BILL STOUT AS A TOURIST.
Bill Stout indulged in some very severe reflections
upon the conduct of his fellow–conspirator
when he found that he was alone in the compartment
where he had spent the night. The porter who woke
him told him very respectfully (he was a first–class
passenger), in good Spanish for a man in his position,
that the train was to be run out of the station. Bill
couldn’t understand him, but he left the car.
“Where are the fellows that came with me?” he
asked, turning to the porter; but the man shook his
head, and smiled as blandly as though the runaway had
given him a _peseta_.
Bill was not much troubled with bashfulness; and he
walked about the station, accosting a dozen persons
whom he met; but not one of them seemed to know
a word of English.
“_No hablo Ingles_,” was the uniform reply of all.
One spoke to him in French; but, though Bill had
studied this language, he had not gone far enough to
be able to speak even a few words of it. He went into
the street, and a crowd of carriage–drivers saluted
him.
“Hotel,” said he, satisfied by this time that it was
of no use to talk English to anybody in Spain.
As this word is known to all languages, he got on so
far very well.
“_Hotel Villa de Madrid!_” shouted one of the drivers.
Though Bill’s knowledge of geography was very
limited, he had heard of Madrid, and he identified this
word in the speech of the man. He bowed to him to
indicate that he was ready to go to the hotel he named.
He was invited to take a seat in a _tartana_, a two–wheeled
vehicle not much easier than a tip–cart, and driven to
the hotel. Bill did not look like a very distinguished
guest, for he wore the garb of a common sailor when he
took off his overcoat. He had not even put on his best
rig, as he did not go ashore in regular form. He spoke
to the porter who received him at the door, in English,
thinking it was quite proper for those about a hotel to
speak all languages. But this man seemed to be no
better linguist than the rest of the Spaniards; and he
made no reply.
The guest was conducted to the hall where the landlord,
or the manager of the hotel, addressed him in
Spanish, and Bill replied in English.
“_Habla V. Frances?_” asked the manager.
“I don’t _hablo_ any thing but English,” replied Bill,
beginning to be disgusted with his ill–success in finding
any one who could understand him.
“_Parlez–vous Français?_” persisted the manager.
“No. I don’t _parlez–vous_.”
“_Parlate voi Italiano?_”
“No: I tell you I don’t speak any thing but English,”
growled Bill.
“_Sprechen Sie Deutsch?_”
“No; no Dutch.”
The manager shrugged his shoulders, and evidently
felt that he had done enough, having addressed the
guest in four languages.
“Two fellows—no comee here?” continued Bill,
trying his luck with pigeon English.
Of course the manager shook his head at this absurd
lingo; and Bill was obliged to give up in despair. The
manager called a servant, and sent him out; and the
guest hoped that something might yet happen. He
seated himself on a sofa, and waited for the waters to
move.
“I want some breakfast,” said Bill when he had
waited half an hour; and as he spoke he pointed to his
mouth, and worked his teeth, to illustrate his argument.
The manager took out his watch, and pointed to the
“X” upon the dial, to indicate that the meal would be
ready at that hour. A little later the servant came in
with another man, who proved to be an English–speaking
citizen of Valencia. He was a _valet de place_, or
guide.
With his aid Bill ascertained that “two young fellows”
had not been to the Hotel Villa de Madrid that
morning. He also obtained a room, and some coffee
and bread to last him till breakfast time. When he
had taken his coffee, he went with the man to all the
hotels in the place. It was nearly ten o’clock when he
reached the _Fonda del Cid_. Two young gentlemen, one
of them an officer, had just breakfasted at the hotel,
and left for Grao, the port of Valencia, two miles distant,
where they were to embark in a steamer which
was to sail for Oran at ten. Bill had not the least idea
where Oran was; and, when he asked his guide, he was
astonished to learn that it was in Africa, a seaport of
Algeria. Then he was madder than ever; for he would
have been very glad to take a trip to Africa, and see
something besides churches and palaces. He dwelt
heavily upon the trick that Bark had played him. It
was ten o’clock then, and it would not be possible to
reach Grao before half–past ten. He could try it; the
steamer might not sail as soon as advertised: they
were often detained.
Bill did try it, but the steamer was two miles at sea
when he reached the port. He engaged the guide for
the day, after an effort to beat him down in his price of
six _pesetas_. He went back to the hotel, and ate his
breakfast. There was plenty of _Val de Peñas_ wine on
the table, and he drank all he wanted. Then he went to
his room to take a nap before he went out to see the
sights of the place. Instead of sleeping an hour as he
intended, he did not wake till three o’clock in the afternoon.
The wine had had its effect upon him. He
found the guide waiting for him in the hall below. The
man insisted that he should go to the cathedral; and
when they had visited that it was dinner–time.
“How much do I owe you now?” asked Bill, when he
came to settle with the guide.
“Six _pesetas_,” replied the man. “That is the price
I told you.”
