There were medals, a fine model of a full rigged ship, a little muslin frock, another of rich satin in a glass case, all presented in token of succour prayed for and obtained in time of imminent danger to life or limb.
While we lingered, a female attendant entered the chapel carrying the liqueur bottle, and drawing down the great silver lamp, proceeded to fill its reservoir from the store in the bottle, the family, who still maintained their devotional attitude, half turning with something of proprietary interest to watch her movements.
Returning to the body of the church, we found the padre and the father of the family in earnest converse. During a recent serious illness, explained the padre, the peasant had vowed the gift of a bottle of olive oil for the sacred lamp. Now, on his recovery, his first action had been to make a little pilgrimage to the chapel, bringing his entire family to give thanks for his restoration to health and to deliver the promised gift.
The exhibition of such unquestioning faith and gratitude in this world of scepticism was inexpressibly touching. And our hearts melted and were glad with the little household. Still, though the father declared himself again robust, a sickly pallor showed beneath his tan, and when he grasped our hands in farewell his touch was ice-cold.
Walking back along the ramparts we noticed a gentleman who, though personally unknown to us, yet bore a remarkable racial resemblance to many people we had known in Britain. He was well dressed after the English fashion, wore fawn kid gloves, and though the sky was cloudless, carried a neatly rolled umbrella.
"That is the Señor Wallis, a member of an illustrious family here. They all speak English. Shall I introduce you?" asked the padre, seeing that we were interested.
To our gratification the Señor Wallis not only spoke English admirably, but also understood it perfectly.
"My grandfather came here as British Consul," he explained. "He married and settled here. My father was Consul after him. We have always spoken the English language at home."
Here then was a family, living in a remote island where they might not hear English spoken once a year, who because their ancestor had been English carefully maintained the language and traditions of their forebears. As the Boy said afterwards, it reminded one of Kipling's tale of Namgay Doola!