IN SPAIN
Alone among the survivors of the great Spanish Armada, Geoffrey
Vickars saw the coast of Ireland fade away from sight without a
feeling of satisfaction or relief. His hope had been that the ship
would be wrecked on her progress down the coast. He knew not that
the wild Irish were slaying all whom the sea spared, and that
ignorant as they were of the English tongue, he would undoubtedly
have shared the fate of his Spanish companions. He thought only
of the risk of being drowned, and would have preferred taking this
to the certainty of a captivity perhaps for life in the Spanish
prisons. The part that he had played since he had been picked up
off Gravelines could not be sustained indefinitely. He might as
well spend his life in prison, where at least there would be some
faint hope of being exchanged, as wander about Spain all his life
as an imbecile beggar.
As soon, therefore, as he saw that the perils of the coast of
Ireland were passed, and that the vessel was likely to reach Spain
in safety, he determined that he would on reaching a port disclose
his real identity. There were on board several Scotch and Irish
volunteers, and he decided to throw himself upon the pity of one of
these rather than on that of the Spaniards. He did not think that
in any case his life was in danger. Had he been detected when
first picked up, or during the early part of the voyage, he would
doubtless have been thrown overboard without mercy; but now that
the passions of the combatants had subsided, and that he had been
so long among them, and had, as he believed, won the goodwill of
many by the assistance he had rendered to the sick and wounded, he
thought that there was little fear of his life being taken in cold
blood.
One of the Irish volunteers, Gerald Burke by name, had for a long
time been seriously ill, and Geoffrey had in many small ways shown
him kindness as he lay helpless on the deck, and he determined
finally to confide in him. Although still very weak, Burke was now
convalescent, and was sitting alone by the poop rail gazing upon
the coast of Spain with eager eyes, when Geoffrey, under the pretext
of coiling down a rope, approached him. The young man nodded kindly
to him.
"Our voyage is nearly over, my poor lad," he said in Spanish, "and
your troubles now will be worse than mine. You have given me many
a drink of water from your scanty supply, and I wish that I could
do something for you in return; but I know that you do not even
understand what I say to you."
"Would you give me an opportunity of speaking to you after nightfall,
Mr. Burke," Geoffrey said in English, "when no one will notice us
speaking?"
The Irishman gave a start of astonishment at hearing himself
addressed in English.
"My life is in your hands, sir; pray, do not betray me," Geoffrey
said rapidly as he went on coiling down the rope.
"I will be at this place an hour after nightfall," the young Irishman
replied when he recovered from his surprise. "Your secret will be
safe with me."
At the appointed time Geoffrey returned to the spot. The decks
were now deserted, for a drizzling rain was falling, and all save
those on duty had retired below, happy in the thought that on the
following morning they would be in port.
"Now, tell me who you are," the young Irishman began. "I thought you
were a Spanish sailor, one of those we picked up when the Spanish
galleon next to us foundered."
Geoffrey then told him how he had been knocked off an English ship
by the fall of a mast, had swum to the galleon and taken refuge
beneath her bowsprit until she sank, and how, when picked up and
carried on to the Spanish ship, he feigned to have lost his senses
in order to conceal his ignorance of Spanish.
"I knew," he said, "that were I recognized as English at the time
I should at once be killed, but I thought that if I could conceal
who I was for a time I should simply be sent to the galleys, where
I have heard that there are many English prisoners working."
"I think death would have been preferable to that lot," Mr. Burke
said.
"Yes, sir; but there is always the hope of escape or of exchange.
When you spoke kindly to me this afternoon I partly understood what
you said, for in this long time I have been on board I have come
to understand a little Spanish, and I thought that maybe you would
assist me in some way."
"I would gladly do so, though I regard Englishmen as the enemies
of my country; but in what way can I help you? I could furnish you
with a disguise, but your ignorance of Spanish would lead to your
detection immediately."
"I have been thinking it over, sir, and it seemed to me that
as there will be no objection to my landing tomorrow, thinking as
they do that I have lost my senses, I might join you after you once
got out of the town. I have some money in my waistbelt, and if you
would purchase some clothes for me I might then join you as your
servant as you ride along. At the next town you come to none would
know but that I had been in your service during the voyage, and
there would be nothing strange in you, an Irish gentleman, being
accompanied by an Irish servant who spoke but little Spanish.
