away. V--, soon missing the
fugitive, was in an agony--searched the room--searched the house--ran
about, asking everybody he met, had they seen his green bug? Meanwhile,
watching an opportunity while V--'s back was turned, the landlord's
son took a hair-pencil of green paint, and painted on a panel of the
apartment an exact fac-simile of the green bug. Presently, in a perfect
fever of excitement, the naturalist returned, still inquiring eagerly
for his green bug. The family looked innocent, shook their heads, and
said nothing. V--again began to search the room, till at length his
eyes lighted on the panel. 'Ah!' he exclaimed, 'my green bug! Ah, I
have finded you now, my dear little naughty green bug!' 'Ah non!' he
added, after two or three ineffectual attempts to pick the picture off
the panel--'ah non! it not is my little green bug!' Whether V-- was
near-sighted, I know not. But, if so, I can easily account for his
mistaking a painted green bug for a real one; for, gentlemen, I am
slightly near-sighted myself," said Pledget; "and last autumn, I do
assure you, while I was out shooting on my brother's estate in Kent,
a humble-bee got up right under my nose, and I actually blazed away
at it with both barrels, mistaking it for a pheasant. I know it was
nothing but a humble-bee; for my shooting companion, a young Oxonian,
my own nephew in fact, positively assured me. I can't help thinking I
must be a little near-sighted. Well, but that is not all about V--.
The Dutchman one day, observing him so very curious in entomology,
collected a variety of richly-coloured filaments from the plumage
of birds, shreds of silk, &c.; then caught some fine blue-bottles;
fastened the filaments to the blue-bottles with gum; and, when V--
was out, turned the blue-bottles loose in his bedroom. V-- came
home--went direct to his sleeping apartment--the whole household,
assembled and listening, stood outside in the passage. Presently the
row began. V-- was heard within, first uttering cries of astonishment
and delight, then flouncing about the room, jumping over the bed,
capsizing the water-jug, in hot pursuit of the nondescript varieties
of the blue-bottle. At length a heavy bang was followed by a dead
silence; then came a cry of piteous lamentation. The family entered,
with sympathising looks. Poor V-- had broken his shin, in an attempt
to leap the table. The females rushed for brown paper and vinegar. The
wounded man was extricated from the upturned legs of the table, and led
out limping into the common apartment, to be doctored. The landlord,
profiting by the opportunity, opened the bedroom window, and the
blue-bottles escaped. The naturalist, who never knew by what means he
had been beguiled, made frequent, and I need not say vain, inquiries,
for similar 'prit littel bottle blue homing-beards.'--I beg leave to
call on my friend the Major."
"I," said the Major, "as well as Captain Gabion, was on the retreat to
Corunna, and now beg leave to relate an incident connected with
THE EMBARKATION.
After we had served out the French, on the heights there, just above
the town, we had no farther trouble to signify, so far as they were
concerned--a pretty deal, though, in getting our own army embarked.
I was the last man on shore but two. Towards the close of the
business, I went down to the place of embarkation--found old Blue
Breeches (a sobriquet which I had in the morning been scandalised by
hearing applied to my honoured father) there, the officer in charge,
superintending. There he was, up to his knees in the surf, giving
his orders, helping the wounded into the boats with his own hands,
directing everything. Such a precious scene of noise and confusion I
never witnessed. 'Hadn't you better embark at once, sir?' said he.
'No--I'd rather wait a while,' said I. 'Hadn't you better go in _this_
boat?' said he. 'No, sir; I'll go in the boat _you_ go in,' said
I. 'Then you'll have to wait quite to the last; I intend to be the
last man off,' said he. 'Very well,' said I. 'If you really mean to
wait, sir, I shall have to request your assistance,' said he. Didn't
quite understand what that meant, but determined to stick to Old Blue
Breeches. Don't you see? It was my best card. You don't suppose I
was going to be boated off to a transport, when I could go home in a
seventy-four? Well, sir, at length the men were all embarked--the sick,
the wounded, every man John of them. The last boat-load had shoved off,
and there now only remained the captain's own gig, ready to take us on
board. Of course, I expected we should be off, like the rest, without
delay. No, no; Old Blue Breeches had a different way of doing business.
He turns round to me, and says, 'I am, going to take a walk through
the town, sir. Will you favour me with your company?' 'Should hardly
think there was time for that, sir,' said I; 'but if it will answer
any purpose, and you really mean to go, I shall be happy to go with
you.' Thought some of the French might have got in. 'I want to look
into the different wine-houses,' said he, 'just to see if there are
any stragglers. Am ordered to bring all off: shouldn't like to leave a
man behind.' Away we went--he, I, and old Powers, the Irish coxswain,
almost as rum an old chap as Old Blue Breeches himself. He searched all
the wine-shops for stragglers--found none. Besides our three selves,
there wasn't an Englishman in Corunna. Came back through the sally-port
that opened on the place of embarkation. At the sally-port Old Blue
Breeches made a halt, rummaged in his pocket, brought out the _key_.
'Took care to secure this yesterday,' said he: 'just wait a moment,
while I lock the door.' He locked it, and brought away the key. Down we
went to the boat. I hung behind, wanting to be the last man off. Old
Powers was playing the same game, but it wouldn't do. 'Now, sir, if
you please,' said Old Blue Breeches; 'company first.' In I got. 'Won't
I help yer honour in?' said Powers to Old Blue Breeches. 'No, no, old
fellow,' said he; 'that won't do, you know. Get in first yourself,
and help me in afterwards.' Powers grinned, and tumbled in over the
stern. Old Blue Breeches got in last. We shoved off. 'Three cheers,
yer honour?' said Powers, as he took his seat by the tiller. 'Ay, ay;
three cheers,' said Old Blue Breeches; 'and may the French soon catch
such another whopping.' Three hearty cheers by the boat's crew, and
away we pulled for the ship. Old Blue Breeches and I, both of us pretty
considerably done up. Neither spoke for some minutes. Thought I should
like to have that key; took a fancy to it. 'I suppose you mean to keep
the key?' said I. 'Indeed you may say that,' said he. 'I do mean to
keep it; and I have got another to put to it. Last mail ashore here at
Corunna; so I was at Toulon, in 1793. Then, also, I locked the gate,
and brought away the key.' Now that's what I call cool.--Will you
favour us, Captain Gabion?"
"I should esteem it a favor," replied the Captain, "if I might be
permitted to tell my story last. Perhaps the gentleman opposite to me,"
(bowing to Joey,) "will have the kindness to take his turn now. Mine
will then be the only one remaining. Mr Chairman, will you sanction
this arrangement?" The chairman bowed. Joey began:--
"A previous narrator remarked, that no one had told either a
ghost-story, a love story, or a pathetic story. The first deficiency
he himself supplied; and, though I cannot say that I ever saw a ghost,
I certainly never experienced anything so like seeing one, as while I
listened to that extraordinary and appalling narrative. I, gentlemen,
have no love story to tell, but I have a story of true pathos; and you
shall hear it, if such is your pleasure."
In token of _my_ acquiescence, I stepped to my berth, took out two
white pocket-handkerchiefs, handed one to Joey, and kept the other
ready for use.
"Gentlemen," said Joey, depositing the disregarded cambric on the
table, "I will tell my story, but only on one condition. It is no
fiction; and what I stipulate is this--that, since I relate it with a
heart still wrung by recollection, as to men of manly feeling, and in
perfect good faith, so you will listen with seriousness and sympathy."
We looked at each other. Each made up a face; all were grave, or
appeared so; and Joey, with great earnestness of manner, and a voice
husky with emotion, commenced the narrative of
THE MONKEY AND THE CAT.
"While I was serving on board the East India Company's cruiser the
Jackal, we were one time employed surveying in the Persian Gulf. Being
infested with rats, we one day requested our interpreter, when he
went ashore, to bring off with him a cat from the nearest village.
He returned, bearing in his arms, gentlemen, such an extraordinary
specimen of feline beauty as, I will venture to say, has never graced a
British menagerie, or sat upon any hearth-rug in the United Empire. Her
elegance, her gentleness, her symmetry, I will not wrong, by attempting
to describe: I should feel the poverty of the English language. Her
two eyes had each a charm peculiar to itself. One was a pure celestial
blue, the other green as an emerald. It was at once felt, by every
officer on board, that a creature so superb was not to be employed in
the vulgar office of catching rats. Our only thought was, to treat
her with the care and tenderness which her beauty merited. As she was
unquestionably the princess of cats, and as her coat was a soft tawny,
in hue somewhat resembling the odoriferous powder of which our friend
Mr Capsicum makes such copious use--combining the two circumstances,
we agreed to call her Princeza. Princeza at once established herself
as the pet of the ship. What wonder? We had no other domestic animal
on board, save one solitary monkey--his name Jocko, his character,
I grieve to say, a revolting compound of artifice, egotism, and low
malignity.
But now a new circumstance arose, which increased our interest in the
lovely Princeza. Almost immediately she arrived on board, it became
evident, from unmistakable indications, that she was about to be a
mother. Her interesting situation, indeed, might have been detected
by an observant eye, when she first embarked. In anticipation of the
earnestly expected event, it was decided that Princeza should be
provided with every accommodation in the officers' cabin. A basket,
appropriated to her use, was lined and half-filled with the warmest
and softest materials; and in the cabin this basket was deposited.
