A SAFE HARBOR.
“We are in Malaga now; and we have to decide
what to do next,” said Raymond, when they
were shown to their room in the hotel.
“I supposed you would wait till the squadron arrived,”
replied Bark.
“I do not intend to wait. We have talked so much
about your affairs that we have said nothing about
mine,” added Raymond. “My circumstances are very
different from yours. I feel that I have been right all
the time; and I expect that I shall be fully justified in
the end for what I have done in violation of the discipline
of the vessel to which I belong.”
“I know that my case is very different from yours;
but I do not want to part company with you,” said
Bark, with an anxious look on his face.
“I don’t know that it is necessary for us to part.
Though I think it is your duty to join your ship as soon
as convenient, I shall keep out of the way till she is
ready to sail from Spain. The fleet will certainly visit
Cadiz, whether it goes to sea from there or not. For
this reason, I must work my way to Cadiz.”
“And must I stay here till the squadron arrives?”
“Let us look it over.”
“I cannot speak Spanish; and I shall be like a cat
in a strange garret, unless I employ a guide.”
“The right thing for you to do is to return to your
ship.”
“Go back to Barcelona?”
“I should advise you to do that if I were not afraid
the fleet would leave before you could get there. The
Prince will arrive within three days; and, if the Josephines
and Tritonias have returned, the vessels may
sail at once. It is a long, tedious, and expensive journey
by rail; and you could not get there in this time by
any steamer, for they all stop at the ports on the way.
I don’t know where the fleet will put in on its way
south; and you might miss it. On the whole, I think
you had better stay with me.”
“I think so myself,” replied Bark, pleased with the
decision.
“Because you want to think so, perhaps,” laughed
Raymond. “We must be careful that our wishes don’t
override our judgment.”
“But you decided it for me.”
“I think we have settled it right,” added Raymond.
“I want to see something of my native land; and I
shall go to the Alhambra and Seville on the way to
Cadiz. In your case it will make only a difference of
two or three days, whether you join the Tritonia here
or in Cadiz.”
This course was decided upon in the end; and, after
a day in Malaga, they started for Granada. At the
expiration of ten days, they had completed the tour
marked out by Raymond, and were in Cadiz, waiting
for the arrival of the squadron. At the end of a week
it had not come. Another week, and still it did not
appear. Raymond looked over the ship–news in all
the papers he could find in the club–house; but the
last news he could obtain was that the Prince and her
consorts had arrived at Carthagena. In vain he looked
for any thing more. The next port would certainly be
Malaga, unless the fleet put into Almeria, which was
not probable. It was now the middle of January.
“I don’t understand it,” said Raymond. “The
vessels ought to have been here before this time.”
“Perhaps they have gone over into Africa to look
after us,” suggested Bark.
“That is not possible: Mr. Lowington never goes
to hunt up or hunt down runaways; but he may have
gone over there to let the students see something of
Africa,” replied Raymond. “I don’t think he has
gone over to Africa at all.”
“Where is he, then?”
“That’s a conundrum, and I can’t guess it.”
Raymond continued to watch the papers till the first
of February; but still there were no tidings of the
fleet. He had a list of the vessels that had passed
Tarifa, and of those which had arrived at Algiers,
Oran, and Nemours; but they did not contain the
name of the Prince. Then he looked for ships at Alexandria,
thinking the principal might have concluded to
take the students to Egypt; but he found nothing to
support such a possibility.
“I don’t think I shall stay here any longer,” said
Raymond. “We have been here a month.”
“Where will you go?” asked Bark.
“I believe we had better take a steamer, and follow
the coast up to Carthagena, where we had the last news
of the fleet,” replied Raymond. “When we get there
we can ascertain for what port she sailed.”
“Why not go on board of one of the steamers that
come down the coast from Barcelona, and inquire of
the officers if they have seen the squadron?” suggested
Bark, who was always full of suggestions.
“That’s a capital idea!” exclaimed Raymond. “I
wonder we did not think of that idea before.”
Then they had to wait a week for a steamer that had
come down the coast; but one of the line from Oran
had been in port, and they ascertained that the fleet
was not in the port of Malaga. Raymond went to the
captain of the steamer from Barcelona, and was informed
that the squadron was at Carthagena, and had
been there for over a month.
“That accounts for it all,” said Raymond, as they
returned to the boat in which they had boarded the
steamer. “But I can’t imagine why the fleet is staying
all this time in the harbor of Carthagena.”
