"Until I get ashore I can hardly say; in a day or so, at least; to Granada, perhaps, or Málaga."
"Out of respect for the American passport," replied the Englishman grandiloquently, "I am going to let you land. But see you stick to this story."
I descended to the launch and ten minutes later landed with my haughty fellow-tourists at a bawling, tout-lined wharf. An officer peeped into my handbag, and I sauntered on through a fortress gate under which a sun-scorched Tommy Atkins marched unremittingly to and fro. Beyond, opened a narrow street, paralleling the harbor front and peopled even at this early hour with a mingling of races that gave to the scene the aspect of a temperate India, or a scoured and rebuilt Egypt. Sturdy British troopers in snug khaki and roof-like tropical helmets strode past; bare-legged Moors in flowing bournous stalked by in the widening streak of sunshine along the western walls; the tinkle of goat-bells mingled with the rhythmic cries of their drivers, offering a cup fresh-drawn to whomever possessed a copper; now an orange woman hobbled by, chanting her wares; everywhere flitted swarthy little men in misfit rags, with small baskets of immense strawberries which sold for a song to all but the tourists who tailed out behind me.
Suddenly, a furlong beyond the gate, a signboard flashed down upon me, and I turned instinctively in at the open door of the "Seaman's Institute." I found myself in a sort of restaurant, with here and there a pair of England's soldiers at table, and a towsled youth of darker tint hanging over the bar. I commanded ham and eggs; when they were served the youth dropped into the chair opposite and, leaning on his elbows, smiled speechlessly upon me, as if the sight of an unfamiliar face brought him extraordinary pleasure.
"Room to put me up?" I asked.
"Nothin' much else but room," sighed the youth, in the slurring speech of the Anglo-Spanish half-cast, "but the super 's not up yet, an' I 'm only the skittles."
I left my baggage in his keeping and, roaming on through the rapidly warming city to the Alameda Gardens, clambered away the day on the blistered face of the great Rock above.
The "super," a flabby-muscled tank of an Englishman, was lolling out the evening among his clients when I reëntered the Institute. My request for lodging roused him but momentarily from his lethargy.
"Sign off here?" he drawled.
"Left the Prinzessin this morning," I answered, suddenly reminded that I was no longer a seaman prepared to produce my discharge-book on demand.