TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
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—Spaced text (gesperrt) has been rendered as ~bold text~.
[Illustration: THE ACADEMY SQUADRON OFF BARCELONA. Page 12.]
[Illustration: DECORATED FRONT PAGE:
YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD
BY
OLIVER OPTIC.
_VINE
&
OLIVE_
BOSTON
LEE & SHEPARD.]
_YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD—SECOND SERIES._
VINE AND OLIVE;
OR,
YOUNG AMERICA IN SPAIN AND
PORTUGAL.
A STORY OF TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE.
BY
~WILLIAM T. ADAMS~
(_OLIVER OPTIC_),
AUTHOR OF “OUTWARD BOUND,” “SHAMROCK AND THISTLE,” “RED CROSS,”
“DIKES AND DITCHES,” “PALACE AND COTTAGE,” “DOWN THE
RHINE,” “UP THE BALTIC,” “NORTHERN LANDS,”
“CROSS AND CRESCENT,” “SUNNY
SHORES,” ETC.
BOSTON:
~LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.~
NEW YORK:
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM.
COPYRIGHT:
BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS.
1876.
TO MY FRIEND,
~HENRY RUGGLES, ESQ.,~
“CONSULADO DE LOS ESTADOS UNIDOS, EN BARCELONA,
EN TIEMPOS PASADOS,”
WHEN WE “ASSISTED” TOGETHER AT A BULL–FIGHT IN
MADRID, VISITED EL ESCORIAL AND TOLEDO,
AND WITH WHOM THE AUTHOR
RELUCTANTLY PARTED
AT CASTILLEJO,
~THIS VOLUME~
IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
VINE AND OLIVE, the fifth volume of the second series of
“YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD,” contains the history of the Academy
Squadron during the cruise along the shores of Spain and
Portugal, and the travels of the students in the peninsula. As in
the preceding volumes, the professor of geography and history
discourses on these subjects to the pupils, conveying to them a
great deal of useful information concerning the countries they
visit. The surgeon of the ship is a sort of encyclopædia of travel;
and, while he is on shore with a couple of the juvenile officers,
he enlightens them by his talk on a great variety of topics; and
the description of “sights” is given in these conversations, or in
the “waits” between the speeches. In addition to the cities of the
peninsula on the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, the young travellers
cross the country from Barcelona to Lisbon, visiting on the
way Saragossa, Burgos, the Escurial, Madrid, Toledo, Aranjuez,
Badajos, and Elvas. In another excursion by land, they start from
Malaga, and take in Granada and the Alhambra, Cordova, Seville,
and Cadiz. Besides the ports mentioned, the party vessels visit
Valencia, Alicante,—from which they make an excursion to Elche
to see its palms—Carthagena, and Gibraltar.
The author has visited every country included in the titles of
the eleven volumes of the two series of which the present volume
is the last published. He has been abroad twice for the sole purpose
of obtaining the materials for these books; his object being
to produce books that would instruct as well as amuse.
The story of the incendiaries and of the young Spanish officer of
the Tritonia, interwoven with the incidents of travel, is in accordance
with the plan adopted in the first, and followed out in every
subsequent volume of the two series. Doubtless the book will
have some readers who will skip the lectures of the professor and
the travel–talk of the surgeon, and others who will turn unread the
pages on which the story is related; but we fancy the former will
be larger than the latter class. If both are suited, the author
need not complain; though he especially advises his young
friends to read the historical portions of the volume, because he
thinks that the maritime history of Portugal, for instance, ought
to interest them more than any story he can invent.
The titles of all the books of this series were published ten
years ago. The boys and girls who read the first volume are men
and women now; and the task the author undertook then will be
finished in one more volume.
With the hope that he will live to complete the work begun
so many years ago, the author once more returns his grateful
acknowledgments to his friends, old and young, for the favor
they have extended to this series.