I would serve you faithfully, sir, until perhaps some opportunity
might occur for my making my escape to England."
"Yes, I think that might be managed," the young Irishman said. "When
I land tomorrow I will buy some clothes suitable for a serving man.
I do not know the names of the hotels on shore, so you must watch
me when I land and see where I put up. Come there in the evening at
nine o'clock. I will issue out and give you the bundle of clothes,
and tell you at what hour in the morning I have arranged to start.
I will hire two horses; when they come round to the door, join me
in front of the hotel and busy yourself in packing my trunks on
the baggage mules. When you have done that, mount the second horse
and ride after me; the people who will go with us with the horses
will naturally suppose that you have landed with me. Should any of
our shipmates here see us start, it is not likely that they will
recognize you. If they do so, I need simply say that as you had shown
me such kindness on board ship I had resolved to take you with me
to Madrid in order to see if anything could be done to restore you
to reason. However, it is better that you should keep in the background
as much as possible. I will arrange to start at so early an hour
in the morning that none of those who may land with me from the
ship, and may put up at the same inn, are likely to be about."
The next morning the vessel entered port. They were soon surrounded
by boats full of people inquiring anxiously for news of other ships,
and for friends and acquaintances on board. Presently large boats
were sent off by the authorities, and the disembarkation of the sick
and the helpless began. This indeed included the greater portion
of the survivors, for there were but two or three score on board
who were capable of dragging themselves about, the rest being
completely prostrate by disease, exhaustion, hunger, and thirst.
Geoffrey was about to descend into one of the boats, when the officer
in command said roughly: "Remain on board and do your work, there
is no need for your going into the hospital." One of the ship's
officers, however, explained that the lad had altogether lost his
senses, and was unable either to understand when spoken to or to
reply to questions. Consequently he was permitted to take his place
in the boat.
As soon as he stepped ashore he wandered away among the crowd of
spectators. A woman, observing his wan face and feeble walk, called
him into her house, and set food and wine before him. He made a
hearty meal, but only shook his head when she addressed him, and
laughed childishly and muttered his thanks in Spanish when she
bestowed a dollar upon him as he left. He watched at the port while
boat load after boat load of sick came ashore, until at last one
containing the surviving officers and gentlemen with their baggage
reached the land. Then he kept Gerald Burke in sight until he
entered an inn, followed by two men carrying his baggage. Several
times during the day food and money were offered him, the inhabitants
being full of horror and pity at the sight of the famishing survivors
of the crew of the galleon.
At nine o'clock in the evening Geoffrey took up his station near
the door of the inn. A few minutes later Gerald Burke came out with
a bundle. "Here are the clothes," he said. "I have hired horses for
our journey to Madrid. They will be at the door at six o'clock in
the morning. I have arranged to travel by very short stages, for at
first neither you nor I could sit very long upon a horse; however,
I hope we shall soon gain strength as we go."
Taking the bundle, Geoffrey walked a short distance from the town
and lay down upon the ground under some trees. The night was a warm
one, and after the bitter cold they had suffered during the greater
part of the voyage, it felt almost sultry to him. At daybreak in
the morning he rose, put on the suit of clothes Gerald Burke had
provided, washed his face in a little stream, and proceeded to the
inn. He arrived there just as the clocks were striking six. A few
minutes later two men with two horses and four mules came up to
the door, and shortly afterwards Gerald Burke came out. Geoffrey at
once joined him; the servants of the inn brought out the baggage,
which was fastened by the muleteers on to two of the animals.
Gerald Burke mounted one of the horses and Geoffrey the other, and
at once rode on, the muleteers mounting the other two mules and
following with those carrying the baggage.
"That was well managed," Gerald Burke said as they rode out of the
town. "The muleteers can have no idea that you have but just joined
me, and there is little chance of any of my comrades on board ship
overtaking us, as all intend to stop for a few days to recruit
themselves before going on. If they did they would not be likely to
recognize you in your present attire, or to suspect that my Irish
servant is the crazy boy of the ship."
After riding at an easy pace for two hours, they halted under the
shade of some trees. Fruit, bread, and wine were produced from
a wallet on one of the mules, and they sat down and breakfasted.
After a halt of an hour they rode on until noon, when they again
halted until four in the afternoon, for the sun was extremely hot,
and both Gerald Burke and Geoffrey were so weak they scarce could
sit their horses. Two hours further riding took them to a large
village, where they put up at the inn. Geoffrey now fell into his
place as Mr. Burke's servant--saw to the baggage being taken
inside, and began for the first time to try his tongue at Spanish.