“But I have not had you but half a day: from eleven
till three you did not do any thing for me,” blustered
Bill in his usual style.
“But I was ready to go with you, and waited all that
time for you,” pleaded the guide.
“Here is four _pesetas_, and that is one more than you
have earned,” added Bill, tendering him the silver.
The man refused to accept the sum; and they had
quite a row about it. Finally the guide appealed to the
manager of the hotel, who promptly decided that six
_pesetas_ was the amount due the man. Bill paid it
under protest, but added that he wanted the guide the
next day.
“I shall go with you no more,” replied the man, as
he put the money into his pocket. “I work for gentlemen
only.”
“I will pay you for all the time you go with me,”
protested Bill; but the guide was resolute, and left the
hotel.
The next morning Bill used his best endeavors to
obtain another guide; but for a time he was unable to
make anybody comprehend what he wished. An Englishman
who spoke Spanish, and was a guest at the
hotel, helped him out at breakfast, and told the manager
what the young man wanted.
“I will not send for a guide for him,” replied the
manager; and then he explained to the tourist in what
manner Bill had treated his valet the day before, all of
which the gentleman translated to him.
But we cannot follow Bill in all his struggles with
the language, or in all his wanderings about Valencia.
He paid his bill at the hotel _Villa de Madrid_, and went
to another. On his way he bought a new suit of
clothes, and discarded for the present his uniform,
which attracted attention wherever he was. He went
to the _Fonda del Cid_ next; but he could not obtain a
guide who spoke English: the only one they ever
called in was engaged to an English party for a week.
The manager spoke English, but he was seldom in the
house. In some of the shops they spoke English; but
Bill was almost as much alone as though he had been
on a deserted island. The days wore heavy on his
hands; and about all he could do was to drink _Val de
Peñas_, and sleep it off. He wanted to leave Valencia,
but knew not where to go. He desired to get out of
Spain; and he had tried to get the run of the English
steamers; but as he could not read the posters, or
often find any one to read them for him, he had no
success.
He was heartily tired of the place, and even more
disgusted than he had been on board of the Tritonia.
He desired to go to England, where he could speak
the language of the country; but no vessel for England
came along, so far as he could ascertain. One day an
English gentleman arrived at the hotel; and Bill got up
a talk with him, as he did with everybody who could
speak his own language. He told him he wanted to
get to England; and the tourist advised him to cross
Spain and Portugal by rail, and take a steamer at Lisbon,
where one sailed every week for Southampton or
Liverpool, and sometimes two or three a week.
Bill adopted this suggestion, and in the afternoon
started for Lisbon. He had been nearly a week in
Valencia, and the change was very agreeable to him.
He found a gentleman who spoke English, in the
compartment with him; and he got along without any
trouble till he reached Alcazar, where his travelling
friend changed cars for Madrid. But, before he left
the train, he told Bill that he was too late to connect
for Lisbon, and that he would have to wait till half–past
one in the afternoon. He could obtain plenty to
eat in the station; but that ten hours of waiting at a
miserable shed of a station was far worse than learning
a lesson in navigation. He was on the high land, only ninety
miles from Madrid, and it was cold in the night.
There was no fire to warm him, and he had to walk to
keep himself comfortable. He could not speak a word
to any person; and, when any one spoke to him, he
had learned to say, “_No hablo._” He had picked up a
few words of Spanish, so that he could get what he
wanted to eat, though his variety was very limited.
In the afternoon he took the train for Ciudad Real,
and arrived there at six o’clock. He was too tired to
go any farther that night; indeed, he was almost sick.
He found an omnibus at the station, and said “Hotel”
to the driver. He felt better in the morning, and
reached the railroad station at six o’clock. As at the
hotel, he gave the ticket–seller a paper and pencil; and
he wrote down in figures the price of a ticket to Badajos,
in _reales_. He had changed his money into _Isabelinos_,
and knew that each was one hundred _reales_. Bill had
improved a good deal in knowledge since he was
thrown on his own resources. He waited till the train
arrived from Madrid. It was quite a long one; but
the conductor seemed to know just where the vacant
seats were, and led him to the last carriage, where he
was assigned a place in a compartment in which four
passengers occupied the corners, and seemed to be all
asleep. The runaway took one of the middle seats.
He only hoped, that, when the daylight came, he might
hear some of his fellow–travellers speak English.
Unfortunately for him, they all spoke this language.
The light in the top of the compartment had gone out,
and the persons in the corners were buried in their
overcoats, so that he could not see them after the
conductor carried his lantern away.
The train started; and Bill, for the want of something
better to do, went to sleep himself. His bed at
the hotel had been occupied by a myriad of “_cosas de
España_” before he got into it; and his slumbers had
been much disturbed. He slept till the sun broke in
through the window of the compartment. He heard his
fellow–travellers conversing in English; and, when he
was fairly awake, he was immediately conscious that a
gentleman who sat in one of the opposite corners was
studying his features. But, as soon as Bill opened his
eyes, it was not necessary for him to study any longer.
