One is not accustomed to think much of the beauty of Gibraltar, and the first sight of it was quite a surprise to me. The Cornish coast has no finer view than this colossal mass of limestone rock, and the colour of it, so grey and silvery, and so soft, against a light-blue sky, is something indescribable.
We had been assured again and again that we should reach Algeciras in time to get into Gibraltar that night; but, as the afternoon wore on, public opinion on board veered. The captain, who seemed quite confident about the matter at noon, shook his head gravely an hour later.
“You doubt,” I said, “whether we shall reach Algeciras in time, or whether we shall find means of getting into Gibraltar?”
“I doubt both,” he replied.
“But,” I continued, “we are going to start for Oran by the steamer that leaves Gibraltar to-morrow. It is absolutely necessary that we get into Gibraltar to-night, or the steamer may have left.”
“I don’t say that you can’t do it, Señora,” he said; “but there are difficulties. It is difficult to get into Gibraltar by sea at all, on account of the quarantine, and after four o’clock it is impossible.” He pulled out his watch. “I am afraid by the time we reach Algeciras it will be too late for that. As to riding round the bay, if we get into harbour in pretty good time, and if you can get horses, and if it is tolerably light, why you can do it, of course.”
There was nothing to do but wait; but the Captain’s prognostics proved true. We did not reach Algeciras in time to get into Gibraltar—supposing there had been boats to take us, which there were not; and as to the latter part of his speech, that was also true; for there was no obstacle in the way of riding round the bay that night, except that there were no horses; and if there had been horses, there was no time; and if there had been time, there was no light.
There is only one inn at Algeciras, and hither flocked all the unhappy passengers by the Adriana, clamouring for horses, mules, boats, guides, anything so long as they could get into Gibraltar that night.
It was a cry of “A horse, a horse, a kingdom for a horse!” you would have fancied that everybody’s life hung upon getting into Gibraltar. I think some gentlemen did get horses, but they were exceptions; and the little inn was so crowded as to present the appearance of a camp. Beds were made up ex improviso all over the house, and we had to content ourselves with a hole of a room, boasting neither window nor chimney, nor chair, nor table, nor, indeed, any furniture but two beds, and fleas innumerable.
Before retiring to this cell for the night, however, we had a very good dinner, seasoned with some racy gossip of Gibraltar life. We were too tired to dine at the table d’hôte (if you are wise, avoid table d’hôtes when possible), and preferred to eat the crumbs that fell from other travellers’ tables afterwards. These were served to us in a pleasant little comedor, looking towards beautiful, inhospitable Gibraltar, with its thousand lights shining like tiers of stars above the dark blue bay. The waiter, who called himself an Englishman, though on what grounds I cannot precisely determine—perhaps because he was born in sound of Gibraltar gun-fire—served the dinner, and then sat down to see us eat. He was so young, so evidently overworked, and so unconventional as a waiter, that we took this familiarity as a matter of course, and listened to what he had to say.