In the spring, too, the annual swearing-in of the new recruits takes place, and is a picturesque sight; all the troops in the town—cavalry, infantry, and artillery—are assembled on the great Plaza Santa Catalina outside the walls, where is erected a large red and yellow marquee surmounted by a royal crown and flanked by cannon, stacked rifles, and warlike trophies of swords and bayonets. Inside the tent is an altar with lighted candles, and when all the high civil and military officials of the town have arrived, mass is celebrated—the elevation of the Host being marked by three shrill bugle calls, at which the whole body of troops and spectators fall on one knee and uncover—the cavalry lowering their swords.
After this, a priest walks round the lines, and halting opposite each regiment reads a short address, at the close of which a simultaneous assent bursts forth from the ranks of the new conscripts. When all have been sworn in, the recruits—who on this occasion numbered three or four hundred—defile in front of the colours, kissing the flag and uncovering as they go by.
And with this the ceremony is over for the year.
PART III
IVIZA
The small steamer that plies three times a week—weather permitting—between Palma and the island of Iviza does so wholly in vain as far as foreign visitors are concerned. I think if the whole annals of the Grand Hotel were searched they would hardly produce a single record of a stranger having gone to Iviza, or, if he did, of having ever come back to tell the tale.
It was obvious that the only way of finding out anything about the island and its inhabitants was to go there ourselves, and, prompted by curiosity, we one fine day boarded the noonday boat and set forth on our voyage of exploration, our only life-line a letter of introduction to one Sebastian Roig, keeper of the Fonda de la Marina at Iviza—a letter full of greeting and amiability, with a civil postscript to the effect that our blood would be required at his hands if evil befell us during our stay in the island.
Away we went. Once outside the bay the little Isleño rolled horribly, and we ourselves remained prostrate below, till at eight o’clock in the evening we felt the boat come to a standstill and heard the anchor being let down; whereupon we arose and came on deck, thinking that the worst was over and that we could now step on shore.
Bitterly were we disappointed!
Neither quay nor shore was in sight, for owing to the rough sea we had not been able to enter the harbour at all, but were tossing up and down half a mile from the pier. It was pitch dark and raining hard. Some fishermen in glistening oilskins were unloading tunny from a bobbing, lateen-sailed felucca alongside, and we could hear the thuds of the stiff, heavy fish being thrown on board. The dim light of a lantern fell upon a party of broad-hatted peasants collected on the wet deck, who one by one were vanishing over the ship’s side and dropping into a cockleshell of a boat that pranced about below. Presently it was full, and backing away from the steamer it disappeared, with a steady splash of oars, into the darkness.