IN SPAIN.
Alone among the survivors of the great Spanish Armada, Geoffrey Vickars
saw the coast of Ireland fade away from sight without a feeling of
satisfaction or relief. His hope had been that the ship would be
wrecked on her progress down the coast. He knew not that the wild Irish
were slaying all whom the sea spared, and that ignorant as they were of
the English tongue, he would undoubtedly have shared the fate of his
Spanish companions. He thought only of the risk of being drowned, and
would have preferred taking this to the certainty of a captivity
perhaps for life in the Spanish prisons. The part that he had played
since he had been picked up off Gravelines could not be sustained
indefinitely. He might as well spend his life in prison, where at least
there would be some faint hope of being exchanged, as wander about
Spain all his life as an imbecile beggar.
As soon, therefore, as he saw that the perils of the coast of Ireland
were passed, and that the vessel was likely to reach Spain in safety,
he determined that he would on reaching a port disclose his real
identity. There were on board several Scotch and Irish volunteers, and
he decided to throw himself upon the pity of one of these rather than
on that of the Spaniards. He did not think that in any case his life
was in danger. Had he been detected when first picked up, or during the
early part of the voyage, he would doubtless have been thrown overboard
without mercy; but now that the passions of the combatants had
subsided, and that he had been so long among them, and had, as he
believed, won the good-will of many by the assistance he had rendered
to the sick and wounded, he thought that there was little fear of his
life being taken in cold blood.
One of the Irish volunteers, Gerald Burke by name, had for a long time
been seriously ill, and Geoffrey had in many small ways shown him
kindness as he lay helpless on the deck, and he determined finally to
confide in him. Although still very weak, Burke was now convalescent,
and was sitting alone by the poop-rail gazing upon the coast of Spain
with eager eyes, when Geoffrey, under the pretext of coiling down a
rope, approached him. The young man nodded kindly to him.
"Our voyage is nearly over, my poor lad," he said in Spanish, "and your
troubles now will be worse than mine. You have given me many a drink of
water from your scanty supply, and I wish that I could do something for
you in return; but I know that you do not even understand what I say to
you."
"Would you give me an opportunity of speaking to you after nightfall,
Mr. Burke," Geoffrey said in English, "when no one will notice us
speaking?"
The Irishman gave a start of astonishment at hearing himself addressed
in English.
"My life is in your hands, sir; pray, do not betray me," Geoffrey said
rapidly as he went on coiling down the rope.
"I will be at this place an hour after nightfall," the young Irishman
replied when he recovered from his surprise. "Your secret will be safe
with me."
At the appointed time Geoffrey returned to the spot. The decks were now
deserted, for a drizzling rain was falling, and all save those on duty
had retired below, happy in the thought that on the following morning
they would be in port.
"Now, tell me who you are," the young Irishman began. "I thought you
were a Spanish sailor, one of those we picked up when the Spanish
galleon next to us foundered."
Geoffrey then told him how he had been knocked off an English ship by
the fall of a mast, had swum to the galleon and taken refuge beneath
her bowsprit until she sank, and how, when picked up and carried on to
the Spanish ship, he feigned to have lost his senses in order to
conceal his ignorance of Spanish.
"I knew," he said, "that were I recognized as English at the time I
should at once be killed, but I thought that if I could conceal who I
was for a time I should simply be sent to the galleys, where I have
heard that there are many English prisoners working."
"I think death would have been preferable to that lot," Mr. Burke said.
"Yes, sir; but there is always the hope of escape or of exchange. When
you spoke kindly to me this afternoon I partly understood what you
said, for in this long time I have been on board I have come to
understand a little Spanish, and I thought that maybe you would assist
me in some way."
"I would gladly do so, though I regard Englishmen as the enemies of my
country; but in what way can I help you? I could furnish you with a
disguise, but your ignorance of Spanish would lead to your detection
immediately."
"I have been thinking it over, sir, and it seemed to me that as there
will be no objection to my landing to-morrow, thinking as they do that
I have lost my senses, I might join you after you once got out of the
town. I have some money in my waistbelt, and if you would purchase some
clothes for me I might then join you as your servant as you ride along.
At the next town you come to none would know but that I had been in
your service during the voyage, and there would be nothing strange in
you, an Irish gentleman, being accompanied by an Irish servant who
spoke but little Spanish. I would serve you faithfully, sir, until
perhaps some opportunity might occur for my making my escape to
England."