“Perhaps the Prince has broken some of her machinery,
and they have stopped to repair damages,”
suggested Bark.
“That may be; but they could hardly be a month
mending a break. They could build a new engine in
that time almost.”
“Well, we know where the fleet is; and the next
question is, What are we to do about it?” added Bark,
as they landed on the quay.
They returned to the Hotel de Cadiz, where they
boarded, and went to their room to consider the situation
with the new light just obtained.
“Your course is plain enough, Bark,” said Raymond.
“Mine is not so plain.”
“You think I ought to return to the Tritonia; don’t
you?” added Bark.
“That is my view.”
“But suppose the fleet should sail before I get to
Carthagena?”
“You must take your chance of that.”
“But you will not go back with me?”
“No: it would not be safe for me to do that. It
will be better for my uncle in Barcelona not to know
where I am.”
“But what shall I say to Mr. Lowington, or Mr.
Pelham, when I am asked where you are?” inquired
Bark. “I suppose it is still to be part of my programme
not to lie.”
“Undoubtedly; and I hope you will stick to it as
long as you live.”
“I intend to do so; and you might as well go with
me as to have me tell them where you are.”
“That is true, Bark; and, when you get on board of
the Tritonia, tell all you know about me, and say that
you left me in Cadiz.”
“You might as well go with me.”
“I think not.”
“Then that _alguacil_ will be after you in less than a
week,” said Bark.
“But he will not find me; for I shall not be in Cadiz
when he arrives,” laughed the Spaniard.
“Where are you going?” asked Bark curiously.
“If I don’t tell you, you will not know.”
“I see,” added Bark. “You do not intend to stay
in Cadiz.”
“Of course not.”
“But you may miss the squadron when it goes to
sea.”
“If I do, I cannot help it; and in that case I may
go to New York, or I may go to the West Indies in the
Lopez steamers. I have not made up my mind what I
shall do.”
Raymond wrote a long letter to Scott, and gave it to
his companion to deliver to him. In a few days a
steamer came along that was going to stop at Carthagena.
Bark went on board of her; and, after a hard
parting, he sailed away in her to join the Tritonia,
after an absence of two months.
On the following day Raymond went to Gibraltar in
the Spanish steamer, and remained there a full month,
watching the papers for news of the fleet. At the end
of this time he found the arrival of the squadron at
Malaga. A few days later he saw that the Prince had
passed Tarifa, and then that she had arrived at Cadiz.
But, while he is watching the movements of the steamer,
we will follow her to Barcelona, where she went nearly
three months before.
When the Prince reached her destination, the overland
party had not returned, and were not expected for
two or three days. An excursion to Monserrat was
organized by Dr. Winstock, who declared that it would
be ridiculous to leave Barcelona, when they had time
on their hands, without visiting one of the most remarkable
sights in Spain. The party had to take a
train at seven o’clock in the morning; and then it was
ten before they reached their destination.
Monserrat is a lofty mountain, and takes its name
from a Spanish word that means a “saw,” because
the sharp peaks which cover the elevation resemble
the teeth of that implement. At the _posada_ in the
village Dr. Winstock related the legend of the place.
“This is one of the most celebrated shrines in
Spain,” he began. “Sixty thousand pilgrims used to
visit it every year; but now the various chapels and
monastery buildings are mostly in ruins. In 880 mysterious
lights were seen over a part of the mountain.
The bishop came up to see what they were, and discovered
a small image of the Virgin in one of the numerous
grottos that are found in the mountain. This little
statue was the work of St. Luke, of course, and was
brought to Spain by St. Peter himself. The Bishop of
Barcelona hid it in this cave when the Moors invaded
Catalonia. Bishop Gondemar, who found it, attempted
to carry it to Manresa; but it became so heavy that he
did not succeed. This was a miraculous intimation
from the image that it did not wish to go any farther.
The obliging bishop built a chapel on the spot, and the
image was shrined at its altar. He also appointed a
hermit to watch over it.
“Now, the Devil came to live in one of the caverns
for the purpose of leading this anchorite astray. The
Count of Barcelona had a beautiful daughter whose
name was Riquilda; and the Devil ‘possessed’ her.
