CHAPTER XVII.
THROUGH THE HEART OF SPAIN.
Bill Stout concluded that he was not a successas a tourist in Spain; but he was confident that heshould succeed better in England. He resolved to bea good boy till the excursionists arrived in Lisbon, andnot make any attempt to escape; for it was not likelythat he could accomplish his purpose. Besides, hehad no taste for any more travelling in Spain. In fact,he had a dread of being cast upon his own resources inthe interior, where he could not speak the language.
“Do you know what country you are in?” askedDr. Winstock, who sat opposite his pupils, as he hadcome to call them.
“I reckon you’d know if you had seen it as I have,”interposed Bill Stout, who had a seat next to Murray,with a broad grin at the absurdity of the question.“It is Spain,—the meanest country on the face ofthe earth.”
“So you think, Stout; but you have had a ratherhard experience of it,” replied the doctor. “We havehad a very good time since we left Barcelona.”
“I suppose you know the lingo; and that makes allthe difference in the world,” added Bill.
“When I spoke of country, I referred to a province,”continued Dr. Winstock.
“This is La Mancha,” answered Sheridan.
“The country of Don Quixote,” added the doctor.
“I saw a statue of Cervantes at Madrid, and I heardone of the fellows say he was the author of ‘DonJuan,’” laughed Murray.
“Cervantes wrote the first part at Valladolid, and itproduced a tremendous sensation. I suppose you haveread it.”
“I never did,” replied Bill Stout, who counted himselfin as one of the party. “Is it a good story?”
“It is so considered by those who are competentjudges.”
“I read it years ago,” added Sheridan.
“It is said to be a take–off on the knights of Spain,”said Murray. “Is that so?”
“I don’t think that was his sole idea in writing thebook; or, if it was, he enlarged upon his plan. He wasa literary man, with some reputation, before he wroteDon Quixote; and he probably selected the mostpopular subject he could find, and it grew upon himas he proceeded. Sancho Panza is a representativeof homely common–sense, unaided by any imagination,while his master is full of it. He is used, in the firstpart of the story, to act as a contrast to the extravagantDon; and in this part of the work he does not useany of the proverbs which is the staple of the typicalSpaniard’s talk. The introduction of this feature ofSancho’s talk was a new idea to the author.”
“I suppose Cervantes was born and lived in LaMancha,” said Murray.
“Not at all: he was born near Madrid, at Alcala deHenares. He was a soldier in the early years of hislife. He fought in the battle of Lepanto, under DonJohn. At one time he was a sort of custom–houseofficer in Seville; but he got into debt, and was imprisonedfor three months, during which time he issaid to have been engaged in his great work. He wasalso a prisoner in Algiers five years; and ten times herisked his life in attempts to escape. He finally diedin neglect, poverty, and want.”
“Then this is where Don Quixote tilted at windmills,”said Murray, looking out at the window; “andthere is one of them.”
“It is not in every province of Spain that the Doncould have found a windmill to tilt at,” added thedoctor.
About eight o’clock the train stopped for breakfast,which the _avant–courier_ had ordered.
“This is a vine and olive country,” said the doctor,when the train was again in motion.
“Shall we have a chance to see how they make theoil and how they make wine?” asked Sheridan.
“You will have a chance to see how it is done; butyou will not be able to see it done at this season ofthe year. There is an olive–orchard,” continued thedoctor, pointing out of the window.
“The trees look like willows; and I should thinkthey were willows.”
“They are not. These trees last a great number ofyears,—some say, hundreds.”
“There are some which look as though they wereplanted by Noah after he left the ark. They are ugly–lookingtrees,” added Murray.
“The people do not plant them for their beauty, butfor the fruit they yield. You see they are in regularrows, like an apple–orchard at home. They start thetrees from slips, which are cut off in January. The endof the slip is quartered with a knife, and a small stoneput into the end to separate the parts, and the slip stuckinto the ground. The earth is banked up around theplant, which has to be watered and tenderly cared forduring the first two years of its growth. In ten yearsthese trees yield some returns; but they are not at theirbest estate till they are thirty years old. The oliveswe eat”—
“I never eat them,” interrupted Murray, shaking hishead.