"Yes, I think that might be managed," the young Irishman said. "When I
land to-morrow I will buy some clothes suitable for a serving-man. I do
not know the names of the hotels on shore, so you must watch me when I
land and see where I put up. Come there in the evening at nine o'clock.
I will issue out and give you the bundle of clothes, and tell you at
what hour in the morning I have arranged to start. I will hire two
horses; when they come round to the door, join me in front of the hotel
and busy yourself in packing my trunks on the baggage mules. When you
have done that, mount the second horse and ride after me; the people
who will go with us with the horses will naturally suppose that you
have landed with me. Should any of our shipmates here see us start, it
is not likely that they will recognize you. If they do so, I need
simply say that as you had shown me such kindness on board ship I had
resolved to take you with me to Madrid in order to see if anything
could be done to restore you to reason. However, it is better that you
should keep in the background as much as possible. I will arrange to
start at so early an hour in the morning that none of those who may
land with me from the ship, and may put up at the same inn, are likely
to be about."
The next morning the vessel entered port. They were soon surrounded by
boats full of people inquiring anxiously for news of other ships, and
for friends and acquaintances on board. Presently large boats were sent
off by the authorities, and the disembarkation of the sick and the
helpless began.
This indeed included the greater portion of the survivors, for there
were but two or three score on board who were capable of dragging
themselves about, the rest being completely prostrate by disease,
exhaustion, hunger, and thirst. Geoffrey was about to descend into one
of the boats, when the officer in command said roughly: "Remain on
board and do your work, there is no need for your going into the
hospital." One of the ship's officers, however, explained that the lad
had altogether lost his senses, and was unable either to understand
when spoken to or to reply to questions. Consequently he was permitted
to take his place in the boat.
As soon as he stepped ashore he wandered away among the crowd of
spectators. A woman, observing his wan face and feeble walk, called him
into her house, and set food and wine before him. He made a hearty
meal, but only shook his head when she addressed him, and laughed
childishly and muttered his thanks in Spanish when she bestowed a
dollar upon him as he left. He watched at the port while boat-load
after boat-load of sick came ashore, until at last one containing the
surviving officers and gentlemen with their baggage reached the land.
Then he kept Gerald Burke in sight until he entered an inn, followed by
two men carrying his baggage. Several times during the day food and
money were offered him, the inhabitants being full of horror and pity
at the sight of the famishing survivors of the crew of the galleon.
At nine o'clock in the evening Geoffrey took up his station near the
door of the inn. A few minutes later Gerald Burke came out with a
bundle. "Here are the clothes," he said. "I have hired horses for our
journey to Madrid. They will be at the door at six o'clock in the
morning. I have arranged to travel by very short stages, for at first
neither you nor I could sit very long upon a horse; however, I hope we
shall soon gain strength as we go."
Taking the bundle, Geoffrey walked a short distance from the town and
lay down upon the ground under some trees. The night was a warm one,
and after the bitter cold they had suffered during the greater part of
the voyage, it felt almost sultry to him. At daybreak in the morning he
rose, put on the suit of clothes Gerald Burke had provided, washed his
face in a little stream, and proceeded to the inn. He arrived there
just as the clocks were striking six. A few minutes later two men with
two horses and four mules came up to the door, and shortly afterwards
Gerald Burke came out. Geoffrey at once joined him; the servants of the
inn brought out the baggage, which was fastened by the muleteers on to
two of the animals. Gerald Burke mounted one of the horses and Geoffrey
the other, and at once rode on, the muleteers mounting the other two
mules and following with those carrying the baggage.
"That was well managed," Gerald Burke said as they rode out of the
town. "The muleteers can have no idea that you have but just joined me,
and there is little chance of any of my comrades on board ship
overtaking us, as all intend to stop for a few days to recruit
themselves before going on. If they did they would not be likely to
recognize you in your present attire, or to suspect that my Irish
servant is the crazy boy of the ship."
After riding at an easy pace for two hours, they halted under the shade
of some trees. Fruit, bread, and wine were produced from a wallet on
one of the mules, and they sat down and breakfasted. After a halt of an
hour they rode on until noon, when they again halted until four in the
afternoon, for the sun was extremely hot, and both Gerald Burke and
Geoffrey were so weak they scarce could sit their horses. Two hours
further riding took them to a large village, where they put up at the
inn. Geoffrey now fell into his place as Mr. Burke's servant--saw to
the baggage being taken inside, and began for the first time to try his
tongue at Spanish. He got on better than he had expected; and as Mr.
