I carried my loaded rifle
between my knees, and a pistol in my belt. The dismay, the
terror, the panic, the protestations, the entreaties and
execrations of all the five, kept us at least from ENNUI for
many a weary mile. I doubt whether the two priests ever
thumbed their breviaries so devoutly in their lives. Perhaps
that brought us salvation. We reached Vera Cruz without
adventure, and in the autumn of '51 Fred and I landed safely
at Southampton.
Two months after I got back, I read an account in the 'Times'
of 'Joe' Clissold's return trip from Mexico. The coach in
which he was travelling was stopped by robbers. Friend
Joseph was armed with a double-barrelled smooth-bore loaded
with slugs. He considered this on the whole more suitable
than a rifle. When the captain of the brigands opened the
coach door and, pistol in hand, politely proffered his
request, Mr. Joe was quite ready for him, and confided the
contents of one barrel to the captain's bosom. Seeing the
fate of their commander, and not knowing what else the dilly
might contain, the rest of the band dug spurs into their
horses and fled. But the sturdy oarsman and smart cricketer
was too quick for one of them - the horse followed his
friends, but the rider stayed with his chief.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE following winter, my friend, George Cayley, was ordered
to the south for his health. He went to Seville. I joined
him there; and we took lodgings and remained till the spring.
As Cayley published an amusing account of our travels, 'Las
Aforjas, or the Bridle Roads of Spain,' as this is more than
fifty years ago - before the days of railways and tourists -
and as I kept no journal of my own, I will make free use of
his.
A few words will show the terms we were on.
I had landed at Cadiz, and had gone up the Guadalquivir in a
steamer, whose advent at Seville my friend was on the look-
out for. He describes his impatience for her arrival. By
some mistake he is misinformed as to the time; he is a
quarter of an hour late.
'A remnant of passengers yet bustled around the luggage,
arguing, struggling and bargaining with a contentious company
of porters. Alas! H. was not to be seen among them. There
was still a chance; he might be one of the passengers who had
got ashore before my coming down, and I was preparing to rush
back to the city to ransack the hotels. Just then an
internal convulsion shook the swarm around the luggage pile;
out burst a little Gallego staggering under a huge British
portmanteau, and followed by its much desired, and now almost
despaired of, proprietor.
'I saw him come bowling up the slope with his familiar gait,
evidently unconscious of my presence, and wearing that sturdy
and almost hostile demeanour with which a true Briton marches
into a strange city through the army of officious
importunates who never fail to welcome the true Briton's
arrival. As he passed the barrier he came close to me in the
crowd, still without recognising me, for though straight
before his nose I was dressed in the costume of the people.
I touched his elbow and he turned upon me with a look of
impatient defiance, thinking me one persecutor more.
'How quickly the expression changed, etc., etc. We rushed
into each other's arms, as much as the many great coats slung
over his shoulders, and the deep folds of cloak in which I
was enveloped, would mutually permit. Then, saying more than
a thousand things in a breath, or rather in no breath at all,
we set off in great glee for my lodgings, forgetting in the
excitement the poor little porter who was following at full
trot, panting and puffing under the heavy portmanteau. We
got home, but were no calmer. We dined, but could not eat.
We talked, but the news could not be persuaded to come out
quick enough.'
Who has not known what is here described? Who does not envy
the freshness, the enthusiasm, of such bubbling of warm young
hearts? Oh, the pity of it! if these generous emotions
should prove as transient as youth itself. And then, when
one of those young hearts is turned to dust, and one is left
to think of it - why then, 'tis not much comfort to reflect
that - nothing in the world is commoner.
We got a Spanish master and worked industriously, also picked
up all the Andalusian we could, which is as much like pure
Castilian as wold-Yorkshire is to English. I also took
lessons on the guitar. Thus prepared, I imitated my friend
and adopted the ordinary costume of the Andalusian peasant:
breeches, ornamented with rows of silvered buttons, gaiters,
a short jacket with a red flower-pot and blue lily on the
back, and elbows with green and scarlet patterns, a red FAJA
or sash, and the sombrero which I believe is worn nowhere
except in the bull-ring. The whole of this picturesque dress
is now, I think, given up. I have spent the last two winters
in the south of Spain, but have not once seen it.
It must not be supposed that we chose this 'get-up' to
gratify any aesthetic taste of our own or other people's; it
was long before the days of the 'Too-toos,' whom Mr. Gilbert
brought to a timely end. We had settled to ride through
Spain from Gibraltar to Bayonne, choosing always the bridle-
roads so as to avoid anything approaching a beaten track. We
were to visit the principal cities and keep more or less a
northerly course, staying on the way at such places as
Malaga, Cordova, Toledo, Madrid, Valladolid, and Burgos.