He got on better than he had expected; and as Mr. Burke spoke with
a good deal of foreign accent, it did not seem in any way singular
to the people of the inn that his servant should speak but little
of the language.
Quietly they journeyed on, doing but short distances for the first
three or four days, but as they gained strength pushing on faster,
and by the time they reached Madrid both were completely recovered
from the effects of their voyage. Madrid was in mourning, for there
was scarce a family but had lost relations in the Armada. Mr. Burke
at once took lodgings and installed Geoffrey as his servant. He
had many friends and acquaintances in the city, where he had been
residing for upwards of a year previous to the sailing of the
Armada.
For some weeks Geoffrey went out but little, spending his time in
reading Spanish books and mastering the language as much as possible.
He always conversed in that language with Mr. Burke, and at the
end of six weeks was able to talk Spanish with some fluency. He
now generally accompanied Mr. Burke if he went out, following him
in the streets and standing behind his chair when he dined abroad.
He was much amused at all he saw, making many acquaintances among
the lackeys of Mr. Burke's friends, dining with them downstairs after
the banquets were over, and often meeting them of an evening when
he had nothing to do, and going with them to places of entertainment.
In this way his knowledge of Spanish improved rapidly, and although
he still spoke with an accent he could pass well as one who had
been for some years in the country. He was now perfectly at ease
with the Spanish gentlemen of Mr. Burke's acquaintance. It was
only when Irish and Scotch friends called upon his master that he
feared awkward questions, and upon these occasions he showed himself
as little as possible. When alone with Gerald Burke the latter
always addressed Geoffrey as a friend rather than as a servant, and
made no secret with him as to his position and means. He had been
concerned in a rising in Ireland, and had fled the country, bringing
with him a fair amount of resources. Believing that the Armada was
certain to be crowned with success, and that he should ere long be
restored to his estates in Ireland, he had, upon his first coming
to Spain, spent his money freely. His outfit for the expedition
had made a large inroad upon his store, and his resources were now
nearly at an end.
"What is one to do, Geoffrey? I don't want to take a commission in
Philip's army, though my friends could obtain one for me at once;
but I have no desire to spend the rest of my life in the Netherlands
storming the towns of the Dutch burghers."
"Or rather trying to storm them," Geoffrey said, smiling; "there
have not been many towns taken of late years."
"Nor should I greatly prefer to be campaigning in France," Gerald
went on, paying no attention to the interruption. "I have no love
either for Dutch Calvinists or French Huguenots; but I have no
desire either to be cutting their throats or for them to be cutting
mine. I should like a snug berth under the crown here or at Cadiz,
or at Seville; but I see no chance whatever of my obtaining one.
I cannot take up the trade of a footpad, though disbanded soldiers
turned robbers are common enough in Spain. What is to be done?"
"If I am not mistaken," Geoffrey said with a smile, "your mind is
already made up. It is not quite by accident that you are in the
gardens of the Retiro every evening, and that a few words are always
exchanged with a certain young lady as she passes with her duenna."
"Oh! you have observed that," Gerald Burke replied with a laugh.
"Your eyes are sharper than I gave you credit for, Master Geoffrey.
Yes, that would set me on my legs without doubt, for Donna Inez
is the only daughter and heiress of the Marquis of Ribaldo; but
you see there is a father in the case, and if that father had the
slightest idea that plain Gerald Burke was lifting his eyes to his
daughter it would not be many hours before Gerald Burke had several
inches of steel in his body."
"That I can imagine," Geoffrey said, "since it is, as I learn from
my acquaintances among the lackeys, a matter of common talk that
the marquis intends to marry her to the son of the Duke of Sottomayor."
"Inez hates him," Gerald Burke said. "It is just like my ill luck,
that instead of being drowned as most of the others were, he has
had the luck to get safely back again. However, he is still ill,
and likely to be so for some time. He was not so accustomed to
starving as some of us, and he suffered accordingly. He is down at
his estates near Seville."
"But what do you think of doing?" Geoffrey asked.
"That is just what I am asking you."
"It seems to me, certainly," Geoffrey went on, "that unless you
really mean to run off with the young lady--for I suppose there
is no chance in the world of your marrying her in any other way--it
will be better both for you and her that you should avoid for
the future these meetings in the gardens or elsewhere, and cast your
thoughts in some other direction for the bettering of your fortunes."