TOWERHOUSE, BOSTON, Oct. 19, 1876.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
I. SOMETHING ABOUT THE MARINES 11
II. AT THE QUARANTINE STATION 26
III. A GRANDEE OF SPAIN 41
IV. THE PROFESSOR’S TALK ABOUT SPAIN 53
V. A SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCE 79
VI. A LOOK AT BARCELONA 87
VII. FIRE AND WATER 102
VIII. SARAGOSSA AND BURGOS 116
IX. THE HOLD OF THE TRITONIA 133
X. THE ESCURIAL AND PHILIP II. 145
XI. THE CRUISE IN THE FELUCCA 159
XII. SIGHTS IN MADRID 173
XIII. AFTER THE BATTLE IN THE FELUCCA 187
XIV. TOLEDO, AND TALKS ABOUT SPAIN 202
XV. TROUBLE IN THE RUNAWAY CAMP 221
XVI. BILL STOUT AS A TOURIST 233
XVII. THROUGH THE HEART OF SPAIN 245
XVIII. AFRICA AND REPENTANCE 261
XIX. WHAT PORTUGAL HAS DONE IN THE WORLD 274
XX. LISBON AND ITS SURROUNDINGS 292
XXI. A SAFE HARBOR 305
XXII. THE FRUITS OF REPENTANCE 319
XXIII. GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA 333
XXIV. AN ADVENTURE ON THE ROAD 349
XXV. CORDOVA, SEVILLE, AND CADIZ 358
XXVI. THE CAPTURE OF THE BEGGARS 373
XXVII. THE BULL–FIGHT AT SEVILLE 390
VINE AND OLIVE.
VINE AND OLIVE;
OR,
YOUNG AMERICA IN SPAIN AND PORTUGAL.
CHAPTER I.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE MARINES.
“Land, ho!” shouted the lookout in the foretop of
the Tritonia.
“Where away?” demanded the officer of the deck,
as he glanced in the direction the land was expected to
be found.
“Broad on the weather bow,” returned the seaman
in the foretop.
“Mr. Raimundo,” said the officer of the deck, who
was the third lieutenant, calling to the second master.
“Mr. Scott,” replied the officer addressed, touching
his cap to his superior.
“You will inform the captain, if you please, that the
lookout reports land on the weather bow.”
The second master touched his cap again, and hastened
to the cabin to obey the order. The academy
squadron, consisting of the steamer American Prince
and the topsail schooners Josephine and Tritonia,
were bound from Genoa to Barcelona. They had a
short and very pleasant passage, and the students
on board of all the vessels were in excellent spirits.
Though they had been seeing sights through all the
preceding year, they were keenly alive to the pleasure
of visiting a country so different as Spain from any
other they had seen. The weather was warm and
pleasant for the season, and the young men were anxiously
looking forward to the arrival at Barcelona. On
the voyage and while waiting in Genoa, they had
studied up all the books in the library that contained
any thing about the interesting land they were next to
visit.
The Tritonia sailed on the starboard, and the Josephine
on the port quarter, of the American Prince.
The two consorts had all sail set, and were making
about eight knots an hour, which was only half speed
for the steamer, to which she had been reduced in order
to keep company with the sailing vessels. Though
the breeze was tolerably fresh, the sea was smooth,
and the vessels had very little motion. The skies were
as blue and as clear as skies can ever be; and nothing
could be more delicious than the climate.
In the saloon of the steamer and the steerage of the
schooners, which were the schoolrooms of the academy
squadron, one–half of the students of the fleet were
engaged in their studies and recitations. A quarter
watch was on duty in each vessel, and the same portion
were off duty. But the latter were not idle: they were,
for the most part, occupied in reading about the new
land they were to visit; and the more ambitious were
preparing for the next recitation. Their positions on
board for the next month would depend upon their
merit–roll; and it was a matter of no little consequence
to them whether they were officers or seamen, whether
they lived in the cabin or steerage. Some were struggling
to retain the places they now held, and others
were eager to win what they had not yet attained.