Not that we apprehended injury from the crew. Oh no! our only fear
was, that Princeza and her expected little ones would be over-nursed,
over-petted, over-fed--in short, killed with kindness. Judge,
gentlemen, what were my emotions, when, one morning early, returning
to the cabin from my duty on deck, I heard Princeza purring in her
basket with more than usual vehemence, and discovered, on examination,
that she had become the happy mother of four dear little lovely
kittens." Here Joey's voice quite broke down. At length, mastering
his emotions, he proceeded: "Well, gentlemen; anxious to examine the
little interesting accessions, I softly introduced my hand into the
basket. But Princeza was now a mother, and had a mother's feelings.
Doubtless apprehending injury to her little offspring--ah! could I have
injured them?--in an instant, poor thing, she got my hand in chancery.
Her foreclaws, struck deep, held me faster than a vice; with her hind
claws she rasped away the flesh, spurring like a kangaroo; while,
with her formidable teeth, she masticated my knuckles. After admiring
awhile this affecting illustration of maternal tenderness, I attempted
to withdraw my hand. But, ah, gentle creature! she only struck her
claws the deeper, spurred more vigorously, and chewed with redoubled
energy. Only by assistance was I extricated; nor was my hand perfectly
recovered, till a fortnight after Princeza was herself no more! Well,
gentlemen; for greater security it was now resolved that, every night
at eight o'clock, Princeza's basket should be set on the cabin table.
There it was placed the first night; and next morning, one of the
kittens was found--can I utter it?--dead! No malice was suspected:
the disaster was attributed to natural causes. Another night came. We
used no precautions. In the morning, we found another kitten--dead!
Suspicion was now awake, but overlooked the real culprit. The third
night, I determined to watch. The basket stood, as before, upon the
table: Princeza, with her two remaining little ones, lay snug and warm
within: a lamp, burning near the entrance, shed its light throughout
the cabin; and I, with my curtain all but closed, kept watch within my
berth. In the dead of the night, when all between decks was quiet, save
the snoring of the men, the flitting of a shadow made me sensible that
some one, or something, was moving in the cabin. Presently, approaching
stealthily, like Tarquin, or Shakspeare's wolf, appeared--gentlemen, I
saw it with my eyes--the form of Jocko! With silent grimaces, advancing
on all fours, stealthily, stealthily, a step at a time, he approached,
he reached the table. There awhile he paused; then threw a somerset,
and alighted upon it. The moment he was landed, the pricked ears and
anxious face of Princeza appeared above the basket. He approached. She
stirred not, but continued to observe him, with all a mother's fears
depicted in her countenance. Jocko now laid one paw upon the basket's
edge. Still Princeza moved not. Blackest of villains! he cuffed
her--cuffed her again--again;--in short, repeated his cuffs, till,
terrified and bewildered, the unhappy mother leaped from the basket on
the table, from the table on the floor, and flew out of the cabin. Then
did that monster in a monkey's form quietly take her place, and settle
himself down for a night's rest, in the midst of the warmth and comfort
from which he had ejected the lawful tenant. All was now discovered.
The double murderer of the two preceding nights lay housed and genial
in that basket. Anxious to see and know the whole, up to this moment I
had controlled myself. But now, too hastily, I rushed from my berth,
to seize the detected culprit. The noise alarmed him. Snatching up a
kitten in one paw he sprang from the cabin--on deck--up the rigging.
Pursued, though it was night, he dodged his pursuers, taking advantage
of the gloom. At length, hard pressed, seeing his retreat cut off and
his capture inevitable, he dashed the kitten into the briny deep,
and suffered himself to be taken. With difficulty I preserved him
from the fury of the men. Suffice it to say, that night he was kept
close prisoner in a hencoop, and, next morning, hanged. But oh, how
shall I relate the sequel? The remaining kitten was found severely
injured, crushed doubtless by Jocko's incumbent weight, and died
within eight-and-forty hours. The mother, bereaved of all her little
ones, went mewing about the ship as if in search of them, languished
and pined away, refused all consolation, and expired about eight days
after. We now became sensible of our loss in its full extent: and this,
gentlemen, was felt by all on board to be the acme of our grief--the
ship was left without a pet! Oh, could we have recalled Princeza and
her kittens! Oh, could we have recalled even Jocko!"
At the conclusion of this tragic narrative, which was recounted to
the end with unaffected feeling, the company awhile remained silent,
respecting Joey's sensibilities. Joey looked very much as if my tender
of the cambric had not been altogether superfluous. At length the
conversation was renewed by Gingham.
"Your truly affecting story has a moral, sir. I am an observer of the
habits of animals. Monkeys are very fond of warmth."
"Well, sir," replied Joey, with a deep-drawn sigh, "I should like to
hear your moral at any rate."
"The fact is, sir," said Gingham, "on board ship, what is a poor wretch
of a monkey to do? At night, probably, he is driven to the rigging. He
would gladly nestle with the men, but the men won't have him; for, to
say nothing of the general ridicule a fellow would incur by having a
monkey for his bedfellow, ten to one the poor wretch is swarming with
fleas as big as jackasses, to say nothing of enormous ticks in the
creases of his dirty skin. Monkeys, sir, like dogs, scratch themselves
a great deal, but cleanse themselves very little. Now depend upon it,
when the weather is cold and the wind high, monkeys never sleep in
trees. Is it likely then, on board ship, that they prefer sleeping
aloft?--that is, if a monkey ever sleeps. Did you ever see a monkey
asleep?"
"Can't say I ever did," replied Joey. "I have seen them nodding. But
the moral?"
"The moral," said Gingham, "is simply this. The next time you sail
with a monkey and a cat on board, if you provide a basket for the cat,
provide another for the monkey."
"Obviously!" replied Joey. "Would we had thought of that on board the
Jackal! Obviously!"
"May I ask," said Gingham, "how you contrived to hang the monkey?"
"Of course," replied Joey, "he was first pinioned."
"Exactly," said Gingham; "so I conjectured. Otherwise I should consider
the hanging of a monkey no easy matter."
"Now, Captain Gabion, if you please," said the Colonel, interposing.
"The punch is nearly out," replied the Captain, "and, if I might be
excused, I should really feel thankful for the indulgence. I have
nothing to tell but an ugly dream; and that dream relates to a subject
which, as I believe my military friends here present are aware, is
constantly and painfully present to my mind. The less said about it the
better."
"Come, come, Captain Gabion," said the Colonel; "never think of that,
man. You'll see Old England again, I tell you, and rise to rank in the
service. Come, give us your story."
It is well known that, among the officers who embarked for the
Peninsula, there was occasionally one who quitted his native shores
with a strong presentiment that he should never see them again, but
fall in action. In such instances the mind retained the impression
almost constantly. It was not the coward's fear of death--far from it.
If ever it was forgotten, the moment was that of conflict and peril;
and then, it was sometimes realised.
"Come, old fellow," said the Colonel; "your story, if you please."
The Captain was about to reply, when a musical voice, pitched in alto,
was heard from the state-cabin:--"Kitty, Kitty, come down; come down,
I tell you. You'll catch your death o' cold, standing there in the
draught without your bonnet. Come down, child, this instant."
Kitty was now seen gliding from the foot of the cabin stairs into her
mistress's apartment. The Colonel's keen eye glanced in that direction;
ours took the same. A pair of legs was distinctly visible at the bottom
of the stairs.
"Cupid, you villain! Cupid!" shouted the Colonel, "come here;
come directly, sir. Aboard or ashore, that rascal never misses an
opportunity of making love. Here, Cupid! Cupid!"
The Colonel's gentleman, with innocence pictured in his countenance,
now entered, stepped quietly up to the foot of the table, and
respectfully twitched his forelock.
"What are you about there on the cabin stairs, sir?" said the Colonel.
"Can't you let the young woman be quiet, and be hanged to ye?"
"I vos owny a-cummin down into the cab'n, yer honour, jist to see if
yer honour vaunted hennythink!"
The Colonel's gentleman, I ought to have stated before this, was an
old light dragoon, and a Cockney. He had lost an eye, on the same
occasion when the Colonel lost an arm; obtained his discharge; and
from that time followed the Colonel's fortunes. His loss, I presume,
had gained him the name of Cupid. He was a civil, well-behaved,
handy fellow enough; had that particular way of speaking, emphatic,
and gesticulatory, which distinguishes old soldiers who have got
their discharge; made himself universally useful to the Colonel, and
helped him to dress and undress, morning and evening, the Colonel
being dependent from the loss of a fin. Cupid, in consequence, was a
privileged person: had the _entrée_ of the cabin at all times and
seasons; and, being ready and sometimes sentimental in his replies,
seldom made his appearance amongst us without being assailed with
questions on all sides. The Colonel was now about to give him a regular
jobation, but the Major struck in.
"I say, Cupid, very convenient for courtship those cabin stairs in
rainy weather. Eh, Cupid?"
"Courtship, yer honour!" said Cupid. "I vosn't not a-doin nothink of
the kind. I vos owny a-meditatin, like."