"That is most sage advice, Geoffrey," the young Irishman laughed,
"and worthy of my father confessor; but it is not so easy to follow.
In the first place, I must tell you that I do not regard Inez as in
any way a step to fortune, but rather as a step towards a dungeon.
It would be vastly better for us both if she were the daughter of
some poor hidalgo like myself. I could settle down then with her,
and plant vines and make wine, and sell what I don't drink myself.
As it is, I have the chance of being put out of the way if it is
discovered that Inez and I are fond of each other; and in the next
place, if we do marry I shall have to get her safely out of the
kingdom, or else she will have to pass the rest of her life in a
convent, and I the rest of mine in a prison or in the galleys; that
is if I am not killed as soon as caught, which is by far the most
likely result. Obnoxious sons in law do not live long in Spain. So
you see, Geoffrey, the prospect is a bad one altogether; and if it
were not that I dearly love Inez, and that I am sure she will be
unhappy with Philip of Sottomayor, I would give the whole thing
up, and make love to the daughter of some comfortable citizen who
would give me a corner of his house and a seat at his table for
the rest of my days."
"But, seriously--" Geoffrey began.
"Well, seriously, Geoffrey, my intention is to run away with Inez
if it can be managed; but how it is to be managed at present I have
not the faintest idea. To begin with, the daughter of a Spanish
grandee is always kept in a very strong cage closely guarded, and
it needs a very large golden key to open it. Now, as you are aware,
gold is a very scarce commodity with me. Then, after getting her
out, a lavish expenditure would be needed for our flight. We should
have to make our way to the sea coast, to do all sorts of things
to throw dust into the eyes of our pursuers, and to get a passage
to some place beyond the domains of Philip, which means either to
France, England, or the Netherlands. Beyond all this will be the
question of future subsistence until, if ever, the marquis makes up
his mind to forgive his daughter and take her to his heart again,
a contingency, in my opinion, likely to be extremely remote."
"And what does the Lady Inez say to it all?" Geoffrey asked.
"The Lady Inez has had small opportunity of saying anything on the
subject, Geoffrey. Here in Spain there are mighty few opportunities
for courtship. With us at home these matters are easy enough, and
there is no lack of opportunity for pleading your suit and winning
a girl's heart if it is to be won; but here in Spain matters are
altogether different, and an unmarried girl is looked after as
sharply as if she was certain to get into some mischief or other
the instant she had an opportunity. She is never suffered to be
for a moment alone with a man; out of doors or in she has always a
duenna by her side; and as to a private chat, the thing is simply
impossible."
"Then how do you manage to make love?" Geoffrey asked.
"Well, a very little goes a long way in Spain. The manner of a bow,
the wave of a fan, the dropping of a glove or flower, the touch
of a hand in a crowded room--each of these things go as far as
a month's open love making in Ireland."
"Then how did you manage with the duenna so as to be able to speak
to her in the gardens?"
"Well, in the first place, I made myself very attentive to the
duenna; in the second place, the old lady is devout, and you know
Ireland is the land of saints, and I presented her with an amulet
containing a paring of the nail of St. Patrick."
Geoffrey burst into a laugh, in which the Irishman joined.
"Well, if it was not really St. Patrick's," the latter went on,
"it came from Ireland anyhow, which is the next best thing. Then
in the third place, the old lady is very fond of Inez; and although
she is as strict as a dragon, Inez coaxed her into the belief that
there could not be any harm in our exchanging a few words when she
was close by all the time to hear what was said. Now, I think you
know as much as I do about the matter, Geoffrey. You will understand
that a few notes have been exchanged, and that Inez loves me.
Beyond that everything is vague and uncertain, and I have not the
slightest idea what will come of it."
Some weeks passed and nothing was done. The meetings between Gerald
Burke and Inez in the Gardens of the Retiro had ceased a day or two
afterwards, the duenna having positively refused to allow them to
continue, threatening Inez to inform her father of them unless she
gave them up.
Gerald Burke's funds dwindled rapidly, although he and Geoffrey
lived in the very closest way.
"What in the world is to be done, Geoffrey? I have only got twenty
dollars left, which at the outside will pay for our lodgings and
food for another month. For the life of me I cannot see what is to
be done when that is gone, unless we take to the road."
