We had made a fine bed of hay and blankets for our sick man. Nevertheless, he was a source of much anxiety and trouble. At last, to the intense relief of all, we heard far away the shrill whistle of a locomotive. It was sweet music to my ears, for I realized the peril of the delay. We had now arrived at the base of the southern slope of the Pyrenees and the plain stretched out before us. We had just passed through an intrenched camp that guarded the entrance to the valley. Our escort had ridden ahead, and not satisfied with smoothing the way for us, had turned out the guard to do us honor. We halted for a few minutes, and several uniformed officers came forward and were introduced to my wife and me. It was a picturesque scene. The mantle of snow covering all, the strange-looking mountaineers, the eager-faced, boyish officers—French, English, Austrian—all soldiers of fortune, who, in the dearth of great wars, were seeking fame in the inglorious civil contest; our torches casting fantastic shadows until the forest-covered mountain, dark and frowning, though snow lay everywhere, seemed peopled with hosts of men—all made a picture never to be forgotten by some of the observers.
Another mile and our escort had to leave us, but the town, standing dark against the snow, was in plain view. By his advice I went ahead on foot with two men, in case any of "the enemy" were prowling around, but found none until we arrived in the town; then a scene of great excitement to the townspeople arose.
We were examined and cross-examined, and our statements taken down in writing and sworn to by all hands. In the mean time I had made beds for our sick man and the ladies in the waiting room of the station, and about 2 o'clock I went to sleep. The station was fortified and full of soldiers, but I did not care, being told the Madrid train would start at daylight; if so, I would be in time for El Rey Felipe, and would be sailing out of Cadiz harbor on Monday over the blue water, westward ho!
After a two hours' nap I was up, paid off my lucky thirteen, giving them a present in addition to their due, with a written paper certifying that they were honest and brave, and had delivered me and mine in safety.
The weather continued very cold, and when the train, consisting of two passenger and one baggage car, arrived we found there were no heating arrangements, and we shivered at the thought of an all-day's ride without fire or heat across that windy plain. I determined to have a compartment to ourselves, for my wife and I had not had a moment's privacy since the smash-up of the train. So we fixed up a bed on the floor of a compartment for our sick man, and I put his family in to look out for him. When the train left we found ourselves, very much to our satisfaction, alone. I had telegraphed ahead to Burges to have hot water cases, then the only mode of heating cars in Europe, ready on our arrival.
The engineer of our train was an Englishman. As it was so important that I should not be delayed I gave him a sovereign and his stoker another, and asked him as a favor to make time. He said he would and kept his word. But arriving at Burgos we found that the train from Santander going south was two hours late, so my wife and I started out to see the famous town.
After a short view we made our way to the Cathedral, and it was a sight! It is one of the many sacred edifices which the piety of former ages bequeathed our own. One of these sacred buildings—like the Strasbourg and Cologne Cathedrals, in the construction of which generation after generation of pious souls—pious according to the fashion of their times—had given their days to the building and decoration of the cloister or church where their lives were lived, and all was done with loving and patient care.
We in our day may sneer at the monks and brothers of the Dark Ages, but in those times of rude violence all gentle hearted, scholarly souls found in the sanctity and quiet of the cloister the only refuge open to them, and they did good work, both in the domain of mind and in the world of material things. Much that was "piety" and much that was "faith" in their day is termed superstition in ours; but who will deny that the simple piety and credulous faith of their day was a million times better than the restless skepticism and sad unrest of ours?
At Burgos I tried to get an English paper, but none was to be had and no one there had ever seen one.
But here some startling news came flashing over the wires. Nothing less than that there had been a revolution at Madrid, the capital. Amadeo, the lately elected king, had suddenly resigned, and a republic had been proclaimed with Castelar at the head.