"Oh, meditating were you, though, Cupid?" said Captain Gabion. "Well,
pray what were you meditating about? Come, tell us your thoughts."
"Vhy, sir," replied Cupid, "I vos a-meditatin upon the hair and upon
the sea. Got plenty of bofe vhere ve now are; nothink helse, has I can
see; so it vos owny natral I should meditate. And I vos jist a-thinkin
this: that the hair is made for men, and the sea is made for fishes,
heach for heach; and t'other von't do for nayther. Pull a fish hout of
his own heliment hinto the hair, and he dies. And pitch a man hout of
his own heliment hinto the sea, and he's drownded."
"Really, Cupid," said Capsicum, "that never struck me before. It's very
curious."
"Wherry," said Cupid. "But, please yer honour, I thought of somethink
helse, vitch I consider it's more kew-russer still. And that's this:
that, though too much vorter drownds a man, and too much hair kills
a fish, yit a fish can't do vithout a little hair, and a man can't
do vithout a little drink." Cupid's eye, as if he had said too much,
dropped, and fell upon the punch-bowl.
Amidst the general applause and merriment excited by this appeal, I
pushed over a tumbler to Joey, who took up the punch-bowl, and soon
transferred its remaining contents into the glass, which he handed,
brimming, to Cupid. The next moment it stood empty on the table. Cupid
smacked his lips.
"Cupid," said the Colonel in a tone of authority, "what's your opinion
of that punch?"
"Pertickerly obleeged to yer honour," replied Cupid, "and to haul
the company vot's present." Cupid then made a nip at his knee, as if
suddenly bit; and, availing himself of the stoop, whispered Joey:
"Please, sir, did the Cornal brew it hisself?" With a twitch of the
mouth, and a twist of the eye, Joey indicated Gingham.
"Come, Cupid," said the Colonel, "I want a direct answer. Tell me your
opinion of that punch." The Colonel had a plot.
"Bless yer art, yer honour," said Cupid.
"Come, speak up, sir," said the Colonel.
"Speak up, man," said Gingham.
"Vell, yer honour," said Cupid, "I haulvays speaks the troof, except
I'm hordered the contary. Pleasant tipple, wherry. But if so be I
hadn't not a' seed it in the punch-bowl, vhy, I shouldn't not a' knowed
it _vos_ punch, not no how."
"What drink do you like best, Cupid?" said the Major. "What d'ye think
of water, now?"
"Vhy, I think this, yer honour," replied Cupid: "I'm a pertickler
dislike to vorter; that's vot I think. I vouldn't ride no oss into no
vorter, no, not for nothink."
"The fact is, gentlemen," said the Colonel, "Cupid thinks no man can
brew a bowl of punch like himself. What say you?--shall we give him a
trial?"
Capsicum consented--Gingham consented--we all consented. The third bowl
of punch was carried by acclamation. Cupid retired to brew.
"If he beats mine," said Capsicum, "I'll give him half-a-guinea for the
recipe."
"A guinea," said the Colonel, "with a promise not to communicate. Cupid
never takes less."
Cupid returned with the punch-bowl, having executed the arcana aside.
His punch had the aroma of arrack, though not arrack punch in the
strict sense of the word. Capsicum's was a nosegay; Gingham's beat
nectar; but Cupid's put them both out of court, by consent of the
company. "Now, Captain Gabion," said the Colonel, "we'll trouble you
for your story."
"Without disparagement of our previous brewers," said the Captain, "my
feeling at the present moment is just this, that I never drank punch
before. Well, gentlemen, if you will have it so, I proceed to relate
MY DREAM.
Some of the friends here assembled are well aware--why should I conceal
it?--that, for several months past, a load has been pressing on my
mind. They are also aware of the cause. I certainly have an impression
that I shall never see England again. But how that impression began,
they are not aware. What I am now about to relate will afford the
explanation. Yet what is the subject of my narrative? A dream--a mere
dream; and a dream easily accounted for by the circumstances in which
it was dreamt. So it is. Colonel d'Arbley knows, the Major knows, that
I never shrank from peril. I have faced death; to all appearance,
certain death. And, unless I felt prepared to do the like again, I
should not have been now returning to the army;--no, I would rather
have quitted the service. Death I am prepared at any time to meet; yet
this presentiment of death is a burden upon my spirits. By the bye, my
glass is empty. Hadn't I better replenish it ere I begin?
You are aware, sir, that ill health, the effect of hard service and
hard knocks, obliged me to return to England last spring. In the course
of the autumn, I quitted Cheltenham, and resided at Woolwich. There, I
was at a military party. We kept it up all night. Next morning, I was
unexpectedly summoned to London; and, on my arrival, found work cut out
for me,--papers to be prepared--public offices to be visited--lots of
going about--lots of writing--all wanted instantly. Some parliamentary
wretch had moved for returns, and I was to get them up. In short, the
work could be done in time only by my again sitting up all night. It
was on the day after these two sleepless nights that I had my dream.
Where, do you think? And at what hour? At noon, with the sun shining
above my head, on a bench in St James's Park.
I had just been calling in at the Horse-Guards for a chat, my business
completed, the excitement over, and was proceeding westward on foot
along the Birdcage Walk, when I began to feel nervous and done up.
All at once, my faculties experienced a sort of collapse. My whole
frame was seized with a deadly chill; I shivered spasmodically; my
strength seemed gone; and I became most enormously drowsy. Just at that
moment--I suppose it was some anniversary, a birthday perhaps--bang,
bang, the Park guns commenced firing, close at hand. In the midst of
the firing, I sat down on a bench, and, in no time, dropped asleep.
Then began my dream.
It was a general action. The curious circumstance is, that I was
still in the Park. The guns firing a holiday salute became the French
position, which occupied the plateau of a low range of hills. At the
foot of this range, in an avenue extending along its foot, was I alone.
The firing went on, bang-banging, now no longer a _feu-de-joie_--the
report was that of shotted guns. I heard not only their discharge, but
the moan of the balls, and the whisk of the grape; yes, and the rattle
of musketry, the shouts of men charging, and all that kind of thing.
I saw the dust, the smoke, the occasional flash, quite as much as you
can see of any battle if you're in it. Yet, all this time, I knew I
was in the Birdcage Walk. Presently, in the direction of the Green
Park, I heard a more distant cannonade, which was that of the British
position. It was now time to change mine; for some of the shot from
our guns began to pass up the avenue, close to me, tearing, rasping
up the gravel, crashing among the trees, cutting down boughs, and
rifting the trunks. Yet something kept me fixed. At length, looking in
the direction of the British position, I distinctly saw a round-shot
come hopping up the avenue--hop--hop--hop--nearer and nearer--but
slowly--slowly--slowly; it seemed all but spent. Just when I thought
it had done hopping, it took one more jump, and, with a heavy pitch,
fetched me an awful polt in the right side. That moment I felt that I
was a dead man; killed in action, yet by a friendly ball, and while
sitting on a bench in St James's Park! The vision now passed. The
noise and firing ceased; troops, smoke, dust--all the concomitants of
combat vanished; the Birdcage Walk and its beautiful environs resumed
their ordinary appearance.
Presently, while still sitting on the bench, I was accosted by a tall
sallow-looking gentleman in black, who smirked, bowed, and handed me a
letter with a broad black border--the seal, a tombstone and a weeping
willow. It was addressed to myself--an invitation to attend a funeral.
I pleaded my engagements--wanted to get back to Woolwich--begged to be
excused. 'Sir,' said he, in courteous accents, 'you really must oblige
us. Unless you are present, the funeral cannot take place. Hope you
won't disappoint us, sir. I am the undertaker, sir.' I somehow felt
that I had no choice, and went. The gentleman in black met me at the
door.
Other parties were assembled at the mansion; but not one of the
company--I thought it rather strange--either spoke to me, or looked at
me, or showed the least consciousness of my presence. The undertaker
was all attention; handed round black kid gloves; fitted first one with
a hatband, then another; and, last of all, addressed me: 'Now, sir,
if you please, this way, sir; we only wait for you, sir.' I followed
him. He led me into an adjoining apartment, where stood the coffin,
surrounded by mutes. I wished to read the name on the lid, but was
prevented by the pall.
How we got to the place of interment, I recollect not. The only thing
I remember is this: as I saw the coffin carried down stairs, hoisted
into the hearse, conveyed, hoisted out, and at last deposited by the
side of the grave--every movement, every jolt, every thump, seemed to
jar my whole system with a peculiar and horrid thrill. The service was
performed, the coffin was lowered, the grating of the ropes grated
upon my very soul; and the dust sprinkled by the sexton on its lid
blew into my mouth and eyes, as I stood by the brink of the grave,
and looked on. The service concluded, the undertaker, attendants, and
company withdrew; and, what d'ye think?--there was I left remaining in
the burial-ground, with no companion but a solitary gravedigger! He set
to work, and began shovelling in the clods, to fill the grave. I heard
their thud; I seemed to feel it, as they rattled in quick succession on
the lid of the coffin.
'You'll soon be filled in and all right, old feller,' said the
gravedigger, as he proceeded with his work.