She told her father that the evil spirit would not leave
her till ordered to do so by Guarin, the pious custodian
of the image. The count left her in his care. The
hermit was wickedly inclined by the influence of the
Devil, and finally killed the maiden, cutting off her
head, and burying the body. Guarin was immediately
sorry for what he had done, and, fleeing from his evil
neighbor, went to Rome. The pope absolved him with
the penance that he should return to Monserrat on his
hands and knees, and continue to walk like a beast, as
he was morally, and never to look up to heaven which
he had insulted, and never to speak a word. He became
a wild beast in the forest; and Count Wildred
captured the strange animal, and conveyed him to his
palace, where he doubtless became a lion. One day
the creature was brought in to be exhibited to the
count’s guests at a banquet. A child cried out to him,
‘Arise, Juan Guarin! thy sins are forgiven!’ Then he
arose in the form of the hermit; and the count pardoned
him, having the grace to follow the example set
him.
“But the end was not yet; for, when the count and
Guarin went to search for the body, Riquilda appeared
to them alive and well, though she had been buried
eight years, but with a red ring around her neck, like a
silk thread, rather ornamental than otherwise. The
count founded a nunnery at once; and his daughter
was made the lady superior, while Guarin became the
_mayor–domo_ of the establishment. In time the nuns
were removed, and monks took their places; and the
miracles performed by the image attracted thousands
to its shrines. The treasury of this Virgin was immense
at one time, being valued at two hundred
thousand ducats; but most of it was carried away by
the French. The scenery, you see, is wild and grand,
and I think is more enjoyable than the relics and the
grottos.”
For hours the students wandered about the wild
locality. They saw the wonderful image; and those
who had any taste for art thought that St. Luke, if he
made the little statue, had not done himself any great
credit. They visited the thirteen hermitages, and explored
the grottos till they had had enough of this sort
of thing. An hour after dark they were on board of
the Prince. In two days more the Josephines and
Tritonias arrived; and on Wednesday the squadron
sailed for the South.
During his stay in port, the principal had seen Don
Francisco, and told him all he knew in regard to the
fugitive. The lawyer was satisfied that Mr. Lowington
had done nothing to keep the young Don out of the
way of his guardian; and neither of them could suggest
any means to recover possession of him. As yet no
letter from Don Manuel in New York had been received.
Favored by a good wind, the squadron arrived at
Valencia in thirty hours. After a night’s sleep, all
hands were landed at the port of the city, which the
reader knows is Grao. The professor of geography and
history, while the party were waiting for the vehicles
that were to convey them to the city, gave the students
a description of Valencia. It is an ancient city, founded
by the Phœnicians, inhabited by the Romans for five
centuries, captured by the Moors and held by them
about the same time, though the Cid took the town, and
held it for five years. At his death, in 1099, the Moors
came down upon the city; and the body of the Cid was
placed on his horse, and marched out of the city. The
Moslems opened for it; and the Castilians passed
through their army in safety, the enemy not daring to
attack them. It was not such a victory for the
Spaniards as some of the chronicles describe; for the
Christians had to abandon the place. It was taken
from the Moors in 1238, and became a part of Aragon,
to be united with the other provinces of Spain by the
union of Ferdinand and Isabella. The Moriscoes—the
Moors who had been allowed to remain in Spain
after the capture of Granada—made a great city of it,
building its palaces and bridges; but they were driven
out of the peninsula by Philip II. They had cultivated
its vicinity, and made a paradise of the province; and
their departure was almost a death–blow to the prosperity
of the city.
Though the modern kings of Spain have not spared
its memorials of the past, it is still an interesting city.
It has a population of nearly one hundred and fifty
thousand, making it the fourth city of Spain. It is one
of the most industrious cities of the peninsula; and its
manufactures of silk and velvet are quite extensive.
The city contains nothing very different from other
Spanish towns. The students wandered over the
most of it, looking into a few of the churches, nearly
every one of which has a wonder–working image of the
Virgin, or of St. Vincent, who is the patron saint of
Valencia.
The next day the squadron sailed, and put into Alicante
after a twenty–four hours’ run; the wind being so
light that the steamer had to tow her consorts nearly
the whole distance. The students went on shore; but
the old legend, “Nothing to see,” was passed around
among them. Alicante is an old Spanish town, composed
of white houses, standing at the foot of a high
hill crowned with an old fortress. The lines, walls,
covered ways, and batteries, seem to cover one side of
the elevation. Those who cared to do it climbed to
the top of the hill, and were rewarded with a fine view
of the sea and the country.
“When the Cid had captured Valencia,” said Dr.
Winstock to his pupils, as they stood on the summit of
the hill, “he conducted Ximine, his wife, to the top of
a tower, and showed her the country he had conquered.