There were from two to half a dozen in each vessel
who did only what they were obliged to do, either in
scholarship or seamanship. At first, ship’s duty had
been novel and pleasant to them; and they had done
well for a time,—had even struggled hard with their
lessons for the sake of attaining creditable places as
officers and seamen. They had been kindly and generously
encouraged as long as they deserved it; but,
when the novelty had worn away, they dropped back to
what they had been before they became students of the
academy squadron. Mr. Lowington labored hard over
the cases of these fellows; and, next to getting the fleet
safely into port, his desire was to reform them.
In the Tritonia were four of them, who had also
challenged the attention and interest of Mr. Augustus
Pelham, the vice–principal in charge of the vessel, who
had formerly been a student in the academy ship, and
who had been a wild boy in his time. The interest
which Mr. Lowington manifested in these wayward
fellows had inspired the vice–principal to follow his
example. Possibly the pleasant weather had some influence
on the laggards; for they seemed to be very
restive and uneasy under restraint as the squadron
approached the coast of Spain. All four of them were
in the starboard watch, and in the second part thereof,
where they had been put so that the vice–principal could
know where to find them when he desired to watch them
at unusual hours.
The third lieutenant was the officer of the deck,
assisted by the second master. The former was planking
the weather side of the quarter deck, and the latter
was moving about in the waist. The captain came on
deck, and looked at the distant coast through his glass;
but it was an old story, and he remained on deck but
a few minutes. Raimundo, the officer in the waist, was
a Spaniard, and the shore on the starboard was that of
“his own, his native land.” But this fact did not seem
to excite any enthusiasm in his mind: in fact, he really
wished it had been somebody else’s native land, and he
did not wish to go there. He bestowed more attention
upon the four idlers, who had coiled themselves away
in the lee side of the waist, than upon the shadowy
shore of the home of his ancestors. He was a sharp
officer; and this was his reputation on board. He
could snuff mischief afar off; and more than one
conspiracy had been blighted by his vigilance. He
seemed to be gazing at the clear blue sky, and to be
enjoying its azure transparency; but he had an eye to
the laggards all the time.
“I wonder what those marines are driving at,” said
he to himself, after he had studied the familiar phenomenon
for a while, and, as it appeared, without any
satisfactory result. “I never see those four fellows
talking together as long as they have been at it, without
an earthquake or some sort of a smash following
pretty soon after. I suppose they are going to run
away, for that is really the most fashionable sport on
board of all the vessels of the fleet.”
Perhaps the second master was right, and perhaps
he was wrong. Certainly running away had been the
greatest evil that had tried the patience of the principal;
but there had been hardly a case of it since the
squadron came into the waters of the Mediterranean,
and he hoped the practice had gone out of fashion. It
had been so unsuccessful, that most of the students
regarded it as a played–out expedient.
Raimundo was one of those whom this nautical institution
had saved to be a blessing, instead of a curse, to
the community; but he was truly reformed, and, over
and above his duty as an officer, he was sincerely desirous
to save the “marines” from the error of their
ways. He did not expect them to uncover their plans
all at once, and he was willing to watch and wait.
Having viewed the marines from the officer’s side of
the question, we will enter into the counsels of those
who were the subjects of this official scrutiny. After
the first few months of life in the squadron, these four
fellows had been discontented and dissatisfied. They
had been transferred from one vessel to another, in the
hope that they might find their appropriate sphere; but
there seemed to be no sphere below—at least, as far
as they had gone—where they could revolve and shine.
They had been “sticks,” wherever they were. One
country seemed to be about the same as any other to
them. They did not like to study; they did not like
to “knot and splice;” they did not like to stand watch;
they did not like to read even stories, fond as they
were of yarns of the coarser sort; they did not like to
do any thing but eat, sleep, and loaf about the deck, or,
on shore, but to dissipate and indulge in rowdyism.
Two of them had been transferred to the Tritonia from
the Prince at Genoa, and the other two had been in the
schooner but two months.
“I’m as tired as death of this sort of thing,” said
Bill Stout, the oldest and biggest fellow of the four.
“I had enough of it in a month after I came on
board,” added Ben Pardee, who was lying flat on his
back, and gazing listlessly up into the clear blue sky;
“but what can a fellow do?”
“Nothing at all,” replied Lon Gibbs. “It’s the
same thing from morning to night, from one week’s
end to the other.”