A strange idea had gradually occupied my mind. It seemed
absurd--impossible; and yet it offered the only conceivable solution of
my sensations at that horrid moment. I addressed the gravedigger,--
'My friend,' said I, 'have the goodness to inform me WHOSE funeral this
is.'
'Whose funeral?' replied the gravedigger. 'Come, that's a good un. Vhy,
it's YOUR OWN.'--I'll trouble you for a little more punch."
SPAIN UNDER NARVAEZ AND CHRISTINA.
The condition of Spain since the last French revolution, and especially
since the commencement of the present year, has been taken as a theme
of unbounded self-gratulation by persons who ascribe her tranquillity
and alleged prosperity to their own patriotism and skill. For many
months past, the friends, organs, and adherents of the dominant
Camarilla have not ceased to call attention to the flourishing state
of the country; repeatedly challenging the Continent to produce such
another example of good government, internal happiness, and external
dignity, as is now afforded by the fortunate land which their patrons
and masters rule. When so many European states are revolutionised and
unsettled, it is indeed pleasant to hear this good report of one which
we have not been accustomed to consider a model for the imitation
of its neighbours. Delightful it is to learn that Spain has cast
her blood-stained slough of misrule, discord, and corruption, and
glitters in renovated comeliness, an example to the nations, a credit
and a blessing to herself, a monument of the disinterested exertions
and unwearied self-devotion of her sage and virtuous rulers. We are
anxious to believe that these glowing accounts are based upon fact, and
worthy of credence--not a delusion and a blind; and that the happiness
and prosperity so ostentatiously vaunted exist elsewhere than in the
invention of those interested in proclaiming them. But we cannot forget
that the evidence produced is entirely _ex-parte_, or lose sight of
the great facility with which the French and English press and public
accord credit and praise to the present government of Spain, simply on
its own or its partisans' assertions of the great things it has done,
and is about to do. It is not easy to obtain a correct knowledge of the
condition of the bulk of the Spanish nation. That the country prospers
means, in the mouths of the schemers and place-hunters of Madrid,
and of the smugglers of the frontier, that there is a brisk flow of
coin into their own pockets. That it is tranquil signifies that no
rebellious banner is openly displayed in its territory. No matter that
the government is carried on by shifts, by forced loans and forestalled
taxes and ruinous contracts; that the public servants of all grades,
irregularly paid, and with bad examples before them, peculate and take
bribes; that the widow and the orphan, the maimed soldier and the
superannuated pensioner, continually with long arrears due to them, are
in rags, misery, and starvation; that to the foreign creditor is given,
almost as a favour, no part of the interest due upon the capital he has
disbursed, but the interest on a small portion of the accumulation of
unpaid dividends; that the streets and highways swarm with mendicants,
and are perilous from the multitude of robbers; that the insecurity
of life and property in country-places drives the rich proprietors
into the towns, and prevents their expending their capital in the
improvement of their property; and that the peasantry, deprived of
instruction, example, and encouragement, deprived too, by the badness
and scarcity of the communications, of an advantageous market for their
produce, sink, as a natural consequence, daily deeper into sloth,
ignorance, and vice. What matter all these things? The miseries of the
suffering many are lightly passed over by the prosperous few: in Spain
the multitude have no voice, no remedy but open and armed resistance.
Thus it is that Spanish revolutions and popular outbreaks startle by
their suddenness. Until the victim openly rebels, his murmurs are
unheard: the report of his musket is the first intimation of his
misery. In England and in France, abuses, oppression, and injustice, of
whatever kind, cannot long be kept from the light. It is very different
in Spain, under the present _régime_. There the liberty of the press
is purely nominal, and no newspaper dares denounce an abuse, however
flagrant, or speak above its breath on subjects whose discussion is
unpleasing to the governing powers. On the first indication of such
presumption, number after number of the offending journal is seized,
fines are inflicted, and if the editors audaciously persevere, they
may reckon with tolerable certainty on exile or a prison. On the other
hand, the ministerial and Camarilla organs, those of the Duke of
Valencia and of Señor Sartorius, and of the dowager queen, and even of
the dowager's husband--for his Grace of Rianzares follows the fashion,
and has a paper at his beck, (partly for his assistance in those stock
exchange transactions whose pursuit has more than once dilapidated his
wife's savings,)--papers of this stamp, we say, carefully disguise
or distort all facts whose honest revelation would be unpleasant or
discreditable to their employers. From the garbled and imperfect
statements of these journals, which few Frenchmen, and scarcely any
Englishmen, ever see, the "Madrid correspondents" of French and English
newspapers--not a few of whom reside in Paris or London--compile
their letters, and editors derive their data (for want of better
sources) when discussing the condition and prospects of Spain.
Hence spring misapprehension and delusion. Spain is declared to be
prosperous and happy; and Spanish bondholders flatter themselves, for
the hundredth time, with, the hope of a satisfactory arrangement--to
which their great patience certainly entitles them, and which they
might as certainly obtain were the ill-administered revenues of Spain
so directed as to flow into the public coffers, and not into the
bottomless pockets of a few illustrious swindlers, and of the legion
of corrupt underlings who prop a system founded on immorality and
fraud. The system is rotten to the core, and the prosperity of Spain
is a phantom and a fallacy. Not that she is deficient in the elements
of prosperity: on the contrary, the country has abundant vitality
and resource, and its revenue has been for years increasing, in the
teeth of misgovernment, and of a prohibitive tariff, which renders
the customs' revenue almost nominal. But it matters little how many
millions are collected, if they be intercepted on their way to the
exchequer, or squandered and misappropriated as soon as gathered in.
In the absence of better evidence as to the real state of the country
than that whose untrustworthiness we have denounced, the narrative of
an unprejudiced and intelligent traveller in Spain has its value; and
although the title of a recently published book by Mr Dundas Murray,[2]
proclaimed it to refer but to one province, yet, as that province
comprises many of the principal Spanish posts and cities, we hoped to
have found in his pages confirmation or correction of our opinion as
to the true condition of the nation, and more particularly of those
middling and lower classes whose welfare is too frequently lost sight
of in the struggles and projects of political factions. Since those
pleasant "Gatherings" in which many home-truths were told with a
playful and witty pen, no book on Spain worth naming has appeared; and
if Mr Murray's visit be recent, which he does not enable us to decide,
he had abundant opportunity during his pretty long residence and active
rambles--aided, as we learn he was, by thorough familiarity with
the language--to collect materials for a work of no common interest
and importance. He has preferred, however, to skim the surface: the
romantic and the picaresque, sketches on the road and traditions of
Moorish Spain, are evidently more to his taste than an investigation
of the condition of the people, and an exposure of social sores and
official corruption. His book is a slight but unaffected production,
containing much that has been said before, a little that has not, some
tolerable descriptions of scenery, a number of legends borrowed from
Conde and other chroniclers, and here and there a little personal
incident which may almost pass muster as an adventure. Young Englishmen
of Mr Murray's class and standard of ability, who start on a tour in
Spain, are of course on the look-out for the picturesque, and think
it incumbent on them to embody their experiences and observations in
a book. Such narratives are usually praiseworthy for good feeling
and gentlemanly tone; and indeed would be almost perfect, did they
combine with those qualities the equally desirable ones of vigour and
originality. But doubtless we shall do well to take them as they come,
and be thankful; for it is not every one who has fortitude and courage
to travel for any length of time in the flea-and-robber-ridden land of
Spain. And as we cannot expect to meet every day with a Widdrington,
a Carnarvon, or a Ford, so we must welcome a Murray when he presents
himself, look leniently upon his repetitions, and be grateful if
he occasionally affords us a hint or a text. It is perhaps a pity
that Englishmen do not more frequently turn their steps towards the
Peninsula, instead of pertinaciously pursuing the beaten tracks of
Italy, Switzerland, the Levant; the furthest of which is now within the
leave-of-absence ramble of a desultory guardsman or jaded journalist,
covetous of purer air than Fleet Street or St James's afford. Spain,
we can assure all who are rovingly inclined--and Mr Murray, we are
certain, will corroborate our word--has at least as much to interest
as any of the above regions, and much more than most of them. And
assuredly an influx of British travellers would, by putting piastres
into the pockets of the aborigines, do more than anything else towards
improving roads, towards cleansing ventas of the _chinches_ and other
light cavalry, against whose assaults Mr Murray was fain to cuirass
himself in a flannel bag, towards ameliorating the Iberian cuisine, and
diminishing the numbers and audacity of the knights of the road. For,
as regards the last-named peril, greatly increased by the dispersion
of the republican and Carlist bands, and by the misery prevalent in
the country, Englishmen, if they have the reputation of travelling
with well-filled pockets and portmanteaus, have also that of fighting
stoutly in defence of their property; and if they would make it a rule
to travel two or three together, with light purses, a sharp look-out,
and a revolver a-piece--or, as Mr Murray and his companion did, each
with a double-barrel on his shoulder--they might rest assured there
are not many bands of brigands on Spanish roads bold enough to bid
them, in the classical phrase of those gentry, "_Boca abajo!_" which
means, freely interpreted, "Down in the dust, and _with_ the dust!"