Burke spoke with a good deal of foreign accent, it did not seem in any
way singular to the people of the inn that his servant should speak but
little of the language.
Quietly they journeyed on, doing but short distances for the first
three or four days, but as they gained strength pushing on faster, and
by the time they reached Madrid both were completely recovered from the
effects of their voyage. Madrid was in mourning, for there was scarce a
family but had lost relations in the Armada. Mr. Burke at once took
lodgings and installed Geoffrey as his servant. He had many friends and
acquaintances in the city, where he had been residing for upwards of a
year previous to the sailing of the Armada.
For some weeks Geoffrey went out but little, spending his time in
reading Spanish books and mastering the language as much as possible.
He always conversed in that language with Mr. Burke, and at the end of
six weeks was able to talk Spanish with some fluency. He now generally
accompanied Mr. Burke if he went out, following him in the streets and
standing behind his chair when he dined abroad. He was much amused at
all he saw, making many acquaintances among the lackeys of Mr. Burke's
friends, dining with them downstairs after the banquets were over, and
often meeting them of an evening when he had nothing to do, and going
with them to places of entertainment.
In this way his knowledge of Spanish improved rapidly, and although he
still spoke with an accent he could pass well as one who had been for
some years in the country. He was now perfectly at ease with the
Spanish gentlemen of Mr. Burke's acquaintance. It was only when Irish
and Scotch friends called upon his master that he feared awkward
questions, and upon these occasions he showed himself as little as
possible.
When alone with Gerald Burke the latter always addressed Geoffrey as a
friend rather than as a servant, and made no secret with him as to his
position and means. He had been concerned in a rising in Ireland, and
had fled the country, bringing with him a fair amount of resources.
Believing that the Armada was certain to be crowned with success, and
that he should ere long be restored to his estates in Ireland, he had,
upon his first coming to Spain, spent his money freely. His outfit for
the expedition had made a large inroad upon his store, and his
resources were now nearly at an end.
"What is one to do, Geoffrey? I don't want to take a commission in
Philip's army, though my friends could obtain one for me at once; but I
have no desire to spend the rest of my life in the Netherlands storming
the towns of the Dutch burghers."
"Or rather trying to storm them," Geoffrey said, smiling; "there have
not been many towns taken of late years."
"Nor should I greatly prefer to be campaigning in France," Gerald went
on, paying no attention to the interruption. "I have no love either for
Dutch Calvinists or French Huguenots; but I have no desire either to be
cutting their throats or for them to be cutting mine. I should like a
snug berth under the crown here or at Cadiz, or at Seville; but I see
no chance whatever of my obtaining one. I cannot take up the trade of a
footpad, though disbanded soldiers turned robbers are common enough in
Spain. What is to be done?"
"If I am not mistaken," Geoffrey said with a smile, "your mind is
already made up. It is not quite by accident that you are in the
gardens of the Retiro every evening, and that a few words are always
exchanged with a certain young lady as she passes with her duenna."
"Oh! you have observed that," Gerald Burke replied with a laugh. "Your
eyes are sharper than I gave you credit for, Master Geoffrey. Yes, that
would set me on my legs without doubt, for Donna Inez is the only
daughter and heiress of the Marquis of Ribaldo; but you see there is a
father in the case, and if that father had the slightest idea that
plain Gerald Burke was lifting his eyes to his daughter it would not be
many hours before Gerald Burke had several inches of steel in his body."
"That I can imagine," Geoffrey said, "since it is, as I learn from my
acquaintances among the lackeys, a matter of common talk that the
marquis intends to marry her to the son of the Duke of Sottomayor."
"Inez hates him," Gerald Burke said. "It is just like my ill-luck, that
instead of being drowned as most of the others were, he has had the
luck to get safely back again. However, he is still ill, and likely to
be so for some time. He was not so accustomed to starving as some of
us, and he suffered accordingly. He is down at his estates near
Seville."
"But what do you think of doing?" Geoffrey asked.
"That is just what I am asking you."
"It seems to me, certainly," Geoffrey went on, "that unless you really
mean to run off with the young lady--for I suppose there is no chance
in the world of your marrying her in any other way--it will be better
both for you and her that you should avoid for the future these
meetings in the gardens or elsewhere, and cast your thoughts in some
other direction for the bettering of your fortunes."