Geoffrey shook his head. "As far as I am concerned," he said, "as
we are at war with Spain, it would be fair if I met a Spanish ship
at sea to capture and plunder it, but I am afraid the laws of war
do not justify private plunder. I should be perfectly ready to go
out and take service in a vineyard, or to earn my living in any
way if it could be managed."
"I would rob a cardinal if I had the chance," Gerald Burke said,
"and if I ever got rich would restore his money four fold and
so obtain absolution; only, unfortunately, I do not see my way to
robbing a cardinal. As to digging in the fields, Geoffrey, I would
rather hang myself at once. I am constitutionally averse to labour,
and if one once took to that sort of thing there would be an end
to everything."
"It is still open to you," Geoffrey said, "to get your friends to
obtain a commission for you."
"I could do that," Gerald said moodily, "but of all things that is
what I should most hate."
"You might make your peace with the English government and get some
of your estates back again."
"That I will not do to feed myself," Gerald Burke said firmly. "I
have thought that if I ever carry off Inez I might for her sake do
so, for I own that now all hope of help from Spain is at an end,
our cause in Ireland is lost, and it is no use going on struggling
against the inevitable; but I am not going to sue the English
government as a beggar for myself. No doubt I could borrow small
sums from Irishmen and Scotchmen here, and hold on for a few months;
but most of them are well nigh as poor as I am myself, and I would
not ask them. Besides, there would be no chance of my repaying them;
and, if I am to rob anyone, I would rather plunder these rich dons
than my own countrymen."
"Of one thing I am resolved," Geoffrey said, "I will not live at
your expense any longer, Gerald. I can speak Spanish very fairly
now, and can either take service in some Spanish family or, as I
said, get work in the field."
Gerald laughed. "My dear Geoffrey, the extra expenses caused by
you last week were, as far as I can calculate, one penny for bread
and as much for fruit; the rest of your living was obtained at the
expense of my friends."
"At any rate," Geoffrey said smiling, "I insist that my money be
now thrown into the common fund. I have offered it several times
before, but you always said we had best keep it for emergency. I
think the emergency has come now, and these ten English pounds in
my belt will enable us to take some step or other. The question is,
what step? They might last us, living as we do, for some three or
four months, but at the end of that time we should be absolutely
penniless; therefore now is the time, while we have still a small
stock in hand, to decide upon something."
"But what are we to decide upon?" Gerald Burke asked helplessly.
"I have been thinking it over a great deal," Geoffrey said, "and
my idea is that we had best go to Cadiz or some other large port.
Although Spain is at war both with England and the Netherlands,
trade still goes on in private ships, and both Dutch and English
vessels carry on commerce with Spain; therefore it seems to me
that there must be merchants in Cadiz who would be ready to give
employment to men capable of speaking and writing both in Spanish
and English, and in my case to a certain extent in Dutch. From
there, too, there might be a chance of getting a passage to England
or Holland. If we found that impossible owing to the vessels being
too carefully searched before sailing, we might at the worst take
passage as sailors on board a Spanish ship bound for the Indies,
and take our chance of escape or capture there or on the voyage.
That, at least, is what I planned for myself."
"I think your idea is a good one, Geoffrey. At any rate to Cadiz we
will go. I don't know about the mercantile business or going as a
sailor, but I could get a commission from the governor there as well
as here in Madrid; but at any rate I will go. Donna Inez was taken
last week by her father to some estates he has somewhere between
Seville and Cadiz, in order, I suppose, that he may be nearer Don
Philip, who is, I hear, at last recovering from his long illness.
I do not know that there is the slightest use in seeing her again,
but I will do so if it be possible; and if by a miracle I could
succeed in carrying her off, Cadiz would be a more likely place to
escape from than anywhere.
"Yes, I know. You think the idea is a mad one, but you have never
been in love yet. When you are you will know that lovers do not
believe in the word 'impossible.' At any rate, I mean to give Inez
the chance of determining her own fate. If she is ready to risk
everything rather than marry Don Philip, I am ready to share the
risk whatever it may be."
