In About Four Hours We Reached San Vincente, A
Large Dilapidated Town, Chiefly Inhabited By Miserable Fishermen.
It Retains, However,
Many remarkable relics of former magnificence:
the bridge, which bestrides the broad and deep firth, on which
stands the town,
Has no less than thirty-two arches, and is built
of grey granite. It is very ancient, and in some part in so
ruinous a condition as to be dangerous.
Leaving San Vincente behind us, we travelled for some leagues on
the sea-shore, crossing occasionally a narrow inlet or firth. The
country at last began to improve, and in the neighbourhood of
Santillana was both beautiful and fertile. About a league before
we reached the country of Gil Blas, we passed through an extensive
wood, in which were rocks and precipices; it was exactly such a
place as that in which the cave of Rolando was situated, as
described in the novel. This wood has an evil name, and our guide
informed us that robberies were occasionally committed in it. No
adventure, however, befell us, and we reached Santillana at about
six in the evening.
We did not enter the town, but halted at a large venta or posada at
the entrance, before which stood an immense ash tree. We had
scarcely housed ourselves when a tremendous storm of rain and wind
commenced, accompanied with thunder and lightning, which continued
without much interruption for several hours, and the effects of
which were visible in our journey of the following day, the streams
over which we passed being much swollen, and several trees lying
uptorn by the wayside. Santillana contains four thousand
inhabitants, and is six short leagues' distance from Santander,
where we arrived early the next day.
Nothing could exhibit a stronger contrast to the desolate tracts
and the half ruined towns through which we had lately passed, than
the bustle and activity of Santander, which, though it stands on
the confines of the Basque provinces, the stronghold of the
Pretender, is almost the only city in Spain which has not suffered
by the Carlist wars. Till the close of the last century it was
little better than an obscure fishing town, but it has of late
years almost entirely engrossed the commerce of the Spanish
transatlantic possessions, especially of the Havannah. The
consequence of which has been, that whilst Santander has rapidly
increased in wealth and magnificence, both Coruna and Cadiz have
been as rapidly hastening to decay. At present it possesses a
noble quay, on which stands a line of stately edifices, far
exceeding in splendour the palaces of the aristocracy at Madrid.
These are built in the French style, and are chiefly occupied by
the merchants. The population of Santander is estimated at sixty
thousand souls.
On the day of my arrival I dined at the table d'hote of the
principal inn, kept by a Genoese. The company was very
miscellaneous, French, Germans, and Spaniards, all speaking in
their respective languages, whilst at the ends of the table,
confronting each other, sat two Catalan merchants, one of whom
weighed nearly twenty stone, grunting across the board in their
harsh dialect. Long, however, before dinner was concluded, the
conversation was entirely engrossed and the attention of all
present directed to an individual who sat on one side of the bulky
Catalan. He was a thin man of about the middle height, with a
remarkably red face, and something in his eyes which, if not a
squint, bore a striking resemblance to it. He was dressed in a
blue military frock, and seemed to take much more pleasure in
haranguing than in the fare which was set before him. He spoke
perfectly good Spanish, yet his voice betrayed something of a
foreign accent. For a long time he descanted with immense
volubility on war and all its circumstances, freely criticising the
conduct of the generals, both Carlists and Christinos, in the
present struggle, till at last he exclaimed, "Had I but twenty
thousand men allowed me by the government, I would bring the war to
a conclusion in six months."
"Pardon me, Sir," said a Spaniard who sat at the table, "the
curiosity which induces me to request the favour of your
distinguished name."
"I am Flinter," replied the individual in the military frock, "a
name which is in the mouth of every man, woman, and child in Spain.
I am Flinter the Irishman, just escaped from the Basque provinces
and the claws of Don Carlos. On the decease of Ferdinand I
declared for Isabella, esteeming it the duty of every good cavalier
and Irishman in the Spanish service to do so. You have all heard
of my exploits, and permit me to tell you they would have been yet
more glorious had not jealousy been at work and cramped my means.
Two years ago I was despatched to Estremadura, to organize the
militias. The bands of Gomez and Cabrera entered the province and
spread devastation around. They found me, however, at my post; and
had I been properly seconded by those under my command, the two
rebels would never have returned to their master to boast of their
success. I stood behind my intrenchments. A man advanced and
summoned us to surrender. 'Who are you?' I demanded. 'I am
Cabrera,' he replied; 'and I am Flinter,' I retorted, flourishing
my sabre; 'retire to your battalions or you will forthwith die the
death.' He was awed and did as I commanded. In an hour we
surrendered. I was led a prisoner to the Basque provinces; and the
Carlists rejoiced in the capture they had made, for the name of
Flinter had long sounded amongst the Carlist ranks. I was flung
into a loathsome dungeon, where I remained twenty months. I was
cold; I was naked; but I did not on that account despond, my spirit
was too indomitable for such weakness. My keeper at last pitied my
misfortunes. He said that 'it grieved him to see so valiant a man
perish in inglorious confinement.' We laid a plan to escape
together; disguises were provided, and we made the attempt.
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