“Can’t we get up some sort of an excitement?”
asked Bark Lingall, whose first name was Barclay.
“We have tried it on too many times,” answered
Ben Pardee, who was perhaps the most prudent of the
four. “We never make out any thing. The fellows in
the Tritonia are a lot of spoonies, and are afraid to
say their souls are their own.”
“They are good little boys, lambs of the chaplain’s
fold,” sneered Lon Gibbs. “There is nothing like fun
in them.”
“We are almost at the end of the cruise, at any rate,”
said Bark Lingall, who seemed to derive great comfort
from the fact. “This slavery is almost at an end.”
“I don’t know about that,” added Bill Stout.
“Spain and Portugal are the last countries in Europe
we are to visit; and we shall finish them up in
three or four weeks more.”
“And what then? we are not to go home and be discharged,
as you seem to think,” continued Bill Stout.
“We are to go to the West Indies, taking in a lot of
islands on the way—I forget what they are.”
“I can stand it better when we are at sea,” said Ben
Pardee. “There is more life in it as we are tumbling
along in a big sea. Besides, there will be something to
see in those islands. These cities of Europe are about
the same thing; and, when you have seen one, you
have seen the whole of them.”
“I don’t know about that,” suggested Lon Gibbs,
who, from the chaplain’s point of view, was the most
hopeful of the four; for his education was better than
the others, and he had some taste for the wonders of
nature and art. “Spain ought to be worth seeing to
fellows from the United States of America. I suppose
you know that Columbus sailed from this country.”
“Is that so?” laughed Bark Lingall. “I thought he
was an Italian; at any rate, we saw the place where he
was born, or else it was a fraud.”
“I think you had better read up your history again,
and you will find that Columbus was born in Italy, but
sailed in the service of Spain,” replied Lon Gibbs.
“That will do!” interposed Bill Stout, turning up
his nose. “We don’t want any of that sort of thing in
our crowd. If you wish to show off your learning,
Lon, you had better go and join the lambs.”
“That’s so. It’s treason to talk that kind of bosh in
our company. We have too much of it in the steerage
to tolerate any of it when we are by ourselves,” said
Ben Pardee.
“I thought you were going to do something about
it,” added Bill Stout. “We are utterly disgusted, and
we agreed that we could not stand it any longer. We
shall go into the next place—I forget the name of
it”—
“Barcelona,” added Lon Gibbs, who was rather
annoyed at the dense ignorance of his friend.
“Barcelona, then. I suppose it is some one–horse
seaport, where we are expected to go into ecstasies over
tumble–down old buildings, or pretend that we like to
look at a lot of musty pictures. I have had enough of
this sort of thing, as I said before. I should like to
have a right down good time, such as we had in New
York when we went round among the theatres and the
beer–shops. That was fun for me. I’m no book–worm,
and I don’t pretend to be. I won’t make believe that
I enjoy looking at ruins and pictures when it is a bore
to me. I will not be a hypocrite, whatever else I am.”
Bill Stout evidently believed that he had some virtue
left; and, as he delivered himself of his sentiments, he
looked like a much abused and wronged young man.
“Here we are; and in six or eight hours we shall be
in Barcelona,” continued Ben Pardee.
“And it is no such one–horse place as you seem to
think it is,” added Lon Gibbs. “It is a large city; in
fact, the second in size in Spain, and with about the
same population as Boston. It is a great commercial
place.”
“You have learned the geography by heart,” sneered
Bill Stout, who had a hearty contempt for those who
knew any thing contained in the books, or at least for
those who made any display of their knowledge.
“I like, when I am going to any place, to know
something about it,” pleaded Lon, in excuse for his
wisdom in regard to Barcelona.
“Are there any beer–shops there, Lon?” asked Bill.
“I don’t know.”
“Then your education has been neglected.”
“Spain is not a beer–drinking country; and I should
say you would find no beer–shops there,” continued
Lon. “Spain is a wine country; and I have no doubt
you will find plenty of wine–shops in Barcelona, and in
the other cities of the country.”