“It is an acquired taste; but those who do likethem are usually very fond of them. The olive whichcomes in jars for table use is picked before it is quiteripe, but when full grown; and it is pickled for a weekin a brine made of water, salt, garlic, and some otheringredients. The best come from the neighborhoodof Seville.”
“But I don’t see how they make the oil out of theolive. It don’t seem as though there is any grease init,” said Sheridan.
“The berry is picked for the manufacture of oil whenit is ripe, and is then of a purple color. It is gatheredin the autumn; and I have seen the peasants beatingthe trees with sticks, while the women and childrenwere picking up the olives on the ground. The womendrive the donkeys to the mill, bearing the berries in thepanniers. The olives are crushed on a big stone hollowedout for the purpose, by passing a stone rollerover them, which is moved by a mule. The pulp isthen placed in a press not unlike that you have seen ina cider–mill. The oil flows out into a reservoir underthe press, from which it is bailed into jars big enoughto contain a man: these jars are sunk in the groundto keep them cool. The mass left in the press after theoil is extracted is used to feed the hogs, or for fuel.”
“And is that the stuff they put in the casters?”asked Murray, with his nose turned up in disgust.
“That is certainly olive–oil,” replied the doctor.“You look as though you did not like it.”
“I do not: I should as soon think of eating lamp–oil.”
“Every one to his taste, lieutenant; but I have nodoubt you have eaten a great deal of it since you cameinto Spain,” laughed the doctor.
“Not if I knew it!”
“You did not know it; but you have had it on yourbeefsteaks and mutton–chops, as well as in the variousmade–dishes you have partaken of. Spanish oil is notso pure and good as the Italian. Lucca oil has thebest reputation. A poorer quality of oil is made here,which is used in making soap.”
“Castile soap?”
“Yes; and all kinds of oils are used for soap.”
“How do they fresco it?” asked Murray.
“Fresco it! They give it the marble look by puttingcoloring matter, mixed with oil, into the mass of soapbefore it is moulded into bars. What place is this?”said the doctor, as the train stopped.
“Almaden,” replied Sheridan, reading the sign onthe station.
“I thought so, for I spent a couple of days here.Do you know what it is famous for?”
“I don’t think I ever heard the name of the placebefore,” replied Sheridan.
“It contains the greatest mine of quicksilver in theworld,” added the doctor. “It was worked in the timeof the Romans, and is still deemed inexhaustible. Fourthousand men are employed here during the winter, forthey cannot labor in the summer because the heatrenders it too unhealthy. The men can work only sixhours at a time; and many of them are salivated andparalyzed by the vapors of the mercury.”
“Is this the same stuff the doctors use?” askedMurray.
“It is; but it is prepared especially for the purpose.These mines yield the government of Spain a revenueof nearly a million dollars a year.”
The country through which the tourists passed wasnot highly cultivated, except near the towns. On theway they saw a man ploughing–i
n his grain, and the implementseemed to be a wooden one. But every thingin the agricultural line was of the most primitive kind.In another place they saw a farmer at work miles fromhis house, for there was no village within that distance.Though there is not a fence to be seen, every manknows his own boundary–lines. In going to his day’swork, he may have to go several miles, taking hisplough and other tools in a cart; and probably hewastes half his day in going to and from his work.But the Spanish peasant is an easy–going fellow, and hedoes not go very early, or stay very late. Often in themorning and in the middle of the afternoon our travellerssaw them going to or coming from their work inthis manner.
“Now we are out of La Mancha,” said the doctor,half an hour after the train left Almaden.
“And what are we in now, sir?” asked Murray.
“We are in the province of Cordova, which is a partof Andalusia. But we only go through a corner ofCordova, and then we strike into Estremadura.”