The gentleman in the corner was Mr. Lowington,
principal of the academy squadron; and Bill’s solitary
wanderings had come to an end.
The principal knew every student in the fleet; but
Bill’s head had been half concealed, and his dress had
been entirely changed, so that he did not fully identify
him till he opened his eyes, and raised his head. The
other persons in the compartment were Dr. Winstock,
the captain, and the first lieutenant of the Prince.
“Good–morning, Stout,” said Mr. Lowington, as
soon as he was sure that the new–comer was one of
the runaways from the Tritonia.
Of course Bill was taken all aback when he realized
that he was on the train with the ship’s company of
the Prince. But the principal was good–natured, as he
always was; and he smiled as he spoke. Bill had
unwittingly run into the camp of the enemy; and that
smile assured him that he was to be laughed at, in
addition to whatever punishment might be inflicted
upon him; and the laugh, to him, was the worst of it.
“Good–morning, sir,” replied Bill sheepishly; and
he had not the courage to be silent as he desired to be
in that presence.
“Have you had a good time, Stout?” asked Mr.
Lowington.
“Not very good,” answered Bill; and by this time
the eyes of the doctor and his two pupils, who had not
noticed him before, were fixed upon the culprit.
“Where is Lingall?” inquired the principal. “Is
he on the train with you?”
“No, sir: he and Raimundo ran away from me in
Valencia.”
“Raimundo!” exclaimed Mr. Lowington. “Was
he with you?”
“Yes, sir; and they played me a mean trick,” added
Bill, who had not yet recovered from his indignation on
account of his desertion, and was disposed to do his
late associates all the harm he could.
“They ran away from you, as you did from the rest
of us,” laughed the principal, who knew Stout so well
that he could not blame his companions for deserting
him. “Do you happen to know where they have
gone?”
“They left Valencia in a steamer at ten o’clock in
the forenoon;” and Bill recited the particulars of his
search for his late companions, feeling all the time that
he was having some part of his revenge upon them for
their meanness to him.
“But where was the steamer bound?” asked the
principal.
“For Oban,” replied Bill, getting it wrong, as he was
very apt to do with geographical names.
“Oban; that’s in Scotland. No steamer in Valencia
could be bound to Oban,” added Mr. Lowington.
“This place is not in Scotland: it is in Africa,” Bill
explained.
“He means Oran,” suggested Dr. Winstock.
“That’s the place.”
Bill knew nothing in regard to the intended movements
of Raimundo and Bark.
“How happened Raimundo to be with you?” asked
the principal. “He left the Tritonia the night before
we came from Barcelona.”
“No, sir: he did not leave her at all. He was in
the hold all the time.”
As Bill was very willing to tell all he knew about
his fellow–conspirator and the second master,—except
that Bark and himself had tried to set the vessel on
fire,—he related all the details of the escape, and the
trip to Tarragona, including the affray with the boatman.
He told the truth in the main, though he did
not bring out the fact of his own cowardice, or dwell
upon the cause of the quarrel between himself and his
companions.
“And how happened you to be here, and on this
train? Did you know we were on board of it?”
inquired the principal.
“I did not know you were on this train; but I knew
you were over this way somewhere.”
“And you were going to look for us,” laughed Mr.
Lowington, who believed that the fellow’s ignorance
had caused him to blunder into this locality at the
wrong time.
“I was not looking for you, but for the Tritonias,”
replied Bill, who had come to the conclusion that penitence
was his best dodge under the circumstances. “I
was going over to Lisbon to give myself up to Mr. Pelham.”
“Indeed! were you?”
“Yes, sir: I did not intend to run away; and it was
only when Raimundo had a boat from the shore that I
thought of such a thing. I have had hard luck; and
I would rather do my duty on board than wander all
about the country alone.”
“Then it was Lingall that spoiled your fun?”
“Yes, sir; but I shall never want to run away
again.”
“That’s what they all say. But, if you wished to get
back, why didn’t you go to Barcelona, where the Tritonia
is? That would have been the shortest way for
you.”
“I didn’t care about staying in the brig, with no one
but Mr. Marline and Mr. Rimmer on board,” answered
Bill, who could think of no better excuse.
Bill thought he might get a chance to slip away at
some point on the road, or at least when the party
arrived at Lisbon. If there was a steamer in port
bound to England, he might get on board of her.
“We will consider your case at another time,” said
the principal, as the train stopped at a station.
The principal and the surgeon, after sending Bill to
the other end of the compartment, had a talk about
Raimundo, who had evidently gone to Africa to get out
of the jurisdiction of Spain. After examining Bradshaw,
they found the fugitives could take a steamer to
Bona, in Algeria, and from there make their way to
Italy or Egypt; and concluded they would do so.