“Wine–shops! that will do just as well, and perhaps
a little better,” chuckled Bill. “There is no fun where
there are no wine or beer shops.”
“What’s the use of talking?” demanded Bark Lingall.
“What are the wine or the beer shops to do with
us? If we entered one of them, we should be deprived
of our liberty, or be put into the brig for twenty–four
hours; and that don’t pay.”
“But I want to break away from this thing altogether,”
added Bill Stout. “I have been a slave from
the first moment I came into the squadron. I never
was used to being tied up to every hour and minute in
the day. A fellow can’t move without being watched.
What they call recreation is as solemn as a prayer–meeting.”
“Well, what do you want to do, Bill?” asked Ben
Pardee, as he glanced at the second master, who had
halted in his walk in the waist, to overhear, if he could,
any word that might be dropped by the party.
“That’s more than I am able to say just at this
minute,” replied Bill, pausing till the officer of the
watch had moved on. “I want to end this dog’s life,
and be my own master once more. I want to get out
of this vessel, and out of the fleet.”
“Would you like to get into the steamer?” asked
Lon Gibbs.
“I should like that for a short time; but I don’t
think I should be satisfied in her for more than a week
or two. It was just my luck, when I got out of the
Young America, after she went to the bottom, to have
the American Prince come to take her place, and leave
me out in the cold. No, I don’t want to stay in the
steamer; but I should like to be in her a few days, just
to see how things are done. All the fellows have to
keep strained up in her, even more than in the Tritonia;
and that is just the thing I don’t like. In fact, it is just
the thing I won’t stand much longer.”
“What are you going to do about it? How are you
going to help yourself?” inquired Lon Gibbs. “Here
we are, and here we must stay. It is all nonsense to
think of such a thing as running away.”
“I want some sort of an excitement, and I’m going
to have it too, if I am sent home in some ship–of–war
in irons.”
“You are getting desperate, Bill,” laughed Ben
Pardee.
“That’s just it, Ben; I am getting desperate. I cannot
endure the life I am leading on board of this vessel.
It is worse than slavery to me. If you can stand it,
you are welcome to do so.”
“We all hate it as bad as you do,” added Bark Lingall,
who had the reputation of being the boldest and
pluckiest of the bad boys on board of the Tritonia.
“I don’t think you do. If you did, you would be as
ready as I am to break the chains that bind us.”
“We are ready to do any thing that will end this
dog’s life,” replied Bark. “We will stand by you, if
you will only tell us what to do.”
“I think you are ready for business, Bark; but I am
not so sure of the others,” he added, glancing into the
faces of Lon Gibbs and Ben Pardee.
“I don’t believe in running away,” said the prudent
Ben.
“Nor I,” added Lon.
“I knew you were afraid of your own shadows,”
sneered Bill.
“We are not afraid of any thing; but so many fellows
have tried to run away, and made fools of themselves,
that I am not anxious to try it on. The principal
always gets the best of it. There were the two fellows,
De Forrest and Beckwith, who had been cabin officers,
that tried it on. Lowington didn’t seem to care what
became of them. But in the end they came back on
board, like a couple of sick monkeys, went into the
brig like white lambs, and to this day they have to stay
on board when the rest of the crew go ashore, in
charge of the big boatswain of the ship.”
“Well, what of it? I had as lief stay on board as
march in solemn procession with the professors through
the old churches of the place we are coming to—what
did you say the name of it was?”
“Barcelona,” answered Lon.
“But that’s not the thing, Bill,” protested Ben. “It
is not so much the brig and the loss of all shore liberty
as it is the being whipped out at your own game.”
“That’s the idea,” added Lon. “When those fellows
came on board, though they had been absent for weeks,
the principal only laughed at them as he ordered them
into the brig. There was not a fellow in the ship who
did not feel that they had made fools of themselves. I
would rather stay in the brig six months than feel as
I know those fellows felt at that moment.”
“I don’t think of running away,” continued Bill. “I
have a bigger idea than that in my mind.”
“What is it?” demanded the others, in the same
breath.