In the afternoon the country looked better, though thepeople and the houses seemed to be very poor. Thecountry looked better; but it was only better than theregion near Madrid, and, compared with France orItaly, it was desolation. The effects of the _mesta_ wereclearly visible.
“Medellin,” said Murray, when he had spelled outthe word on a station where the train stopped abouthalf–past two.
“Do you know the place?” asked Dr. Winstock.
“Never heard of it.”
“Yet it has some connection with the history of theNew World. It is mentioned in Prescott’s ‘Conquestof Mexico.’”
“I have read that, but I do not remember this name.”
“It is the birthplace of Hernando Cortes; and inTrujillo, a town forty miles north of us, was bornanother adventurer whose name figures on the glowingpage of Prescott,” added the doctor.
“That was Pizarro,” said Sheridan. “I rememberhe was born at—what did you call the place, doctor?”
“Trujillo.”
“But in Prescott it is spelled with an _x_ where youput an _h_.”
“It is the same thing in Spanish, whether you spellit with an _x_ or _j_. It is a strong aspirate, like _h_, butis pronounced with a rougher breathing sound. Lojaand Loxa are the same word,” explained the doctor.“So you will find Cordova spelled with a _b_ instead ofa _v_; but the letters have the same power in Spanish.”
“What river is this on the right?” inquired Murray.
“That is the Guadiana.”
“And where are its eyes, of which Professor Mappsspoke in his lecture?”
“We passed them in the night, and also went overthe underground river,” replied the doctor. “Theregion through which we are now passing was moredensely peopled in the days when it was a part of theRoman empire than it is now. Without doubt the sameis true of the period of the Moorish dominion. AfterAmerica was discovered, and colonization began, vastnumbers of emigrants went from Estremadura. In thetime of Philip II. the country began to run down; andone of the reasons was the emigration to America.About four o’clock we shall arrive at Merida,” addedthe doctor, looking at his watch.
“What is there at Merida?”
“There is a great deal for the antiquarian and thestudent of history. You must be on the lookout for it,for there are many things to be seen from the windowof the car,” continued the doctor. “It was the capitalof Lusitania, and was called _Emerita Augusta_, from thefirst word of which title comes the present name. Theriver there is crossed by a Roman bridge twenty–fivehundred and seventy–five feet long, twenty–five wide,and thirty–three above the stream. The city was surroundedby six leagues of walls, having eighty–fourgates, and had a garrison of eighty thousand footand ten thousand horsemen. The ruins of aqueducts,temples, forum, circus, and other structures, are still tobe seen; some of them, as I said, from the train.”
Unfortunately the train passed the portion of theruins of the ancient city to be seen from the window,so rapidly that only a glance at them could beobtained; but perhaps most of the students saw allthey desired of them. An hour and a half later thetrain arrived at Badajos, where they were to spendthe night, and thence proceed to Lisbon the next morning.Each individual of the ship’s company had beenprovided with a ticket; and it was called for in thestation before he was permitted to pass out of thebuilding. As soon as they appeared in the open air,they were assailed by a small army of omnibus–drivers;but fortunately, as the town was nearly two miles fromthe station, there were enough for all of them. Thesemen actually fought together for the passengers, andbehaved as badly as New York hackmen. Though allthe vehicles at the station were loaded as full as theycould be stowed, there was not room for more thanhalf of the party.
The doctor and his pupils preferred to walk. InMadrid, the principal had received a letter from the_avant–courier_; informing him how many persons couldbe accommodated in each of the hotels; and all theexcursionists had been assigned to their quarters.
“We go to the _Fonda las Tres Naciones_,” said thedoctor as they left the station. “I went there when Iwas here before. Those drivers fought for me as theydid to–day; and with some reason, for I was the onlypassenger. I selected one, and told him to take me tothe _Fonda de las cuatro Naciones_; and he laughed asthough I had made a good joke. I made it ‘FourNations’ instead of ‘Three.’ Here is the bridge overthe Guadiana, built by the same architect as the Escurial.”
“What is there in this place to see?” asked Sheridan.
“Nothing at all; but it is an out–of–the–way oldSpanish town seldom mentioned by tourists.”