"That is most sage advice, Geoffrey," the young Irishman laughed, "and
worthy of my father-confessor; but it is not so easy to follow. In the
first place, I must tell you that I do not regard Inez as in any way a
step to fortune, but rather as a step towards a dungeon. It would be
vastly better for us both if she were the daughter of some poor hidalgo
like myself. I could settle down then with her, and plant vines and
make wine, and sell what I don't drink myself. As it is, I have the
chance of being put out of the way if it is discovered that Inez and I
are fond of each other; and in the next place, if we do marry I shall
have to get her safely out of the kingdom, or else she will have to
pass the rest of her life in a convent, and I the rest of mine in a
prison or in the galleys; that is if I am not killed as soon as caught,
which is by far the most likely result. Obnoxious sons-in-law do not
live long in Spain. So you see, Geoffrey, the prospect is a bad one
altogether; and if it were not that I dearly love Inez, and that I am
sure she will be unhappy with Philip of Sottomayor, I would give the
whole thing up, and make love to the daughter of some comfortable
citizen who would give me a corner of his house and a seat at his table
for the rest of my days."
"But, seriously--" Geoffrey began.
"Well, seriously, Geoffrey, my intention is to run away with Inez if it
can be managed; but how it is to be managed at present I have not the
faintest idea. To begin with, the daughter of a Spanish grandee is
always kept in a very strong cage closely guarded, and it needs a very
large golden key to open it. Now, as you are aware, gold is a very
scarce commodity with me. Then, after getting her out, a lavish
expenditure would be needed for our flight. We should have to make our
way to the sea-coast, to do all sorts of things to throw dust into the
eyes of our pursuers, and to get a passage to some place beyond the
domains of Philip, which means either to France, England, or the
Netherlands. Beyond all this will be the question of future subsistence
until, if ever, the marquis makes up his mind to forgive his daughter
and take her to his heart again, a contingency, in my opinion, likely
to be extremely remote."
"And what does the Lady Inez say to it all?" Geoffrey asked.
"The Lady Inez has had small opportunity of saying anything on the
subject, Geoffrey. Here in Spain there are mighty few opportunities for
courtship. With us at home these matters are easy enough, and there is
no lack of opportunity for pleading your suit and winning a girl's
heart if it is to be won; but here in Spain matters are altogether
different, and an unmarried girl is looked after as sharply as if she
was certain to get into some mischief or other the instant she had an
opportunity. She is never suffered to be for a moment alone with a man;
out of doors or in she has always a duenna by her side; and as to a
private chat, the thing is simply impossible."
"Then how do you manage to make love?" Geoffrey asked.
"Well, a very little goes a long way in Spain. The manner of a bow, the
wave of a fan, the dropping of a glove or flower, the touch of a hand
in a crowded room-each of these things go as far as a month's open
love-making in Ireland."
"Then how did you manage with the duenna so as to be able to speak to
her in the gardens'!"
"Well, in the first place, I made myself very attentive to the duenna;
in the second place, the old lady is devout, and you know Ireland is
the land of saints, and I presented her with an amulet containing a
paring of the nail of St. Patrick."
Geoffrey burst into a laugh, in which the Irishman joined.
"Well, if it was not really St. Patrick's," the latter went on, "it
came from Ireland anyhow, which is the next best thing. Then in the
third place, the old lady is very fond of Inez; and although she is as
strict as a dragon, Inez coaxed her into the belief that there could
not be any harm in our exchanging a few words when she was close by all
the time to hear what was said. Now, I think you know as much as I do
about the matter, Geoffrey. You will understand that a few notes have
been exchanged, and that Inez loves me. Beyond that everything is vague
and uncertain, and I have not the slightest idea what will come of it."
Some weeks passed and nothing was done. The meetings between Gerald
Burke and Inez in the Gardens of the Retiro had ceased a day or two
afterwards, the duenna having positively refused to allow them to
continue, threatening Inez to inform her father of them unless she gave
them up.
Gerald Burke's funds dwindled rapidly, although he and Geoffrey lived
in the very closest way.
"What in the world is to be done, Geoffrey? I have only got twenty
dollars left, which at the outside will pay for our lodgings and food
for another month. For the life of me I cannot see what is to be done
when that is gone, unless we take to the road."