“I won’t tell you now, and not at all till I know that
you can bear it. Desperate cases require desperate
remedies; and I’m not sure that any of you are up to
it yet.”
No amount of teasing could induce Bill Stout to expose
the dark secret that was concealed in his mind;
and at noon the watch was relieved, so that they had
no other opportunity to talk till the first dog–watch;
but the secret came out in due time, and it was nothing
less than to burn the Tritonia. Bill believed that her
ship’s company could not be accommodated on board
of the other vessels, which were all full, and therefore
the students would be sent home. At first Bark Lingall
was horrified at the proposition; but having talked it
over for hours with Bill Stout alone, for the conspirator
would not yet trust the secret with Ben Pardee and
Lon Gibbs, he came to like the plan, and fully assented
to it. He would not consent to do any thing that
would expose the life of any person on board. It was
not till the following day that Bark came to the conclusion
to join in the conspiracy. Towards night, as it
was too late to go into port, the order had been signalled
from the Prince to stand off and on; and this
was done till the next morning.
The plan was discussed in all its details. It was
believed that the vessels would be quarantined at Barcelona,
and this would afford the best chance to carry
out the wicked plot. One of their number was to conceal
himself in the hold; and, when all hands had left
the vessel, he was to light the fire, and escape the best
way he could. If the fleet was not quarantined, the
job was to be done when the ship’s company landed to
see the city.
At eight bells in the morning, the signal was set on
the Prince to stand in for Barcelona. The conspirators
found no opportunity to broach the wicked scheme
to Ben and Lon. For the next three hours the starboard
watch were engaged in their duties. As may be supposed,
Bill Stout and Bark Lingall, with their heads full
of conspiracy and incendiarism, were in no condition to
recite their lessons, even if they had learned them,
which they had not done. They were both wofully
deficient, and Bill Stout did not pretend to know the
first thing about the subject on which he was called upon
to recite. The professor was very indignant, and reported
them to the vice–principal. Mr. Pelham found
them obstinate as well as deficient; and he ordered them
to be committed to the brig, and their books to be committed
with them. They were to stand their watches
on deck, and spend all the rest of the time in the cage,
till they were ready to recite the lessons in which they
had failed. The “brig” was the ship’s prison.
Mr. Marline, the adult boatswain, took charge of
them, and locked them up. The position of the brig
had been recently changed, and it was now under the
ladder leading from the deck to the steerage. The
partitions were hard wood slats, two inches thick and
three inches apart. Two stools were the only furniture
it contained, though a berth–sack was supplied for each
occupant at night. Their food, which was always much
plainer than that furnished for the cabin and steerage
tables, was passed in to them through an aperture in one
side, beneath which was a shelf that served for a table.
Bark looked at Bill, and Bill looked at Bark, when
the door had been secured, and the boatswain had left
them to their own reflections. Neither of them seemed
to be appalled by the situation. They sat down upon
the stools facing each other. Bark smiled upon Bill,
and Bill smiled in return. This was not the first time
they had been occupants of the brig.
“Here we are,” said Bill Stout, in a low tone, after
he had made a hasty survey of the prison. “I think
this is better than the old brig, and I believe we can be
happy here for a few days.”
“What will become of our big plan now, Bill?”
asked Bark.
“Hush!” added Bill in his hoarsest whisper, as he
looked through the slats of the prison to see if any one
was observing them.
“What’s the matter now?” demanded Bark, rather
startled by the impressive manner of his companion.
“Not a word,” replied Bill, as he pointed and gesticulated
in the direction of the flooring under the ladder.
“Well, what is it?” demanded Bark.
“Don’t you see?” and again he pointed as before.
“I don’t see any thing.”
“Then you are blind! Don’t you see that the new
brig has been built over one of the scuttles that lead
down into the hold?”
“I see it now. I didn’t know what you meant when
you pointed so like Hamlet’s ghost.”
“Don’t say a word, or look at it,” whispered Bill, as
he placed his stool over the trap, and looked out into
the steerage.
The vice–principal passed the brig at this moment,
and nothing more was said.