"In the hospital, señor, with a broken head. That is why I am here. I have to come to the station myself, and be my own porter, and see my guests off. Servants are the bane of one's life. Like the flies, they were invented for our torment. But, señor, these troubles are nothing compared with the relief of finding that the skeletons had cleared out to sea."
Our train came up and we went our way, leaving Lerida behind us with its fine outlines, and the landlord to the difficult task of managing his womenkind.
So far we had travelled on the line before, but now branched off towards Tarragona. We did not again see Manresa, but even a comparative approach to its neighbourhood brought all the splendid and imposing outlines, the blood-red river, vividly before us. Once more we saw Mons Serratus with its jagged, fantastic peaks: lived through our haunted night in the Hospederia; again Salvador the monk and his wonderful music took possession of our spirit and Serratus itself appeared enveloped in harmony and romance. We were glad not to pass through the station, where possibly Sebastien would have been on the watch for passengers; and we should have left a heart-broken expression behind us at the very thought of our not staying a couple of days to see Manresa under sunshine.
The day was wearing on to evening as we approached Tarragona with its matchless coast scene. The blue waters of the Mediterranean stretched far and wide, and the harbour reposed upon them like a sleeping crescent. As the sun dipped in the west, the waters flashed out its declining rays, reflected the gorgeous colouring of the sky. The train landed us in the lower town. We had to reach the upper town, and the rickety old omnibus rolled and struggled up the steep streets, finally depositing us at the Fonda de Paris.
We found the inn quite civilised. The landlord was half Italian and spoke several languages. On the first night of our arrival the cook must have been in a very amiable mood, for he sent up an excellent dinner. But to H. C.'s sorrow and surprise the after dinners were a lamentable falling-off. The cook had been crossed in love, received notice to quit, or his art failed him: everything was below par. On the evening of our arrival, the evil had not fallen.
The hotel, like many of the Spanish inns was large and rambling. Our landlord conducted us to excellent rooms facing the road, and from the balcony the scene was enchanting. Before us was an old Roman tower. To our right, far down, 700 feet below our present level, we caught sight of the sleeping Mediterranean.
It was not quite so pleasant to find ourselves surrounded by the military element; barracks to right and left of us; sentries in slippers patrolling up and down; raw recruits, looking as little like soldiers as anything to be conceived; constant snatches of bugle-calling, which seemed to end at midnight and begin again at four in the morning. So far, all was unrest. But we soon found that the charms of Tarragona soared far above all small and secondary considerations.
Down the long passage behind our rooms we came to the garden of the hotel. It was after dinner and pale twilight reigned. In the centre of the garden a splendid spreading palm outlined itself against the evening sky, in which shone a large, liquid, solitary star. The garden was surrounded by a white wall, and the scene was quite eastern. Far down was the wonderful coast-line and crescent harbour. Of late we had had only rivers, and this broad expanse of sea brought new life to the spirit.
Returning indoors, we found the inn haunted, but not by spirits of the dead.
The ghost was unmistakably flesh and blood. The first time we caught sight of him—it was a masculine ghost, therefore doubly uninteresting—he was cautiously putting his head into our rooms and taking a look round. The said rooms were raised above the rest on that floor by steps that led to our own quarters only. Thus the ghost was clearly trespassing. He neither looked confused nor apologised as he took his slow departure. All his time seemed spent in prowling about the passages in a spirit of curiosity or unrest. Often we found him on our premises on suddenly coming in, and once or twice, when quietly writing, on looking up were startled by an evil-looking countenance intruding itself at the open door, and as quickly withdrawing on finding the room occupied.