It was called the _Huerta_, which means a large orchard.
The land had been irrigated by the industrious and
enterprising Moors, and bore fruit in luxurious abundance.
The _vega_, or plain, which we see, is scarcely
less fertile; and the region around us is perhaps the
most productive in Spain. Twelve miles south is
Elche, which is filled with palm–plantations. We see
an occasional palm and fig tree here.”
Mr. Lowington did not favor excursions into the
country when it could be avoided; but the doctor
insisted that the students ought to visit Elche, and the
point was yielded. They made the excursion in four
separate parties; for comfortable carriages could not
be obtained to take them all at once. The road was
dry and dusty at first, and the soil poor; but the aspect
of the country soon changed. Palms began to appear
along the way, and soon the landscape seemed to be
covered with them.
“There is something to see here, at any rate,” said
Sheridan, as the party approached the town.
“I thought you would enjoy it,” replied the doctor.
“This is the East transplanted in Spain.”
“These palms are fifty feet high,” added Murray,
measuring them with his eye.
“Some of them are sixty; but fifty is about the
average. Now we are in the palm–forest, which is said
to contain forty thousand trees. This region is irrigated
by the waters of the Vinalopo River, which are
held back by a causeway stretched across the valley
above. These plantations are very profitable.”
“But all palms are not like these,” said Murray.
“My uncle has seen palms over a hundred feet high.”
“There are nearly a hundred kinds of palm, bearing
different sorts of fruit. These are date–palms; and
one of them bears from one to two hundred pounds of
dates.”
“And they sell at from ten to fifteen cents a pound
at home,” added Sheridan.
“But for not more than one or two cents a pound
here,” continued the doctor. “I suppose you have
learned about sex in plants, which is a modern discovery;
but it is most strikingly illustrated in these
date–palms. Only the female tree bears fruit. The
male palm bears a flower whose pollen was shaken over
the female trees by the Moors long before any thing
was known about sex in plants; and the practice is
continued by their successors. But the male palm
yields a profit in addition to supplying the orchard with
pollen. Its leaves are dried, and made into fans, crowns,
and wreaths, and sold for use on Palm Sunday. This
town gets seventy thousand dollars for its dates, and
ten thousand for its palm–leaves.”
“When are the dates picked?” asked Sheridan.
“In November. The men climb the trees by the
aid of ropes passed around the trunk and the body. I
will ask one of them to ascend a tree for your benefit.”
The excursionists reached the village, which is in the
middle of the forest of palms. It was very Oriental
in its appearance. The people were swarthy, and wore
a peculiar costume, in which were some remnants of
the Moorish fashion. The church has its image of the
Virgin, who dresses very richly, and owns a date–plantation
which pays the expenses of her wardrobe.
The students were so delighted with the excursion
that they made a rollicking time of it on the way back
to Alicante, and astonished the peasants by their lively
demonstrations. The road was no road at all, but
merely a path across the country, and was very rough
in places. The cottages of the vicinity were thatched
with palm–leaves in some instances. At the door of
many of them was a hamper of dates, from which any
one could help himself, and leave a _cuarto_ in payment
for the feast. It is not watched by the owner, for the
Spaniard here is an honest man. The students frequently
availed themselves of these hampers when the
doctor had explained to them the custom of the country;
but he exhorted them to be as honest as the
natives.
The squadron remained at anchor in the port of Alicante
four days; and, when the students of the first
party had told their story, the trip to Elche was the
most popular excursion since they left Italy.
“Which is the best port on the east coast of Spain,
doctor?” asked the principal, as they sat on the deck
of the Prince while the third party had gone to Elche.
“I shall answer you as the admiral did Philip II.,—Carthagena,”
replied the doctor.
“I find that the students are tired of sight–seeing,
and the lessons have been much neglected of late,”
continued the principal. “I think we all need a rest.
I have about made up my mind to lie up for three
months in some good harbor, recruit the students, and
push along their studies.”
“I think that is an excellent plan. April will be a
better month to see the rest of Spain than the middle
of winter.”
The plan was fully discussed and adopted; and on
the following day the squadron sailed for Carthagena,
and having a stiff breeze was at anchor in its capacious
harbor at sunset. The students were not sorry to take
the rest; for the constant change of place for the last
six months had rendered a different programme acceptable.
There was nothing in the town to see; and the
harbor was enclosed with hills, almost landlocked, and
as smooth as a millpond.