But let the traveller be on his guard against a surprise, and, to
that end, avoid as much as possible all night-travelling, especially
by diligence, which to many may seem the safest, on account of the
society it insures, but which is in reality the most dangerous mode
of journeying, for there the pusillanimous hamper and impede the
resistance contemplated by the bold, and the bravest man can do little
when jammed in amongst screaming women and terrified priests, with a
carbine pointing in at each window of the vehicle. We find Mr Murray
and his friend riding unmolested through an ambuscade where, a couple
of hours later, three _calesas_ full of travellers, including a colonel
in the army, were assailed by no more than three highwaymen, and
deliberately and unresistingly plundered. For the traveller in Spain
there is nothing like the saddle, whether for safety, independence, or
comfort; and as to time, why, if he is short of that, he had better
not visit the country, for there all things go _despacio_, which means
not with despatch but leisurely, and for one "to-day" he will get
twenty "to-morrows," and most of these will never come. And, above
all, let him put no faith in the word police, which, in Spain, is a
mere figure of speech, the thing it indicates never appearing until it
is not wanted; and let him not reckon on an escort, which is rarely
to be obtained even by paying, and on roads notoriously dangerous,
except by tedious formality of application, to which few will have
patience to submit. And even if granted, it usually, as in the case of
the _calesas_ above cited, is either too weak to be useful, or lags
behind, or fairly turns tail. To which prudent course it is more than
suspected that the faithless guards, who are mostly pardoned robbers,
are frequently stimulated by promise of a share of the spoil. Nor are
they, if all tales be true, the only class in Spain whose duty it
is to protect the public, and who foully betray their trust. During
this present year of 1849, cited as so prosperous a one in Spain,
robberies in the capital, and on the roads within a radius of twenty
leagues around it, have been so numerous and audacious, and perpetrated
with such impunity, that the finger of public suspicion has pointed
very high, and the strangest tales--which to English ears would sound
incredible--have been circulated of the collusion of personages whose
rank and position would, in any other country, preclude the idea of
participation, however secret and indirect, in gains so lawless and
iniquitous. But in this, as in many other matters peculiar to the
Peninsula, although the few may be convinced, the many will always
doubt, and proof it is of course scarcely possible to obtain. In so
extensive and thinly peopled a land as Spain, and which has been so
long a prey to civil war and insurrection, security of travelling
in rural districts, and on cross roads, is only to be obtained by
increased cultivation of the soil, and by improving the condition of
the peasantry. But in the capital, and on the roads leading to it,
and in the towns and villages, some degree of law and order might be
expected to prevail. A glance at the Spanish papers, any time for the
last six months, proves the contrary to be the case. Their columns
are filled with accounts of atrocious assassinations and barefaced
robberies in the very streets of Madrid; of diligences stopped, and
travellers plundered and abused; of farmers and others carried off
to the mountains in open day, and detained until ransomed; and with
letters from all parts of the country, complaining of the insecurity
of life and property, and of the sluggishness and inefficiency of the
authorities. Such statements are of course rarely admitted into the
ministerial prints, to read which one would imagine that the very
last malefactor in the country had just fallen into the hands of the
_guardias civiles_, and that a virgin might conduct a gold-laden mule
from Santander to Cadiz, unguarded and unmolested.
[2] _The Cities and Wilds of Andalusia._ By the Honourable R. DUNDAS
MURRAY. London: 1849.
Since the death of Ferdinand, no such opportunity of improving and
regenerating Spain has been afforded to a Spanish ministry, really
solicitous of their country's good, as during the present year. It
opened inauspiciously enough; with an impoverished exchequer, a
ruinously expensive army, Cabrera and ten thousand Carlists in arms
in eastern Spain, and with insurgent bands, of various political
denominations, springing up in Navarre and other provinces. There was
every prospect of a bloody civil war in early spring. But causes,
similar to those which, on former occasions, had frustrated their
efforts, again proved fatal to the hopes of the Carlist party. With
great difficulty, and with little aid beyond that of contributions
levied in Catalonia, Cabrera had subsisted his troops through the
winter. But, when spring approached, money was needed for other
purposes besides mere rations. In the civil wars of Spain, gold has
often been far more efficacious than steel to overcome difficulties
and gain a point. But gold was hard to obtain. Revolutions had raised
its value; and those who possessed it were loath to embark it in
so hazardous a speculation as the restoration of Count Montemolin.
This prince, who, for a Spanish Bourbon, is not deficient in natural
ability, has one unfortunate defect, which more than counterbalances
his good qualities. Infirm of purpose, he is led by a clique of selfish
and unworthy advisers, some of whom--evil counsellors handed down
to him by his father--have retained all the influence they acquired
over him in his childhood. Amidst the petty wranglings and deplorable
indecisions of these men, time wore away. A sum of money (no very large
one) was all that was needed to achieve a great object, which would
at once have multiplied fifty-fold the prestige of the Montemolinist
cause, and have placed vast resources at the disposal of its partisans.
Between the sum required and the advantage certain to be obtained,
the disproportion was enormous. Letter after letter was received from
Cabrera and other promoters of the Montemolinist cause in France and
Spain, urging and imploring that, at any sacrifice, the money should be
procured. But this was beyond the power of the incapable _ojalateros_
who surrounded the young pretender. Without conduct, energy, or
dignity, they had not a single quality calculated to obtain credit
or induce confidence. In all their attempts they miserably failed. At
last, towards the end of March, a rumour was spread abroad that Count
Montemolin was on his way to Catalonia, to head his faithful adherents.
Soon this was confirmed by newspaper paragraphs, and presently came a
romantic account of his arrest on the frontier, when about to enter
Spain. The next news was that of his return to England, which was
almost immediately followed by an article in a London paper, denying
point-blank that he had ever left this country, declaring that the
journey was a hoax, and that the Spanish prince had been arrested by
proxy. And although this article, which was extensively copied by the
press of England and the Continent, elicited an angry contradiction
from a hanger-on of Count Montemolin, yet many persons, of those
most versed in the intricacies of Spanish intrigue, were convinced
that its statements were founded on fact, and that the Count was in
reality secreted in London at the very time he was supposed to be
travelling towards the Pyrenees. And some of his own partisans, who
credited the reality of the journey, declared their conviction from the
first to have been, that he would be betrayed before he got through
France, since by that means only could certain individuals, who dared
not refuse to accompany him, hope to return to the flesh-pots and
security of their London home, and to avoid encountering the perils
and hardships of mountain warfare. The abortive journey or clumsy
hoax, whichever it was, gave the finishing stroke to the Catalonian
insurrection. Cabrera, seeing plainly that nothing was to be hoped
from the feeble and pusillanimous junta of advisers who swayed and
bewildered Count Montemolin by their intrigues and dissensions, found
it necessary, after sending repeated and indignant letters and messages
to London, to abandon a contest which it was impossible for him to
maintain single-handed, and from which many subordinate chiefs, and
a large portion of his troops, had already seceded. His little army
fell to pieces, and he himself fell into the hands of the French
authorities, by whom, after a brief detention, he was allowed to go at
large. The game was now good for General Concha and his fifty thousand
men. The scattering and hunting down of the broken bands of insurgents
was exactly the sort of amusement they liked; a fine pretext for
magnificent bulletins, and the easiest possible way of gaining praise,
honours, and decorations. Before summer came, Catalonia was quiet.
The most vigorous effort made by the Carlists since the Convention of
Bergara; the one offering the best chances of success, and on which the
very last resources of the party, (even, it is said, to a few jewels
and pictures of price--the last relics of princely splendour,) had been
expended; the effort, in short, of whose happy issue such sanguine
expectations were entertained, that some of the leading adherents of
the cause declared that, "if they failed this time, they deserved never
to succeed," had terminated in complete abortion. On the sierras of
Spain not a Carlist cockade was to be seen; in the coffers of the party
not a dollar remained. Many of its most valued members, disgusted by
the weakness of their prince, and by the baseness of his councillors,
withdrew from its ranks, and made their peace with the existing
government. And now the most steadfast well-wishers of Count Montemolin
are compelled to admit, that few contingencies are less probable than
his installation on the Spanish throne.
Delivered from the disquietude and expense of civil war, backed by an
overwhelming majority in the Chambers, and having no longer anything to
fear from that "English influence," of which the organs of Christina
and Louis Philippe had made such a bugbear, the Spanish government,
it was expected, would deem the moment favourable for those reforms
so greatly needed by the country. It was full time, and it was now
quite practicable, to adopt extensive and systematic measures of
retrenchment in the various departments of the administration; to
reduce the army; to regularise and lessen the expense of collecting
the revenue, which, like a crop intrusted to negligent and dishonest
reapers, is wasted and pillaged in the gathering; to encourage
labour and industry; to stimulate private enterprise, to which the
tranquillity of Spain was sure to give a first impetus; to encourage
and co-operate in the formation of roads and canals, so essential
to agriculture, which there languishes for want of them; to give a
death-blow to smuggling by an honest and sweeping reform of the absurd
tariff; and, if they could not give money to the public creditor,
at least to come to a loyal understanding and arrangement with him,
instead of vexatiously deluding him with fair promises, never kept.