“I have not found it in a single book I have read,except the guide–books; and all these have to sayabout it is concerning the battles fought here,” addedSheridan.
“Mr. Lowington has us stop here by my advice; andwe are simply to spend the night here. You were onthe train last night, and it would have been too muchto add the long and tedious journey to Lisbon to thatfrom Madrid without a night’s rest. Besides, youshould see what you can of Portugal by daylight; forwe are to visit only Lisbon and some of the placesnear it.”
The party entered the town, and climbed up thesteep streets to the hotel. The place was certainlyvery primitive. It had been a Roman town, and didnot seem to have changed much since the time of theCæsars. A peculiarly Spanish supper was served atthe Three Nations, which was the best hotel in theplace, but poor enough at that. Those who were fondof garlic had enough of it. The room in which thecaptain and first lieutenant were lodged had no window,and the ceiling was composed of poles on whichhay was placed; and the apartment above them mayhave been a stable, or at least a hay–loft. Some of thestudents took an evening walk about the town, butmost of them “turned in” at eight o’clock.
The party were called at four o’clock in the morning;and after a light breakfast of coffee, eggs, and bread,they proceeded to the station. The train provided forthem consisted of second–class carriages, at the headof which were several freight–cars. This is the regularday train, all of the first–class cars being used on thenight train.
“Now you can see something of Badajos,” said thedoctor, as they walked down the hill. “It is a frontiertown, and the capital of the province. It is more of afortress than a city. Marshal Soult captured it in1811; and it is said that it was taken only through thetreachery of the commander of the Spaniards. TheDuke of Wellington captured it in 1812. I supposeyou have seen pictures by the Spanish artist Morales,for there are some in the _Museo_ at Madrid. He wasborn here; and, when Philip II. stopped at Badajos onhis way to Lisbon, he sent for the artist. The kingremarked, ‘You are very old, Morales.’—‘And verypoor,’ replied the painter; and Philip gave him apension of three hundred ducats a year till he died.Manuel Godoy, the villanous minister of Charles IV.,called the ‘Prince of Peace,’ was born also here.”
The train started at six o’clock, while it was stilldark. Badajos is five miles from the boundary–line ofPortugal; and in about an hour the train stopped atElvas. The Portuguese police were on hand in fullforce
, as well as a squad of custom–house officers. Theformer asked each of the adult members of the partyhis name, age, nationality, occupation, and a score ofother questions, and would have done the same withthe students if the doctor had not protested; and theofficers contented themselves with merely taking theirnames, on the assurance that they were all Americans,were students, and had passports. Every bag and valisewas opened by the custom–house officers; andall the freight and baggage cars were locked andsealed, so that they should not be opened till theyarrived at Lisbon. Elvas has been the seat of anextensive smuggling trade, and the officers take everyprecaution to break up the business.
The train was detained over an hour; and some ofthe students, after they had been “overhauled” as theycalled it, ran up into the town. Like Badajos, it is astrongly fortified place; but, unlike that, it has neverbeen captured, though often besieged. The studentscaught a view of the ancient aqueduct, having threestories of arches.
The train started at last; and all day it jogged alongat a snail’s pace through Portugal. The scenery wasabout the same as in Spain, and with about the samevariety one finds in New England. Dr. Winstock calledthe attention of his pupils to the cork–trees, and describedthe process of removing the bark, which formsthe valuable article of commerce. They saw piles ofit at the railroad stations, waiting to be shipped.
There were very few stations on the way, and hardlya town was seen before four in the afternoon, whenthe train crossed the Tagus. The students were almostin a state of rebellion at this time, because they hadhad nothing to eat since their early breakfast. Theyhad come one hundred and ten miles in ten hours;and eleven miles an hour was slow locomotion on arailroad. The courier wrote that he had made anarrangement by which the train was to go to the junctionwith the road to Oporto in seven hours, whichwas not hurrying the locomotive very much; but theconductor said he had no orders to this effect.
