I had very misty notions as to our destination, but took it for granted the baker's dozen of natives I had with me knew what they were about. Snow was everywhere, and we were mounting up, up, up, on wheels, but I supposed the highest altitude was only four or five miles away, and that the down grade would be easy until we reached some snug inn where we would find shelter for man and beast. Then an early start by daylight and our novel jaunt would come to an end in civilization and a railway. But I did not know Spaniards, their country, the Pyrenees, nor what blizzards can blow in sunny Spain.
Myself and my servant Nunn trudged on alongside the cart with the women. It took an hour to get out of sight of the fonda, and then we struck a fine, wide military road that wound in and around the mountains, but always up and deep in snow. Three, four o'clock came and still no sign of the summit, but with the road winding in and out for miles ahead. The sky began to darken, and without warning down came the snow. Then frequent halts of the caravan to rest the cattle. Deeper grew the snow, and as the darkness began to settle down I realized the responsibility I had unwittingly taken on my shoulders. I had four delicate women in my forlorn party and found myself fast in the midst of a snowstorm, in a wild pass of the Pyrenees. I recognized one blessing, however, and was profoundly grateful—the air was calm—and though the snow fell thick and fast it was not driven by a storm.
Nunn proved to be thoroughly reliable, helpful and full of cheer. Between us we kept up the spirits of the party. But all hands began to grow hungry. Fortunately I had in my baggage a large pate de foie gras. That is a fat goose liver pie, and it was fat, happily so, as it went the further. Then I got rugs and wraps out of my trunks for the women and a couple of bottles of brandy, and administered liberal doses all round. I soon had them happy and full of courage. It was certainly better to have them full of Dutch courage in a fool's paradise than to have them awake to their position, for I quite expected it would end in a night camp-out in the snow and sending an empty cart for supplies. Two hours after dark we came to a dead halt, and my guides—they were beauties—said they could go no further; the oxen could not pull the carts. There was a fonda, they said, two miles away, but did not show any disposition to help to get there, and for that matter did not seem to care whether we did or not. I ordered them to leave the middle cart behind and divide the teams, one team to be added to the front cart and one to be hitched in front of the mules. Our interpreter was one of the Portuguese women, but we did not get on very well, the Spaniards objecting to anything being done, all of them apparently waiting for the Virgin or some of the saints to come to our aid; but as neither did, Nunn and I were exasperated, and finally took the matter into our own hands. By my orders, despite the energetic protests of the drivers, he unhitched the oxen from the middle team, and between us we got them to the mule cart, hitched them in front of the mules and pulled out and past the other carts. Here the Spaniards halted us, and after an angry altercation in the dark—and it was dark—they agreed to go on. So, taking a yoke of oxen from our cart, they were put in front of the four of the first cart, and off we started. Nunn volunteered to stand by and guard the stranded cart; so giving him two blankets and a little brandy we drove off in the darkness. But not until, in sight of all, I had given him a revolver, and each of the unlucky thirteen a good nip of brandy. My anxiety about serious results was over as soon we started, and in an hour and a half we halted in front of a wretched mountain inn, patronized by muleteers, with the first story for a stable, but none of us were disposed to be particular. A supper of Spanish beans was soon ready, and then a bed was made up on the floor, and the women were soon asleep. After seeing that the mules and oxen were fed, I took half an hour's nap. Then with two drivers we started back, taking three yoke of oxen. What a tramp I had back through the snow and storm! I was very happy, however, for I knew my wife and party were safely sheltered, and the excitement of action kept one from being gloomy.
In due time we found our stray, hitched to and started, but it was hard pulling and the exhausted oxen had to come to frequent halts. At last, just as I was beginning to feel tired, we came to the fonda.
The snow had slackened, but the wind was beginning to blow, so Nunn and I carried all the luggage and traps into a corner of the stable below, and tumbling down into the hay we were soon in the land of dreams. In my dreams I was on a shoreless sea in a bark that silently and swiftly circled around. Dark clouds closed in on all sides, while my boat sailed between ever-narrowing walls, the clouds still closing in, until a giant hand grew out from a ragged edge of the cloud wall, which, seizing the prow of my boat, pulled it into the gloom and darkness. I felt the clouds brushing my cheek. I heard the roar of falling water, and felt that my doom was sealed. I thought of my wife, and, trying to call her name, was dumb. I looked behind. Far off and far up there was a glow of rosy light, and within the aureole was her face, full of sorrow, looking at me with pity in every feature. As I looked, her face was slowly eclipsed by a cloud. Then with one cry I plunged into the sea—and awoke.
That dream would easily have joined the long procession of forgotten dreams, but it was recalled many a time during many years. And, try as I might, I felt it to be a portent and a prophecy.
When I awoke in the morning I was dumfounded to find a blizzard blowing that the cattle could not face, and with every appearance of continuance. In reply to my inquiries I learned they sometimes blew in those altitudes for a week. This was unpleasant news for me, and the prospect made me nervous. It was now Thursday, the fourth day since our departure from Paris. And what might have happened in London in that time! Here was I as completely isolated from the outside world and from all news about my companions in England as if on a desert isle. For all I knew discovery might have been made, and full details of the fraud might be blazing in the press of Europe. I began to fear I had run into a trap. To make matters worse, the steamer El Rey Felipe was advertised to sail Monday from Cadiz, and to miss her seemed danger indeed.
PRISONERS WAITING TRIAL, AT NEWGATE, RECEIVING VISITORS.