Several days passed, and the loving mother's heart was once more a prey to
anxiety.
"John Joseph," she said to her husband, "we have heard nothing, and that
means that they can't take Tetuan."
"Hold your tongue, you foolish woman," answered her husband; "wherever the
sun enters the Spaniards can enter. And don't you know that Zamora wasn't
taken in an hour, and that the artillery can't cross over swamps, and that
a causeway has to be built? Women, who know nothing about war, think that
to take a fortress in an enemy's country is as easy as to toss a
pan-cake."
But on the 5th of February a muleteer, who came from Xerez, brought the
news to Bornos, which had been transmitted to Xerez by telegraph, that a
hard-fought battle had taken place the preceding day before Tetuan, in
which, as in all the previous ones, the Spaniards had come off victorious,
having made themselves masters of five encampments of the enemy, although
at the cost of many lives.
His patriotic ardor, added to a feeling of deep anxiety, made it
impossible for John Joseph to remain in the village, and he set out for
Xerez. There he learned that the wounded of that memorable day were to be
taken to Seville, and as a train of materials for the railroad was just
leaving for that city, he begged to be taken on board.
The 7th of February dawned--a day memorable for ever in the annals of
Spain. Day had scarcely broken when the sonorous and soul-stirring bells
of the Cathedral of Seville, diffusing, authorizing, and solemnizing joy,
announced to the sleeping people the great and auspicious event of the
taking of Tetuan. It would be impossible to give an idea of the impression
caused by those sounds, for who can describe the apogee of the most
unanimous, ardent, and national enthusiasm? But let a few facts speak for
themselves.
The priests who repaired to the churches to say mass recited it solemnly
in chorus, and afterward chanted the Te Deum, that august hymn of thanks
to the Lord.
The venerable Generals Guajardo and Hernandez, military authorities of the
district, and both veterans, in whose laurels there is not a leaf that
time can wither, when they met fell into each other's arms, unable to
utter a word; the sight of this noble spectacle drawing tears from the
eyes of the officers who were present. When the alcalde presented himself
before the archbishop to ask his consent to take in procession the image
of the Immaculate Virgin, the patroness of Spain, and the standard and
sword of St. Ferdinand, the venerable Prince of the Church burst into
tears, causing the alcalde to shed tears also; seeing which, a man of the
people rushed to the latter, saying: "Senor Alcalde, let me embrace your
worship!" The people called for their venerable pastor, and the latter,
showing himself on the balcony, blessed his flock, who cheered him
enthusiastically. The various sodalities of women entered their
magnificent chapel in procession, giving thanks aloud to the Virgin.
Musicians paraded the streets, followed by a multitude intoxicated with
joy, who cheered the Queen, Spain, the army, and the generals who had led
it to victory, and who stopped before the houses where the commanders and
officers wounded in this glorious war were lodged, to cheer them also.
In the public square, a vender of oranges abandoned his stall and his
merchandise, leaving behind him a notice which said: "The owner of this
stall has turned crazy with joy, and here he leaves this trash." Others
broke the jars of a water-seller (the value of which they gave him
promptly), saying, "What is this? Water? Today nothing but wine is to be
drunk in Seville." Further on, another group shouted, "No one sleeps
to-night; whoever sleeps to-night is an Englishman!" Flags on the towers,
hangings on the houses, the pleasing noise of joy everywhere.
"A telegraphic despatch," shouted the blind men, beside themselves with
joy, "announcing the entrance of our valiant troops into the great city of
Tetuan, and the utter annihilation of the Moors. Long live Spain! Long
live the Queen! Long live the army! Long live the Moors!" "What is that
you are saying, man? Long live the Moors?" "Yes, so that we may kill them
again!"
Such is the enthusiasm of the Spanish people when it is unanimous,
legitimate, and genuine; they go to their churches, take out in procession
the Immaculate Virgin, cheer their queen, their prelates, their
authorities, their country, applaud their army, which gives them power and
greatness, its commander and the generals who lead it, and those who bring
back from the war glorious wounds; and not even for its most ferocious
enemies does it find the odious "Death!"
And that you, brave soldiers who remain in Africa, who have bestowed so
great a joy upon your country, should be unable to witness the gratitude
with which it repays you!
Perhaps the universal and frantic enthusiasm inspired by the taking of a
Moorish city, however heroic the exploit which had put it in the power of
the Spaniards, may seem disproportioned to the occasion; but this is not
the case, for in the first place, the people, with their admirable
instinct, know that the result is, in everything, what gives it its value;
they feel, besides, that it is not only a Moorish city and the advantages
its capture may bring, which its army has gained for Spain, but also that
from the Moorish fire the Spanish phoenix has arisen, directing its flight
to a glorious future; and in the second place, because in these public
demonstrations, in this ardent expansion, the country gives expression to
three months of admiration, of interest, and of sympathy. This was owed to
the army for its constancy, for its unequalled valor, for its boundless
humanity. This debt the country owed, and it paid it in love, in
admiration, and enthusiasm.
On the 8th, the same rejoicings were continued; processions, salvos, and
so much firing of guns everywhere, that it was said as much powder was
expended in it as in the taking of Tetuan. On the 9th, one of the
principal streets of the city was named the street of Tetuan; the ceremony
taking place at eight o'clock in the evening, when the municipal council
went in procession to the street, carrying the Queen's likeness.
But meantime Maria had had no news of John Joseph. Exaggerated reports of
the losses by which the victory had been gained were spread. Maria was
unable to control her anxiety, and she set out, as many other mothers of
the peasantry did, for the capital, where the wounded, who might perhaps
be able to give her some news of her sons, were to be brought.
Mother and daughter reached Seville on the evening of the 9th, and after
resting for a few moments at an inn, went out to inquire where the
wounded, who had been recently brought to the city, had been taken.
A vast crowd of people and enthusiastic cheering announced to them the
approach of the procession. They stood on a bench in a porch to watch it
as it passed. Five mounted pioneers and a numerous band headed the
procession; the municipal guard followed on foot; then came four men
carrying flags, followed by a number of men bearing torches; and then the
soldiers who had been wounded in Africa, wearing laurel wreaths and
carrying ensigns with the names, in silver letters, of the principal
victories gained by the army. After these came the municipal council
headed by the civil governor and two councillors carrying the likeness of
the Queen, and the procession was closed by a detachment of infantry with
another band of music at its head.
"Here come the wounded soldiers!" cried the crowd, and the cheering became
more enthusiastic, and tears ran down the cheeks of the women as they
stopped to look admiringly at the wounded heroes, and then joined the
procession. "Look at that one! Look at that poor fellow; he isn't able to
walk alone; they are supporting him," some one said close beside Maria,
pointing to a young man, who with his arm in a sling, his pale forehead
crowned with laurel, and carrying in his hand an ensign bearing on it the
word "Tetuan," walked with a modest expression on his thin but pleasing
face, leaning on the arm of a robust old man whose proud and enraptured
expression seemed to say to every one, "This brave man is my son!" Maria,
whose heart had for many days past been agitated alternately by fear,
hope, enthusiasm, and anguish, uttered a cry drawn from her by all these
mingled feelings, as she recognized in the emaciated and glory-covered
wounded soldier her son, and fell into Catherine's arms.