Instead of at once, and in good faith, setting about these, and many
other equally requisite reforms, in whose prosecution they would
have been supported by a large number of their present political
opponents; instead of riveting their attention on the internal maladies
and necessities of the country, and striving strenuously for their
cure,--turning a deaf ear to the clamorous voices abroad in Europe,
and thanking heaven that the position and weakness of their country
allowed her to stand aloof from the struggles of her neighbours--what
did the Spanish government? They acted like a needy spendthrift who,
having suddenly come into possession of a little gold, fancies himself
a Croesus, and squanders it in luxurious superfluities. They had
come into possession of a little tranquillity--in Spain a treasure
far rarer and more precious than gold--and, instead of using it for
their necessities, they lavished it abroad. Aping wealthy and powerful
nations, they aspire to interfere in the domestic affairs of others,
before thinking of putting their own house in order. Rome is to be the
scene of their exploits, religion their pretext, the Pope the gainer
by their exertions. From their eagerness in the crusade, it might be
supposed that Rome and the pontiff had some great and peculiar claim
on the gratitude and exertions of Spain; with which country, on the
contrary, ever since the death of Ferdinand of petticoat-making memory,
until quite recently, they have been on the worst possible terms--the
Holy See having openly supported the cause of Don Carlos, refused
the recognition of Isabella, and the investiture of the prelates she
appointed, and played a variety of unfriendly pranks, of no material
consequence, but yet exceedingly painful and galling to the bigoted
portion of the nation, who considered their chances of salvation not
a little compromised, so long as their government was thus in evil
odour and non-communication with the head of the Church. Altogether,
the attitude assumed by Rome towards Spain, since 1833, was most
detrimental to Queen Isabella, because it sent a vast number of priests
(always active and influential partisans) to the side of the Pretender.
Considering these circumstances, when Rome at last, at its own good
time, and in consideration of concessions, and also because it suffered
pecuniarily by the duration of the rupture, again took Spain into
favour, and acknowledged her queen as Most Catholic, Spain, in her
impoverished condition, would surely have sufficiently responded by her
best wishes for the prosperity of the Pope, and for the safety of his
pontifical throne. She might also, if it was desired, have sent that
poetical statesman, M. Martinez de la Rosa, to display his eloquence in
Italian counsels. But Spanish pride, the bigotry of the queen-mother
and her son-in-law, the fanaticism of some, and the hypocrisy of
others, could not be contented with this. Pinched, starved, indebted,
as Spain is, nothing would serve but to despatch to Italy, at heavy
cost, a useless _corps d'armée_. Little enough has it achieved.
The troops have got a bad name by their excesses, and the generals
have been treated slightingly, almost contemptuously, by the French
commanders, who, doubtless, at sight of the half-disciplined Dons, felt
old animosities revive, and thought how much they should prefer a trip
to the Trocadero to this inglorious and unprofitable Italian campaign.
To console General Cordova and his staff, however, for the necessity
of playing second fiddle to the French, they have been praised, and
caressed, and decorated by his Holiness, and by that enlightened
monarch, Ferdinand of Naples; and they have been allowed to send an
aide-de-camp to Barcelona for three nice little Spanish uniforms,
which they are to have the honour of presenting to three nice little
Neapolitan princes. Whilst this popinjay general and his men-at-arms
idle their time, and spend their pay, in Italian quarters, the Moors
besiege and cannonade the Spanish possessions in Africa, within sight
of the Andalusian coast, whence not a soldier is sent to the assistance
of the beleaguered garrisons. A most characteristic sample of "things
of Spain." In this country we are blind to the propriety of leaving
your own barn to be pulled down, whilst you build up your neighbour's
mansion. And, to our matter-of-fact comprehension, it seems dishonest
to waste money in a frivolous foreign expedition, when starving
creditors are knocking at the door. But we are a shop-keeping people,
and it is folly to subject Spanish chivalry to the gauge of such
grovelling, mercantile ideas.
Notwithstanding the draft of troops to Italy, the Spanish government
has ventured to decree an extensive reduction in the army. In view of
the penury of the exchequer, of the total suppression of the Carlist
insurrection, and of the small probability of any fresh outbreak in
a country worn out as Spain is by civil wars and commotions, they
could not, in common decency, avoid some such economical measure. So
a third of the army has been formed into a reserve, which means that
the officers retain their full pay--with the exception of those who
voluntarily exchange from the active army into the reserve, thereby
putting themselves on half-pay--and that the sergeants and privates,
with the exception of a skeleton staff, return to their homes, and no
longer receive pay or rations; but are to hold themselves in readiness,
until the regular expiration of their term of service, to join their
colours when required. From this measure the government anticipates
a great saving, and their partisans hint a million sterling as its
probable amount. But it is a peculiarity of Spanish administration that
the real economy of a change of this kind can never be ascertained,
even approximatively, until it has been for some time in force. By a
strange fatality, the most brilliant theoretical retrenchments crumble
into dust when reduced to practice. This has been so repeatedly
the case in Spain, that we receive such announcements with natural
distrust. In this instance, however, it is impossible to doubt that
there will be a considerable saving, although far less than would at
first sight be expected from the reduction, by nearly one-third, of
an army of 120,000 men. The reduction will _de facto_ be confined to
the soldiers and non-commissioned officers; for, half-pay in Spain
being a wretched pittance, and usually many months in arrear, few
officers are likely to avail themselves of the option afforded them.
With reference to this subject, we shall quote an extract from a
Madrid newspaper, a strenuous opponent of the present government, but
whose statistics we have never found otherwise than trustworthy; and
which, in this case, would hardly venture to mis-state facts so easy
of investigation. "Calculating," says the _Clamor Publico_ of the
30th October 1849, "that the reduction in the active army amounts to
40,000 men, there still remain 80,000, too great a number for a nation
which yields no more than 90,000 electors of deputies to the Cortes;
besides which there should also be reductions in the staff. In Spain
there is a general for every four hundred soldiers--[we believe the
_Clamor_ to be mistaken, and the proportions of generals to be even
larger than here stated;] and although we do not possess any great
magazines of clothing, arms, ammunition and other military stores, our
army is yet the dearest of the whole European continent, as is proved
by the following statement. [A statement follows of the annual cost of
a soldier in the principal Continental services, showing the Spanish
soldier to be the most expensive of all.] From all which we infer that
the economy decreed is by no means that required by the condition of
the treasury, and permitted by our present state of profound peace.
The Spanish nation cannot maintain the immense army with which it is
burdened. Retain, by all means, the artillery, the engineers, the
staff-corps, and the other elements of war which cannot be created at
brief notice. Keep up, on full pay, the framework of officers necessary
to form, at two months' notice, an army of one hundred thousand men
on a war establishment, whenever it may be necessary; but, whilst we
are at peace, restore to agriculture and the arts a portion of the
men now employed in carrying arms." Under the regency of Espartero,
the Spanish army was reduced to 50,000 men, and that when the country
was far less tranquil than at present, when a Moderado junta was
plotting, at Paris, the downfall of the government, and Christina and
Louis Philippe furnished abundant means of corruption. Then such an
army was too small; now it might well be deemed ample for a country
that at most contains thirteen or fourteen millions of inhabitants,
with few fortresses to garrison, few large towns in which to guard
against insurrection, and, above all, with a population that would
evidently rather submit to misgovernment than plunge again into war.
From external foes Spain has nothing to fear; and, even if she had, we
are by no means sure that, paradoxical as it may seem, a reduction in
her army would not be one of the best means of guarding against them.
For retrenchments that would enable her to acquit herself, at least in
part, towards her foreign creditors, would assuredly procure her, in
the hour of need, friends and allies far more efficient in her defence
than her own armies could possibly be. For however prone the Spaniards
as a people are to exaggerate their power and means of self-defence, it
must surely be patent to the sensible portion of the nation that, in
case of aggression from without, they must look for aid to France or
England. And although it will doubtless confirm the opinion of Spanish
Moderados and French Orleanists as to the invariably mercenary motives
of Great Britain, we will not conceal our conviction that the readiness
of this country to succour Spain would be much greater if she were
paying her debt to English bondholders, than if she were still in her
present state of disreputable insolvency. At least we are quite certain
that "the pressure from without" would be materially influenced by such
a consideration. And this reflection naturally leads us to ask in what
position Spain would have found herself, had the projected expedition
from the United States against Cuba taken place and succeeded. The
danger appears at an end for the present; but it may recur, under
the rule of an American president who will not interfere to prevent
the piratical enterprise. As to its chances of success, we find some
striking facts whereon to base an opinion, in a recently published
book on Cuba, the work of an intelligent and practical man, on whose
statements and opinions we are disposed to set a high value.[3] From
Mr Madden's evidence it is quite plain that the Spanish colonial
government is admirably calculated to excite a desire of independence,
or, failing that, of annexation to America, in the breasts of the
people of the Havana; and what is more, that it has already done so,
and that a body of liberators from the States might confidently reckon
on being received with open arms by a very considerable fraction of
the inhabitants. When the mother country is deplorably misruled, it
is not to be expected that the dependencies should be models of good
government.
[3] _The Island of Cuba: its Resources, Progress, and Prospects._ By R.