Accordingly on the following day Gerald Burke disposed of the
greater part of his wardrobe and belongings, purchased two ponies
for a few crowns, and he and Geoffrey, with a solitary suit of
clothes in a wallet fastened behind the saddle, started for their
journey to Cadiz. They mounted outside the city, for Gerald shrank
from meeting any acquaintances upon such a sorry steed as he had
purchased; but once on their way his spirits rose. He laughed and
chatted gaily, and spoke of the future as if all difficulties were
cleared away. The ponies, although rough animals, were strong and
sturdy, and carried their riders at a good pace. Sometimes they
travelled alone, sometimes jogged along with parties whom they
overtook by the way, or who had slept in the same posadas or inns
at which they had put up for the night.
Most of these inns were very rough, and, to Geoffrey, astonishingly
dirty. The food consisted generally of bread and a miscellaneous
olio or stew from a great pot constantly simmering over the fire,
the flavour, whatever it might be, being entirely overpowered
by that of the oil and garlic that were the most marked of its
constituents. Beds were wholly unknown at these places, the guests
simply wrapping themselves in their cloaks and lying down on the
floor, although in a few exceptional cases bundles of rushes were
strewn about to form a common bed.
But the travelling was delightful. It was now late in the autumn,
and when they were once past the dreary district of La Mancha, and
had descended to the rich plains of Cordova, the vintage was in
full progress and the harvest everywhere being garnered in. Their
midday meal consisted of bread and fruit, costing but the smallest
coin, and eaten by the wayside in the shade of a clump of trees.
They heard many tales on their way down of the bands of robbers
who infested the road, but having taken the precaution of having
the doubloons for which they had exchanged Geoffrey's English gold
sewn up in their boots, they had no fear of encountering these gentry,
having nothing to lose save their wallets and the few dollars they
had kept out for the expenses of their journey. The few jewels that
Gerald Burke retained were sewn up in the stuffing of his saddle.
After ten days' travel they reached Seville, where they stayed a
couple of days, and where the wealth and splendour of the buildings
surprised Geoffrey, who had not visited Antwerp or any of the great
commercial centres of the Netherlands.
"It is a strange taste of the Spanish kings," he observed to Gerald
Burke, "to plant their capital at Madrid in the centre of a barren
country, when they might make such a splendid city as this their
capital. I could see no charms whatever in Madrid. The climate
was detestable, with its hot sun and bitter cold winds. Here the
temperature is delightful; the air is soft and balmy, the country
round is a garden, and there is a cathedral worthy of a capital."
"It seems a strange taste," Gerald agreed; "but I believe that
when Madrid was first planted it stood in the midst of extensive
forests, and that it was merely a hunting residence for the king."
"Then, when the forests went I would have gone too," Geoffrey said.
"Madrid has not even a river worthy of the name, and has no single
point to recommend it, as far as I can see, for the capital of a
great empire. If I were a Spaniard I should certainly take up my
residence in Seville."
Upon the following morning they again started, joining, before they
had ridden many miles, a party of three merchants travelling with
their servants to Cadiz. The merchants looked a little suspiciously
at first at the two young men upon their tough steeds; but as soon
as they discovered from their first salutations that they were
foreigners, they became more cordial, and welcomed this accession
of strength to their party, for the carrying of weapons was universal,
and the portion of the road between Seville and Cadiz particularly
unsafe, as it was traversed by so many merchants and wealthy
people. The conversation speedily turned to the disturbed state of
the roads.
"I do not think," one of the merchants said, "that any ordinary
band of robbers would dare attack us," and he looked round with
satisfaction at the six armed servants who rode behind them.
"It all depends," Gerald Burke said, with a sly wink at Geoffrey,
"upon what value the robbers may place upon the valour of your
servants. As a rule serving men are very chary of their skins, and I
should imagine that the robbers must be pretty well aware of that
fact. Most of them are disbanded soldiers or deserters, and I should
say that four of them are more than a match for your six servants.
I would wager that your men would make but a very poor show of it
if it came to fighting."
"But there are our three selves and you two gentlemen," the merchant
said in a tone of disquiet.
"Well," Gerald rejoined, "I own that from your appearance I should
not think, worshipful sir, that fighting was altogether in your line.
Now, my servant, young as he is, has taken part in much fighting
in the Netherlands, and I myself have had some experience with
my sword; but if we were attacked by robbers we should naturally
stand neutral. Having nothing to defend, and having no inclination
whatever to get our throats cut in protecting the property of others,
I think that you will see for yourselves that that is reasonable.
We are soldiers of fortune, ready to venture our lives in a good
service, and for good pay, but mightily disinclined to throw them
away for the mere love of fighting."