THE ROCK OF GIBRALTAR.
As the dawn brightened, all the grand features of the scene came forth in their full splendor. The long purple range of the African mountains, ending in the bold headland of Ceuta, far away to the southeast; the wide blue sweep of the bay, with the dainty little white town of Algeciras planted on it, like an ivory carving; the flat sandy neck of "neutral ground" between the Rock and the mainland, with all its countless memories of war, from the old-world battles of Spaniard and Saracen to the day when the combined fleets of France and Spain swept it with the fire of 1800 cannon; the bristling masts of the harbor; the long gray curve of Europa Point; the mighty fortress itself, with the narrow eyes of levelled cannon peering watchfully through the terraced rocks that loomed against the bright morning sky like a thunder-cloud; the blue Spanish hills, wave beyond wave, melting at last into the warm, dreamy horizon; and right in front the white houses of Gibraltar, huddled together along the base of the cliff, as if (to quote old Herrick) "they'd been playin' snow-sled, and all slid down in a heap"—all were there.[1]
A GIBRALTAR FRUIT BOAT.
To get into Gibraltar Harbor is no easy matter; but the Arizona, following in the wake of an English mail-steamer, reached her berth at last, and had barely cast anchor when she was surrounded by a perfect fleet of "shore-boats" freighted with oranges, figs, bananas, cocoa-nuts, monkeys,[2] parrots, and everything else that any sailor could be expected to buy.
The screams of the parrots, the chattering of the monkeys, the bumping of the boats against each other, the clatter of the oars, the angry outcries of the boatmen, in Spanish and broken English, whenever a monkey or a parrot fell overboard, or a fruit basket got upset, made a deafening uproar. An English man-of-war, anchored close by, was similarly beset; and a mischievous sailor had just lassoed a monkey out of the nearest boat, against which outrage both Jocko and his master were protesting with all the power of their lungs. Frank lost no time in buying a stock of oranges, and tossed a quarter to the tall, black-eyed boatman, whose embroidered jacket, brown handsome face, and round flat hat with a jaunty cockade on one side of it, made a very striking picture. The Spaniard rang it on a knife-blade, tested it with a hard bite from his strong white teeth, and then tied it up in the handkerchief around his head, with a bow and a "Gracias, senor" (thanks, sir), worthy of any grandee in Spain.
"What a fine fellow!" cried Frank, enthusiastically.
"Ay, ain't he?" growled an old tar who overheard him. "If I'd a loose tooth in my head, I'd yank it out 'fore comin' here, for fear some o' them 'fine fellers' ud steal it!"
"You don't say!"