Among the old cross-bows and halberds were the huge blunderbusses that, in accordance with an old custom, are still fired off yearly. And with them were specimens of a much older form of offensive weapon in the shape of huge rounded stones that in olden times had been hurled from the battlements of the Castillo del Rey, aimed at the skulls of attacking enemies.
Articles that were specially interesting, because in use to the present day, were the big earthenware water-jugs from which are drawn by lot the young men whom Pollensa annually contributes to the Majorcan army. There must be anxious hearts, both inside and outside of the old building, on that morning in early February when the lads whose turn has come go up to draw from the narrow mouths of the Moorish jars the numbers that are to decide their manner of life for the next three years.
In the Council Chamber was a large painting by a native artist of Juan Mas, the townsman to whom belongs the honour of having first delivered Pollensa from the Moors.
Juan must either have been a malade imaginaire, or one whose spirit was stronger than his body; for, as the story goes, he was sick abed when the Moors reached the town, and leaping from his couch, without taking time to change his night-garb, he led the people on to victory. The artist shows the hero in what was presumably the sleeping-suit of the period—loose white breeches and a shirt.
We were back at the fonda taking tea when a sound of chanting voices in the street beneath drew us to the windows in time to see a religious procession passing slowly beneath. Priests in rich vestments, carrying banners, walked in front; behind in a double line came a long succession of females of all classes—women with rebozillos and pigtails, ladies with mantillas. A band of little girls and nuns brought up the rear; and, still singing, the company passed on, and entered the adjacent church.
XV
THE PORT OF ALCUDIA
On being consulted respecting a conveyance that would take us to Alcudia, the younger Dromio had suggested the possibility of hiring one from a friend of his own. The distance was twelve kilometros, the cost would be about six or seven pesetas. So next morning, when we were ready to start, quite a smart trap awaited us.
It was after the fashion of the penitential gig in which we had journeyed from the Hospederia at Miramar to Sóller, but it was twice as large. The owner, who drove, had dressed for the occasion. He wore a sportive cap of green and gold tartan plush, a well-starched white shirt that was lavishly sprinkled with black spots as big as sixpences (no collar, of course), and he was smoking a cigar.