Geoffrey shook his head. "As far as I am concerned," he said, "as we
are at war with Spain, it would be fair if I met a Spanish ship at sea
to capture and plunder it, but I am afraid the laws of war do not
justify private plunder. I should be perfectly ready to go out and take
service in a vineyard, or to earn my living in any way if it could be
managed."
"I would rob a cardinal if I had the chance," Gerald Burke said, "and
if I ever got rich would restore his money four-fold and so obtain
absolution; only, unfortunately, I do not see my way to robbing a
cardinal. As to digging in the fields, Geoffrey, I would rather hang
myself at once. I am constitutionally averse to labour, and if one once
took to that sort of thing there would be an end to everything."
"It is still open to you," Geoffrey said, "to get your friends to
obtain a commission for you."
"I could do that," Gerald said moodily, "but of all things that is what
I should most hate."
"You might make your peace with the English government and get some of
your estates back again."
"That I will not do to feed myself," Gerald Burke said firmly. "I have
thought that if I ever carry off Inez I might for her sake do so, for I
own that now all hope of help from Spain is at an end, our cause in
Ireland is lost, and it is no use going on struggling against the
inevitable; but I am not going to sue the English government as a
beggar for myself. No doubt I could borrow small sums from Irishmen and
Scotchmen here, and hold on for a few months; but most of them are
well-nigh as poor as I am myself, and I would not ask them. Besides,
there would be no chance of my repaying them; and, if I am to rob
anyone, I would rather plunder these rich dons than my own countrymen."
"Of one thing I am resolved," Geoffrey said, "I will not live at your
expense any longer, Gerald. I can speak Spanish very fairly now, and
can either take service in some Spanish family or, as I said, get work
in the field."
Gerald laughed. "My dear Geoffrey, the extra expenses caused by you
last week were, as far as I can calculate, one penny for bread and as
much for fruit; the rest of your living was obtained at the expense of
my friends."
"At any rate," Geoffrey said smiling, "I insist that my money be now
thrown into the common fund. I have offered it several times before,
but you always said we had best keep it for emergency. I think the
emergency has come now, and these ten English pounds in my belt will
enable us to take some step or other. The question is, what step? They
might last us, living as we do, for some three or four months, but at
the end of that time we should be absolutely penniless; therefore now
is the time, while we have still a small stock in hand, to decide upon
something."
"But what are we to decide upon?" Gerald Burke asked helplessly.
"I have been thinking it over a great deal," Geoffrey said, "and my
idea is that we had best go to Cadiz or some other large port. Although
Spain is at war both with England and the Netherlands, trade still goes
on in private ships, and both Dutch and English vessels carry on
commerce with Spain; therefore it seems to me that there must be
merchants in Cadiz who would be ready to give employment to men capable
of speaking and writing both in Spanish and English, and in my case to
a certain extent in Dutch. From there, too, there might be a chance of
getting a passage to England or Holland. If we found that impossible
owing to the vessels being too carefully searched before sailing, we
might at the worst take passage as sailors on board a Spanish ship
bound for the Indies, and take our chance of escape or capture there or
on the voyage. That, at least, is what I planned for myself."
"I think your idea is a good one, Geoffrey. At any rate to Cadiz we
will go. I don't know about the mercantile business or going as a
sailor, but I could get a commission from the governor there as well as
here in Madrid; but at any rate I will go. Donna Inez was taken last
week by her father to some estates he has somewhere between Seville and
Cadiz, in order, I suppose, that he may be nearer Don Philip, who is, I
hear, at last recovering from his long illness. I do not know that
there is the slightest use in seeing her again, but I will do so if it
be possible; and if by a miracle I could succeed in carrying her off,
Cadiz would be a more likely place to escape from than anywhere.
"Yes, I know. You think the idea is a mad one, but you have never been
in love yet. When you are you will know that lovers do not believe in
the word 'impossible.' At any rate, I mean to give Inez the chance of
determining her own fate. If she is ready to risk everything rather
than marry Don Philip, I am ready to share the risk whatever it may be."
Accordingly on the following day Gerald Burke disposed of the greater
part of his wardrobe and belongings, purchased two ponies for a few
crowns, and he and Geoffrey, with a solitary suit of clothes in a
wallet fastened behind the saddle, started for their journey to Cadiz.