R. MADDEN, M.R.I.A. London: 1849.
"In 1812," says Mr Madden, "the constitution being proclaimed
in Spain, the whole people of the colonies were assimilated
to the inhabitants of the mother country, with respect to
representation.... In 1818, the good effects of colonial
representation were manifested in the successful efforts
of Señor Arango with the king, Ferdinand VII., for Cuban
interests. He obtained a royal ordinance from his majesty for
the abolition of restrictions on Cuban commerce. From this
epoch, the prosperity of the island may be dated. Instead
of being a charge to the imperial government, it began to
remit large sums of money yearly to Spain; instead of having
authorities and troops paid by the latter, both were henceforth
paid by Cuba. An army of 25,000 men, sent from Spain in a
miserable plight, was maintained in Cuba, in a few years
entirely equipped and clothed, and disciplined in the best
manner, without costing a real to the Spanish government. From
1830, the treasury of the Havana, in every embarrassment of
the home government, furnished Spain with means, and was, in
fact, a reserved fund for all its pressing emergencies. When
the civil list failed Queen Christina, Cuba furnished the
means of defraying the profuse expenditure of the palace. The
contributions arising from the island formed no small portion,
indeed, of the riches bequeathed by Ferdinand VII. to his
rapacious widow, and to his reputed daughters."
In 1841, the same writer says, Cuba yielded a net revenue to Spain of a
million and a quarter sterling, furnished timber and stores largely for
the Spanish navy, and entirely supported the Spanish army in Cuba. From
the amount here stated, deductions had to be made, or else the revenue
has diminished since that date; for Mr Madden subsequently sums up by
saying, that "Cuba produces a revenue of from ten to fifteen millions
of dollars; of this amount, upwards of three millions (£600,000
sterling) are remitted to Madrid; and these three millions of taxes
are paid by a class not exceeding four hundred thousand inhabitants,
of free persons of all complexions." A Spanish writer estimates the
revenue, in 1839, at eleven millions of dollars;[4] and an English
one, who had good opportunities of obtaining information, although
he is sometimes rather loose in his statements, declared, six years
later, that "Cuba contributes fifty millions of reals, or £500,000
sterling, of clear annual revenue to the Spanish crown."[5] From this
concurrent testimony, the sum annually pocketed by the mother country
may be estimated at £500,000 to £600,000 sterling; an important item in
the receipts of the Madrid government--more so, even, from its liquid
and available nature, than from its amount. Moreover the revenues of
Cuba, like the mines of Almaden, are a ready resource as security for a
loan. But how has Spain requited the services of her richest colony? Of
course with gross ingratitude. Strange to say, the equality of rights
sanctioned by the despotic Ferdinand was arbitrarily wrenched from Cuba
by the liberal government that succeeded him.
[4] MARLIANI, ii. 472.
[5] HUGHES' _Revelations of Spain_, ii. 383.
"The new Spanish constitution shut out the colonists from the
imperial representation. This most unjust, impolitic, and
irritating measure affords a fair specimen of the liberality
and wisdom of Spanish liberalism. It produced a feeling of
hatred against the mother country that never before existed in
Cuba. In 1836-7-8-9, [years passed by Mr Madden in the Havana,]
a general feeling of disaffection pervaded the whole white
Creole community of Cuba. All the intelligence, education,
worth, and influence of the white natives of the island (or
Creoles, as they are there called) was enlisted against the
government and the sovereign of Spain, and an intense desire
for independence excited. The old rapacious policy of Spain was
renewed, of considering every species of Cuban produce as a
commodity of a distant region, that it was legitimate to burden
with oppressive taxes."[6]
[6] _The Island of Cuba_, pp. 55-6.
Now, it appears that by one of those strange absurdities which are of
no unfrequent occurrence in Spanish governments, American settlers
in Cuba have been, and still are, exempt from a variety of personal
contributions and other imposts, which the natives have to pay. The
laws of the island forbid the establishment of foreigners in Cuba; and
though the settlement of Americans has been connived at, out of respect
to the laws the settlers were supposed, by a curious fiction, not to
exist. Hence the exemption.
"This immunity," says Mr Madden, (p. 83,) "drew great numbers
of settlers to Cuba, from the Southern States of America; so
that some districts on the northern shores of the island,
in the vicinity, especially, of Cardenas and Matanzas, have
more the character of American than Spanish settlements. The
prosperity of the island has derived no small advantage from
those numerous American establishments. Improved modes of
agriculture, of fabrication, of conveyance, were introduced by
the Americans. Several railways have been made. In the course
of ten years, no less than ten have been carried into effect.
At the opening of the first, from Havana to Guines, in 1837,
I was present. To American enterprise and energy solely, I
have reason to know, this great undertaking was indebted.
The loan for it was made in England; but the projectors,
the share-jobbers, the engineer, and the overseers, were
Americans.... Cuba, ever since I knew it, has been slowly but
steadily becoming Americanised. I pestered my superiors with
my opinions on this subject in 1836-7-8-9. 'Liberavi animam
meam' might be fairly said by me, if the star-spangled banner
were floating to-morrow on the Moro Castle, or flaunting in
the breeze at St Iago de Cuba. In the course of seven years
a feeling, strongly prevalent in the colony, in favour of
independence, has been changed into a desire for connexion with
the United States. It is needless for recent political writers
on Cuba to deny the existence of a strong feeling of animosity
to the mother country, and a longing desire for separation.
From my own intimate knowledge of these facts, I speak of
their existence. If England could have been induced, in 1837,
to guarantee the island of Cuba from the intervention of any
foreign power, the white inhabitants were prepared to throw
off the Spanish yoke. There was then a Spanish army nominally
of twenty thousand men in the island, but the actual number of
native Spaniards in it did not exceed sixteen thousand. The
leading men of the Creoles had then little apprehensions of the
result of an effort for independence. A liberal allotment of
land in the island, for the soldiers who might be disposed to
join the independent party, was a prospect, it was expected,
which would suffice to gain over the army.... It is not to
England, now, that the white natives of Cuba look for aid or
countenance in any future effort for independence. It is to
America that they now turn their eyes; and America takes good
care to respond to the wishes that are secretly expressed in
those regards."
These are the opinions of a man several years resident in Cuba,
evidently a shrewd observer, and who can hardly be suspected of
misrepresentation on this head; and we do not hesitate to place
confidence in them in preference to the rose-tinted accounts of the
Madrid _Heraldo_, and other official prints, according to which the
present happiness, prosperity, and loyalty of the Havaneros are such
as were never surpassed in the annals of colonies. Mr Madden, we
have seen, is of opinion that the Creoles and resident Americans, if
guaranteed from foreign intervention, are of themselves a match for
Spain, and could throw off her yoke and defy her efforts to reimpose
it. What, then, would be the state of affairs, if three or four
thousand Yankee volunteers, who, by themselves, we suspect, could
give occupation to all the disposable part of the sixteen thousand
Spaniards in garrison, were suddenly to drop upon the Cuban shore, by
preconcerted arrangement with the disaffected? In 1849 this has been
within an ace of occurring; in a future year, not very remote, it
may actually occur. What would Spain do, when news were brought her
that the red-and-yellow banner was replaced by the speckled bunting
of the States? Would she declare war against America, on the strength
of the war-steamers she has been lately building with her creditors'
money? Brother Jonathan, we suspect, would mightily chuckle at the
notion, and immediately seize Puerto Rico, and perhaps make a dash at
the Philippines. But the Spanish government, loud as they can bluster
when sure of impunity, would hardly render themselves so ridiculous.
No; in the hour of their distress they would piteously look abroad
for succour, and turn their discomfited countenance to the old ally
to whom, in their brief day of seeming prosperity, they forgot their
numerous obligations. It is our belief their appeal would not be
made in vain. But although this country, being great and powerful,
could afford to forget its cause of complaint--as a man overlooks the
petulance of a froward child--it would be right and fitting that an
_amende honorable_ should previously be exacted from Spain, and that
humiliation should be inflicted on her arrogant government, for an
insult which, let them mis-state the circumstances as they like, was
far from justified by the alleged provocation. And moreover, before
a move was made, or a note transmitted by the British government
on behalf of Spain-robbed-of-its-Cuba, a solid guarantee should
unquestionably be exacted for an equitable and speedy adjustment of the
claims of the ill-used holders of Spanish bonds.
These gentlemen, roused at last by a long series of neglect and broken
promises to depart from the _suaviter in modo_, and to substitute an
energetic remonstrance for the honeyed and complimentary epistles they
have been wont to address to the president of the Spanish council, are
raising a fund to be employed in the advocacy of their claims by an
agent in Madrid. Although the gradual progress of the subscription
does not bespeak the fund-holders very sanguine in their hopes, they
may rest assured that this is a step in the right direction. Their only
hope is in agitation--in keeping their just and shamefully-neglected
claims before the world, and in such a conjunction of circumstances as
may enable the cabinet of St James's to put on the screw, and compel
the Spanish government to be honest. As to an appeal to arms, however,
it might be justified in equity, and by references to Vatel and other
great authorities, it would hardly be consonant with prudence, or with
the spirit of the times: but other means may be devised; and in the
event of a European war, we can imagine more than one circumstance in
which, as in the case of the seizure of Cuba by America, Spain would
be too happy to subscribe to the just conditions this country might
impose for the settlement of English claims. But there is danger in
delay; and if we are unwilling to believe that Spain is, in the words
of one who knows her well, "irremediably insolvent,"[7] there is no
doubt she must speedily become so, unless some radical change takes
place in the views and system of her rulers. What she needs is an
honest government, composed of men who will make their own advantage
subservient to their country's weal. "My firm conviction," says
Marliani, "is, that when the day comes that men of heart and head shall
seize, with a firm grasp, the rudder of this vessel now abandoned to
the uncertain movement of the political waves, they will take her into
port. Spain is in the best possible position to make a giant's stride
in the path of prosperity. She offers to the foreigner a thousand
honourable and profitable speculations; the application of capital to
public works, to agriculture, to mines, will be an inexhaustible source
of profit."[8] When M. Marliani wrote this, capitalists were more prone
to embark their money in distant speculations than at the present day.
