CHAPTER XXI.
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.