They mounted outside the city, for Gerald shrank from meeting any
acquaintances upon such a sorry steed as he had purchased; but once on
their way his spirits rose. He laughed and chatted gaily, and spoke of
the future as if all difficulties were cleared away. The ponies,
although rough animals, were strong and sturdy, and carried their
riders at a good pace. Sometimes they travelled alone, sometimes jogged
along with parties whom they overtook by the way, or who had slept in
the same posadas or inns at which they had put up for the night.
Most of these inns were very rough, and, to Geoffrey, astonishingly
dirty. The food consisted generally of bread and a miscellaneous olio
or stew from a great pot constantly simmering over the fire, the
flavour, whatever it might be, being entirely overpowered by that of
the oil and garlic that were the most marked of its constituents. Beds
were wholly unknown at these places, the guests simply wrapping
themselves in their cloaks and lying down on the floor, although in a
few exceptional cases bundles of rushes were strewn about to form a
common bed.
But the travelling was delightful. It was now late in the autumn, and
when they were once past the dreary district of La Mancha, and had
descended to the rich plains of Cordova, the vintage was in full
progress and the harvest everywhere being garnered in. Their mid-day
meal consisted of bread and fruit, costing but the smallest coin, and
eaten by the wayside in the shade of a clump of trees. They heard many
tales on their way down of the bands of robbers who infested the road,
but having taken the precaution of having the doubloons for which they
had exchanged Geoffrey's English gold sewn up in their boots, they had
no fear of encountering these gentry, having nothing to lose save their
wallets and the few dollars they had kept out for the expenses of their
journey. The few jewels that Gerald Burke retained were sewn up in the
stuffing of his saddle.
After ten days' travel they reached Seville, where they stayed a couple
of days, and where the wealth and splendour of the buildings surprised
Geoffrey, who had not visited Antwerp or any of the great commercial
centres of the Netherlands.
"It is a strange taste of the Spanish kings," he observed to Gerald
Burke, "to plant their capital at Madrid in the centre of a barren
country, when they might make such a splendid city as this their
capital. I could see no charms whatever in Madrid. The climate was
detestable, with its hot sun and bitter cold winds. Here the
temperature is delightful; the air is soft and balmy, the country round
is a garden, and there is a cathedral worthy of a capital."
"It seems a strange taste," Gerald agreed; "but I believe that when
Madrid was first planted it stood in the midst of extensive forests,
and that it was merely a hunting residence for the king."
"Then, when the forests went I would have gone too," Geoffrey said.
"Madrid has not even a river worthy of the name, and has no single
point to recommend it, as far as I can see, for the capital of a great
empire. If I were a Spaniard I should certainly take up my residence in
Seville."
Upon the following morning they again started, joining, before they had
ridden many miles, a party of three merchants travelling with their
servants to Cadiz. The merchants looked a little suspiciously at first
at the two young men upon their rough steeds; but as soon as they
discovered from their first salutations that they were foreigners, they
became more cordial, and welcomed this accession of strength to their
party, for the carrying of weapons was universal, and the portion of
the road between Seville and Cadiz particularly unsafe, as it was
traversed by so many merchants and wealthy people. The conversation
speedily turned to the disturbed state of the roads.
"I do not think," one of the merchants said, "that any ordinary band of
robbers would dare attack us," and he looked round with satisfaction at
the six armed servants who rode behind them.
"It all depends," Gerald Burke said, with a sly wink at Geoffrey, "upon
what value the robbers may place upon the valour of your servants. As a
rule serving-men are very chary of their skins, and I should imagine
that the robbers must be pretty well aware of that fact. Most of them
are disbanded soldiers or deserters, and I should say that four of them
are more than a match for your six servants. I would wager that your
men would make but a very poor show of it if it came to fighting."
"But there are our three selves and you two gentlemen," the merchant
said in a tone of disquiet.
"Well," Gerald rejoined, "I own that from your appearance I should not
think, worshipful sir, that fighting was altogether in your line. Now,
my servant, young as he is, has taken part in much fighting in the
Netherlands, and I myself have had some experience with my sword; but
if we were attacked by robbers we should naturally stand neutral.
Having nothing to defend, and having no inclination whatever to get our
throats cut in protecting the property of others, I think that you will
see for yourselves that that is reasonable. We are soldiers of fortune,
ready to venture our lives in a good service, and for good pay, but
mightily disinclined to throw them away for the mere love of fighting."