“A strange adventure has just occurred to me,” he wrote. [205d] “I am in the ancient town of Orviedo, in a very large, scantily furnished and remote room of an ancient posada, formerly a palace of the Counts of Santa Cruz, it is past ten at night and the rain is descending in torrents. I ceased writing on hearing numerous footsteps ascending the creeking stairs which lead to my apartment—the door was flung open, and in walked nine men of tall stature, marshalled by a little hunchbacked personage. They were all muffled in the long cloaks of Spain, but I instantly knew by their demeanour that they were caballeros, or gentlemen. They placed themselves in a rank before the table where I was sitting; suddenly and simultaneously they all flung back their cloaks, and I perceived that every one bore a book in his hand, a book which I knew full well. After a pause, which I was unable to break, for I sat lost in astonishment and almost conceived myself to be visited by apparitions, the hunchback advancing somewhat before the rest, said, in soft silvery tones, ‘Señor Cavalier, was it you who brought this book to the Asturias?’ I now supposed that they were the civil authorities of the place come to take me into custody, and, rising from my seat, I exclaimed: ‘It certainly was I, and it is my glory to have done so; the book is the New Testament of God; I wish it was in my power to bring a million.’ ‘I heartily wish so too,’ said the little personage with a sigh; ‘be under no apprehension, Sir Cavalier, these gentlemen are my friends. We have just purchased these books in the shop where you have placed them for sale, and have taken the liberty of calling upon you in order to return you our thanks for the treasure you have brought us. I hope you can furnish us with the Old Testament also!’ I replied that I was sorry to inform him that at present it was entirely out of my power to comply with his wish, as I had no Old Testaments in my possession, but I did not despair of procuring some speedily from England. [206] He then asked me a great many questions concerning my Biblical travels in Spain and my success, and the views entertained by the Society in respect to Spain, adding that he hoped we should pay particular attention to the Asturias, which he assured me was the best ground in the Peninsula for our labour. After about half an hour’s conversation, he suddenly said in the English language, ‘Good night, Sir,’ wrapped his cloak around him and walked out as he had come. His companions, who had hitherto not uttered a word, all repeated, ‘Good night, Sir,’ and adjusting their cloaks followed him.”
This anecdote greatly impressed the General Committee. Mr Brandram wrote (15th November 1837): “We were all deeply interested with your ten gentlemen of Orviedo. I have introduced them at several meetings.”
Whilst at Orviedo, Borrow began to be very uneasy about the state of affairs at the capital. “Madrid,” he wrote, [207] “is the depôt of our books, and I am apprehensive that in the revolutions and disturbances which at present seem to threaten it, our whole stock may perish. True it is that in order to reach Madrid I should have to pass through the midst of the Carlist hordes, who would perhaps slay or make me prisoner; but I am at present so much accustomed to perilous adventure, and have hitherto experienced so many fortunate escapes, that the dangers which infest the route would not deter me a moment from venturing. But there is no certain intelligence, and Madrid may be in safety or on the brink of falling.”
Another factor that made him desirous of returning to the capital was that, ever since leaving Coruña, he had been afflicted with a dysentery and, later, with ophthalmia, which resulted from it, and he was anxious to obtain proper medical advice. He determined, however, first to carry out his project of visiting Santandér, which he reached by way of Villa Viciosa, Colunga, Riba de Sella, Llánes, Colombres, San Vicente, Santillana. It was at Santandér that he encountered the unfortunate Flinter, [208] as brave with his sword as with his tongue.
Instructions had been given in a letter to Borrégo to forward to Santandér two hundred copies of the New Testament; but, much to Borrow’s disappointment, he found that they had not arrived. He thought that either they had fallen into the hands of the Carlists, or his letter of instruction had miscarried: as a matter of fact they did not leave Madrid until 30th October, the day before Borrow arrived at the capital. Thus his journey was largely wasted. It would be folly to remain at Santandér, where, in spite of the strictest economy, his expenses amounted to two pounds a day, whilst a further supply of books was obtained. Accordingly he determined to make for Madrid without further delay.
Purchasing a small horse, and notwithstanding that he was so ill as scarcely to be able to support himself; indifferent to the fact that the country between Santandér and Madrid was overrun with Carlists, whose affairs in Castile had not prospered; too dispirited to collect his thoughts sufficiently to write to Mr Brandram, he set out, accompanied by Antonio, “determined to trust, as usual, in the Almighty and to venture.” Physical ailments, however, did not in any way cause him to forget why he had come to Santandér, and before leaving he made tentative arrangements with the booksellers of the town as to what they should do in the event of his being able to send them a supply of Testaments.
That journey of a hundred leagues was a nightmare. “Robberies, murders, and all kinds of atrocity were perpetrated before, behind, and on both sides” of them; but they passed through it all as if travelling along an English highway. Even when met at the entrance of the Black Pass by a man, his face covered with blood, who besought him not to enter the pass, where he had just been robbed of all he possessed, Borrow, without making reply, proceeded on his way. He was too ill to weigh the risks, and Antonio followed cheerfully wherever his master went. Madrid was reached on 31st October. [209a] The next day Borrow wrote to Mr Brandram: “People say we have been very lucky; Antonio says, ‘It was so written’; but I say, Glory be to the Lord for His mercies vouchsafed.”
The expedition to the Northern Provinces had occupied five and a half months. Every kind of fatigue had been experienced, dangers had been faced, even courted, and every incident of the road turned to further the end in view—the distribution of the Scriptures in Spain. The countryside had proved itself ignorant and superstitious, and the towns eager, not for the Word of God but “for stimulant narratives, and amongst too many a lust for the deistical writings of the French, especially for those of Talleyrand, which have been translated into Spanish and published by the press of Barcelona, and for which I was frequently pestered.” [209b] Antonio had proved himself a unique body-servant and companion, and if with a previous employer he had valued his personal comfort so highly as to give notice because his mistress’s pet quail disturbed his slumbers, he was nevertheless utterly indifferent to the hardships and discomforts that he endured when with Borrow, and always proved cheerful and willing.
Borrow had “by private sale disposed of one hundred and sixteen Testaments to individuals entirely of the lower classes, namely, muleteers, carmen, contrabandistas, etc.” [209c] He had dared to undertake what perhaps only he was capable of carrying to a successful issue; for, left alone to make his own plans and conduct the campaign along his own lines, Borrow has probably never been equalled as a missionary, strange though the term may seem when applied to him. His fear of God did not hinder him from making other men fear God’s instrument, himself. His fine capacity for affairs, together with what must have appeared to the clergy of the districts through which he passed his outrageous daring, conspired to his achieving what few other men would have thought, and probably none were capable of undertaking. A missionary who rode a noble, black Andalusian stallion, who could use a fleam as well as a blacksmith’s hammer, who could ride barebacked, and, above all, made men fear him as a physical rather than a spiritual force, was new in Spain, as indeed elsewhere. The very novelty of Borrow’s methods, coupled with the daring and unconventional independence of the man himself, ensured the success of his mission. There was something of the Camel-Driver of Mecca about his missionary work. He saw nothing anomalous in being possessed of a strong arm as well as a Christian spirit. He would endeavour to win over the ungodly; but woe betide them if they should attempt to pit their strength against his. Borrow’s own comment upon his journey in the Northern Provinces was, “Insignificant are the results of man’s labours compared with the swelling ideas of his presumption; something, however, had been effected by the journey which I had just concluded.” [210]