But still the principle holds good; and there can be no question in
the minds of any who have studied Spain, that an honest and moderately
able government is all that is wanted to develop her vast resources,
and enable her to come to an honourable compromise with her creditors,
who, there can be little doubt, would show themselves accommodating, if
they saw evidence of a desire to pay, and had some certainty that, when
they had accepted an arrangement advantageous to Spain, it would not be
broken in a few months, leaving them in worse plight than before. How
this has been repeatedly done was lately clearly exhibited in a letter
addressed by a Spanish bondholder to the _Times_, of which we here
quote a portion:--
[7] FORD'S _Gatherings from Spain_.
[8] _Histoire Politique de l'Espagne Moderne_, ii. 424.
"Between 1820 and 1831, Spain contracted loans as follows,
[details given], to the amount of 157,244,210 dollars. And
on no portion of these loans does Spain now pay interest. In
1834 there was owing, in interest upon those loans, 49,541,352
dollars; and the Spanish government then offered, at the
meeting of bondholders, held at the City of London Tavern,
to give for all those loans, and the interest upon them, new
stock, on the following terms:--A new active five per cent
stock, upon which the interest should be always punctually
paid, for two-thirds of the capital; a new passive stock for
the remaining third; and a deferred stock for the overdue
interest, on condition that they had a new loan of £4,000,000
sterling. These terms were agreed to, and the conversion
took place; and there were issued in exchange for the old
loans and overdue interest, £33,322,890 five per cent active
stock; £12,696,450 passive stock; and £13,215,672 deferred
stock. These are the stocks now in the market, in addition
to the £4,000,000 loan then granted. In two years after this
transaction, the Spanish government stopped payment again, and
left the bondholders in the same situation, with one-third of
their capital cancelled, or made passive stock, which bears no
coupons, and is, consequently, not entitled to claim interest.
In 1841, the Spanish government paid the active bondholders
four years' interest; _i. e._, from 1836 to 1940, in a three
per cent stock, instead of cash, and which produced the holders
about four shillings in the pound; (this is the three per cent
stock now in the English market, on which the interest is
paid.)"[9]
[9] City article of the _Times_, September 14, 1849.
It is not very easy to get at information about the amount of Spanish
debts, accumulated dividends, and so forth; but the above lucid
statement of the liabilities to foreign creditors, combined with
the testimony of other authorities before us, leads to an aggregate
estimate of the whole debt, external and internal, at upwards of one
hundred and twenty millions sterling,--probably at the present time
nearly or quite one hundred and thirty millions, unpaid interest
being added. Without entering into the intricate complications of the
question, we shall not be very wide of the mark in asserting, that less
than three millions sterling per annum, in the shape of dividends,
would constitute an arrangement surpassing the wildest dreams in which,
for a long time past, sane bondholders can possibly have indulged; in
fact that, considering the amount of passive stock, and the concessions
that would willingly be made, it would pay what would pass muster as
the full dividends. An enormous sum for Spain--will be the remark of
many. We beg to differ from this opinion. An enormous sum, certainly,
for a dishonest Spanish government. Charity begins at home in Spain
as much as anywhere; and if people squander their cash in paying
creditors, how shall they enjoy their little comforts and luxuries,
and make up a purse for a rainy day? How shall the royal family of
a poor and insolvent kingdom have a civil list of half a million
sterling, besides crown property and appanages to Infantes?--how shall
Queen Christina and her uncle, the ex-king of the French, be repaid
the sums they lavished to oust Espartero, and to bring about the
infamous Spanish marriages?--how shall the same illustrious lady make
her investments in foreign funds, and add to her hoard of jewellery,
already, it is said, the most valuable in Europe?--how shall Duke
Muñoz play at bulls and bears on the Bolsa, and give millions of
francs for French salt-works?--how shall the Spanish ministers, men
sprung from nothing, and who the other day were penniless, maintain a
sumptuous state and realise princely fortunes?--how, finally, shall
the government exercise such influence at elections as to reduce the
numerous and powerful party opposed to them in the country to utter
numerical insignificance in the legislative assembly, and to fill
every municipal office with their own creatures and adherents? It is
a very singular fact that, although for many years past the revenue
of Spain has been steadily increasing, the annual deficit always
continues about the same. Thus much can be discerned even through the
habitual exaggerations and hocus-pocus of Spanish financial statements.
M. Mendizabal, in his budget for 1837, (in the very heat and fury of
the Carlist war,) showed a deficiency of seven millions sterling, the
revenue then being about £8,700,000 sterling. In 1840, the minister
of finance stated the deficit at £6,800,000 sterling, the revenue
having then risen to upwards of ten millions.[10] And since then the
deficiency has averaged about five millions sterling; and even now,
that Spain is declared so prosperous, will not be rightly stated at
a much lower figure, although finance ministers resort to the most
ingenious devices to prove it much less. But if it is so trifling as
they would have us believe, why do they not pay their dividends? Forced
loans, anticipated imposts, unpaid pensions, and shabby shifts of
every kind, show us how far we are to credit their balance-sheets. One
financier--that very slippery person, Señor Carrasco--actually showed
a surplus--upon paper. "The present revenue," wrote Mr Ford in 1846,
"may be taken at about twelve or thirteen millions sterling. But money
is compared by Spaniards to oil--a little _will_ stick to the fingers
of those who measure it out; and such is the robbing and jobbing, the
official mystification and peculation, that it is difficult to get at
_facts_ when cash is in question." The sum stated, however, is about
the mark, and bears out Lord Clarendon's often-quoted declaration in
the House of Lords, that the Spanish revenue is one-half greater than
it was ever before known to be. Few men have had better opportunities
than Lord Clarendon of acquiring information on the affairs of Spain;
and his well-known friendly feeling towards her present rulers
precludes the suspicion of his giving a higher colouring than the
strictest truth demands to any statement likely to be prejudicial or
unpleasant to them. It is a fact that the revenue is still upon the
increase; and it has augmented, in the last fifteen years, by more than
one-half, for in 1835 it was but seven hundred and fifty-nine millions
of reals, or, in round numbers, £7,600,000 sterling. It certainly seems
strange that, with an increase of revenue of at least four millions,
the decrease of deficit should barely amount to two, although the
country, at the former period, was plunged in a most expensive war,
and had an enormous army on foot; the estimate for the war department
alone, for 1837--according to Mr Mendizabal's budget already quoted,
presented to the Cortes--being upwards of seven and a-half millions
sterling, _or within one million of the total amount of estimated
revenue_. Thus we see that Spain presents the curious phenomenon of an
expenditure augmenting in proportion as the revenue increases. In most
countries the puzzle is the other way; and how, to force the revenue
up to the expenditure, is the knotty point with statesmen. The most
benevolent can hardly help suspecting that some foul play is at the
bottom of this augmentative propensity of Spanish financial outgoings.
But Spain is _par excellence_ the country of itching palms; and in view
of the statements we have here made, and which defy refutation, most
persons will probably agree with a writer already cited, when he says
that, "with common sense and common honesty, much might be done towards
releasing Spain from her financial embarrassments. Perhaps it is not
too much to say, that a vigorous government, capable of enforcing
taxation, might, with integrity and energy, and a forgetfulness
of selfish gains, provide for the interest of every portion of
her debt, and, in the end, pay off the principal.... If Spanish
finance ministers, and the capitalists and sharpers by whom they are
surrounded, could bring themselves to think of their own fortunes less
and of the nation's more, we should hear very little of new foreign
loans. A virtuous native effort is wanted; themselves must strike the
blow! All governments are bound to support their several departments,
and obtain a sufficient revenue; and the administration of Mon and
Narvaez has not the excuse of want of power."[11] This is the language
universally held by all persons acquainted, from actual observation,
with the extent and abuse of Spain's resources. The taxes in Spain
are exceedingly light in proportion to the population, but they are
unfairly distributed, and most iniquitously collected--the state paying
an enormous percentage on most of them, and being besides scandalously
robbed by officials of every grade. But the inequality of taxation in
Spain, which presses (by the threefold means of direct impost, excise,
and exorbitant import duties upon manufactures) especially on the
peasant and agriculturist--crushing the very nerve and right arm of
Spanish prosperity--brings us to the consideration of a recent measure,
from which much good has been predicted, and from which, as we trust
and believe, advantage will ultimately be obtained.
[10] MARLIANI, ii., 430 and 471.
[11] _Revelations of Spain_, 365-6.