“This is Entroncamiento,” said the doctor, as thetrain stopped at a station. “We dine here.”
“Glory!” replied Murray. “But we might starve ifwe had to pronounce that name before dinner.”
The students astonished the keeper of the restaurantby the quantity of soup, chicken, and chops they devoured;but they all gave him the credit of providingan excellent dinner. The excursionists had to wait along time for the train from Oporto, for it was morethan an hour late; and they did not arrive at Lisbon tillhalf–past nine. The doctor and his pupils were sentto the Hotel Braganza, after they had gone throughanother ordeal with the custom–house officers. BillStout was taken to the Hotel Central on the quay bythe river. The runaway had been as tractable as oneof the lambs, till he came to the hotel. While theparty were waiting for the rooms to be assigned tothem, and Mr. Lowington was very busy, he slippedout into the street. He walked along the river, lookingout at the vessels anchored in the stream. Hemade out the outline of several steamers. While hewas looking at them, a couple of sailors, “half seasover,”, passed him. They were talking in English, andBill hailed them.
“Do you know whether there is a steamer in portbound to England?” he asked, after he had passed thetime of night with them.
“Yes, my lad: there is the Princess Royal, and shesails for London early in the morning,” replied themore sober of the two sailors. “Are you bound toLondon?”
“I am. Which is the Princess Royal?”
The man pointed the steamer out to him, and insistedthat he should take a drink with them. Bill didnot object. But he never took any thing stronger thanwine, and his new friends insisted that he should jointhem with some brandy. He took very little; but thenhe felt obliged to treat his new friends in turn for theircivility, and he repeated the dose. He then inquiredwhere he could find a boat to take him on board of thesteamer. They went out with him, and soon found aboat, in which he embarked. The boatman spoke alittle English; and as soon as he was clear of the shorehe asked which steamer his passenger wished to go to.By this time the brandy was beginning to have itseffect upon Bill’s head; but he answered the man bypointing to the one the sailor had indicated, as he supposed.
In a few moments the boat was alongside the steamer;and Bill’s head was flying around like a top. He paidthe boatman his price, and then with an uneasy stepwalked up the accommodation–ladder. A man wasstanding on the platform at the head of the ladder, whoasked him what he wanted.
“I want to go to England,” replied the runaway, tossinghis bag over the rail upon the deck.
“This vessel don’t go to England; you have boardedthe wrong steamer,” replied the man.
Bill hailed the boatman, who was pulling for theshore.
“Anchor watch!” called the man on the platform.“Bring a lantern here!”
“Here is one,” said a young man, wearing an overcoatand a uniform cap, as he handed up a lantern tothe first speaker.
“Hand me my bag, please, gen’l’men,” said Bill.
At this moment the man on the platform held thelantern up to Bill’s face.
“I thought I knew that voice,” added Mr. Pelham,for it was he. “Don’t give him the bag, Scott.”
“That’s my bag, and I want it,” muttered Bill.
“I am afraid you have been drinking, Stout,” continuedthe vice–principal, taking Bill by the collar, andconducting him down the steps to the deck of theAmerican Prince.
“It is Stout, as sure as I live!” exclaimed Scott.
“No doubt of that, though he has changed his rig.Pass the word for Mr. Peaks.”
Bill was not so far gone but that he understood thesituation. He had boarded the American Prince, insteadof the Princess Royal. The big boatswain ofthe steamer soon appeared, and laid his great paw onthe culprit.
“Where did you come from, Stout?” asked the vice–principal.
“I came down with Mr. Lowington and the rest ofthem,” answered Bill; and his tongue seemed to betwice too big for his mouth.
Mr. Pelham sent for Mr. Fluxion, and they got outof the tipsy runaway all they could. They learned thatthe ship’s company of the Prince had just arrived.Bill Stout was caged; and the two vice–principals wenton shore in the boat that was waiting for the “passengerfor England.” They found Mr. Lowington at theHotel Central. He was engaged just then in lookingup Bill Stout; and he was glad to know that he was ina safe place.