"What queer narrow streets!" said Tom, as he surveyed critically
Funchal, the capital of Madeira. "And what a lingo--Portuguese--only it
sounds even more like gibberish than it did in Lisbon. And what a lot of
peddlers! They swarm like gnats."
Mr. Jollytarre was busy buying an inlaid box of one of the peddlers
referred to, and did not answer.
[Illustration: CARRIAGE DRAWN BY OXEN.]
Meanwhile Tom's attention was attracted by a very odd carriage. This
vehicle was drawn by oxen, and like a sleigh was set on runners, which
offered less resistance than wheels would have done to the smooth round
little stones of the pavement. These cobble-stones are very like the
stones of the beach. The body of the carriage reminded Tom of a
Sedan-chair; it seated comfortably two persons facing each other, had a
top, and was draped on the sides by curtains drawn apart. Tom began to
laugh, so much was he entertained by this strange equipage, whereat the
lieutenant turned to see what had caught his eye.
"We might take a drive," said he, meditatively. "I want to take you to
the Church of Nossa Senhora do Monte, on the top of that hill over
there. What do you say, Tom?"
"I'd sooner walk," said our young friend. "I should think it would be
slow work riding in an ox-cart, for that's all that amounts to, unless
you choose to call it a sleigh."
[Illustration: HAMMOCK-RIDING IN MADEIRA.]
At this moment two men came slowly down the street bearing between them
a pole on which was slung a curtained hammock, wherein reclined a pale
sweet-faced lady.
As she passed Tom his bright face took her fancy, and she glanced at him
with a smile.
"Wasn't that a beautiful lady?" he cried to Mr. Jollytarre.
"Indeed she was. But what do you think of her method of travelling? Slow
as the ox-cart, eh?" Then suddenly, "Tom, I have it; we'll go on
horseback." And almost in the same breath, cried, "Caballos."
The lieutenant's knowledge of Portuguese was limited, and he was obliged
to make a little of it, mixed with Spanish, go a long way.
But the people about him were quick-witted, and it seemed to Tom that
two horses with their two owners appeared on the scene as if by magic.
"Now, Tom," said Lieutenant Jollytarre, "you may walk if you please--I
shall ride. The coasting I told you of is up there at that church. Will
you take a horse?"
Tom replied by leaping into the saddle, and starting off at a slow
canter.
As they rode away, the owners of the horses followed them, keeping up to
the increasing pace by each clinging to his horse's tail.
This was all very well as long as they remained in the narrow streets,
where a little steering was necessary; but as they left them, Tom grew
impatient for a run.
"See here, now, this won't do," he called to his man. "I ain't a baby. I
know how to ride. Leave go."
He slackened his pace to say this. The man slackened his pace, but did
not drop the horse's tail. He grinned upon Tom, showing his even white
teeth.
Tom waxed wroth. "Come now, let go," and he gave his horse a cut which
started him into a gallop. The guide kept up, tugging away at the
horse's tail.
"Come now, be off," cried Tom. "You keep my horse back. I say, Mr.
Jollytarre, do put this into Portuguese for me. Tell this beggar I'll
give him a cut if he don't let go."
"Cut away," said Mr. Jollytarre. "It won't make any difference. He
understands you, but he wouldn't let go if you were to shout to him from
now until doomsday. I know all about it. I've been here before."
"What does he hold it for?"
"Tom, I have often wondered. I suppose he knows. I don't. Wants to keep
his horse in sight, perhaps; wants a run; likes our society. You see my
fellow is doing the same thing. However, we are not going any slower in
consequence. The horses are used to it. They don't mind in the least."
At this point the guides stopped both horses. They were in front of a
little wine-shop half way up the hill.
The guides pulled off their caps, and urged the lieutenant to treat.
This was another custom of the country, to which the lieutenant also
submitted gracefully.
The waiters poured out a glassful all around.
"Take care, Tom; this is strong Madeira wine, although these people
drink it almost like water. Better not do more than taste it."
"Never fear," replied Tom. "I wouldn't poison myself with the stuff. No,
thank you" (to the waiter). "Drink it yourself, if you've a mind to."
"Temperance, are you?" said the lieutenant. "Well, that's a very good
thing."
"I should say it was," said Tom, stoutly. "Anyway for a boy."
The rest of the road was very steep. But it was fun. Tom was sorry to
reach the top, where, at the door of the church, they dismounted, and
sat down to rest. The horses were led off.
When Mr. Jollytarre rose to his feet and announced that they must be
going, Tom looked around for his horse in vain. Instead, two sleds
approached, each pushed by two men toward our friends.
"Get on board, Tom," exclaimed the lieutenant; "that is, if you want to
have the best coasting you ever had in your life. If your prejudices
hold you back now, you'll regret it the longest day you live."
[Illustration: THE MOUNTAIN SLED.]
So saying, he scrambled into one of the sleds himself, and Tom followed
his example, although still a little doubtful as to the success of the
experiment. There were two thongs for steering tied to the front of each
sled, which were held by the two men behind.
When everything was ready, the two sleds started together down the hill.
It was like the wind. It was like chain-lightning. It was like a
telegram. As they tore down the hill, they made a hissing sound like the
cracking of whips. There were sudden turns in the road, beneath which
lay dark and deep ravines. If Tom had known that sometimes in these wild
rides persons had been hurled over the sides of such precipices, a still
greater zest would have been imparted to his flying trip; for he was a
thorough boy, and loved a spice of danger. However, he would have had
hardly time to dwell upon this thought, for in less time than it has
taken to write of it he was landed again in Funchal.