Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison: Fifteen Years in Solitude
bouffe, the real thing, this motley array of brigands, all trying to
maintain under difficulties the grave Spanish exterior.
One monkey of 18 or 19 years, armed, came to our compartment, and,
pointing to my chain, said he wanted it and my watch. None of us
understood Spanish, but we all comprehended his meaning readily. I
refused to make him a gift, and got rid of him easily.
We were all ordered to alight and our captors seemed inclined to be
ugly. Myself and party were about the only well-dressed people on the
train, and, seeing a priest close by, I went up to him, and ascertaining
he could speak French, I began, in very bad French indeed, to threaten
with very dire consequences Don Carlos and every band of Carlists who
dares to annoy an English Duke and Duchess, and demanded instant shelter
and a guard for my wife, the Duchess. We could hardly keep from
laughing, it was so very like a melodrama. My wife thoroughly enjoyed
the situation, and I should have done so too, had I not had such strong
reasons for quick passage through Spain to blue water on the South, for
I desired to speedily put some leagues of Neptune's domain between
myself and the Old World.
The priest, although a sallow, sombre fellow, was a very good one, and
seemed to realize the gravity of the situation, for, calling the chief
to him, he warned him to be careful. That gentleman came up, and drawing
himself up said very proudly: "Sir, we are soldiers, not robbers." I
said I was very glad to know it, and demanded to be informed if I was a
prisoner or not, and was told I was not, but with the same breath he
said he would be obliged to detain us for a few days. There was a fonda,
or inn, close by, and leaving my wife there, I finally managed by a
liberal use of money to secure an ox-cart, and by virtue of great
generalship on the part of myself and servant, got all our baggage out
of the wrecked train and safely up to the inn.
Spaniards are provokingly slow, but by riding mule-back five miles away
I succeeded in seeing the local commander of the Carlist forces, and he
promised to send me the next day a pass through the lines, going either
south or north. I got him also to include in the pass my fellow
passengers. I did this because there was a Portuguese family who had
tickets for South America. They were then on their way to embark at
Lisbon, and the old gentleman, the head of the family, was very weak and
ill.
My safe plan would have been to return to France, make my way to Brest
and embark from there to New York, and that would have been my course
had I had any conception of the slowness of the Spanish officials and of
the fierce storms and snows that dominate the passes of the Pyrenees in
Winter.
We were informed by many officials, railway guards, Custom House
officers, Carlists, etc., that by crossing thirty miles south we would
pass the lines and get to a little town on the railway where trains left
frequently for Madrid. The Spaniards about the place would never have
let us start out on that perilous trip had it not been for the money
there was in it. I had secured at a round price three century old
bullock carts, and in the afternoon of the second day we got off. I had
all the women and the sick Portuguese in one cart, with the two other
carts ahead heaped with luggage. Thus there were eight bullocks, four
mules and (unlucky number) thirteen men engaged.
I had very misty notions as to our destination, but took it for granted
the baker's dozen of natives I had with me knew what they were about.
Snow was everywhere, and we were mounting up, up, up, on wheels, but I
supposed the highest altitude was only four or five miles away, and that
the down grade would be easy until we reached some snug inn where we
would find shelter for man and beast. Then an early start by daylight
and our novel jaunt would come to an end in civilization and a railway.
But I did not know Spaniards, their country, the Pyrenees, nor what
blizzards can blow in sunny Spain.
Myself and my servant Nunn trudged on alongside the cart with the women.
It took an hour to get out of sight of the fonda, and then we struck a
fine, wide military road that wound in and around the mountains, but
always up and deep in snow. Three, four o'clock came and still no sign
of the summit, but with the road winding in and out for miles ahead. The
sky began to darken, and without warning down came the snow. Then
frequent halts of the caravan to rest the cattle. Deeper grew the snow,
and as the darkness began to settle down I realized the responsibility I
had unwittingly taken on my shoulders. I had four delicate women in my
forlorn party and found myself fast in the midst of a snowstorm, in a
wild pass of the Pyrenees. I recognized one blessing, however, and was
profoundly grateful--the air was calm--and though the snow fell thick
and fast it was not driven by a storm.
Nunn proved to be thoroughly reliable, helpful and full of cheer.
Between us we kept up the spirits of the party. But all hands began to
grow hungry. Fortunately I had in my baggage a large pate de foie gras.
That is a fat goose liver pie, and it was fat, happily so, as it went
the further. Then I got rugs and wraps out of my trunks for the women
and a couple of bottles of brandy, and administered liberal doses all
round. I soon had them happy and full of courage. It was certainly
better to have them full of Dutch courage in a fool's paradise than to
have them awake to their position, for I quite expected it would end in
a night camp-out in the snow and sending an empty cart for supplies. Two
hours after dark we came to a dead halt, and my guides--they were
beauties--said they could go no further; the oxen could not pull the
carts. There was a fonda, they said, two miles away, but did not show
any disposition to help to get there, and for that matter did not seem
to care whether we did or not. I ordered them to leave the middle cart
behind and divide the teams, one team to be added to the front cart and
one to be hitched in front of the mules. Our interpreter was one of the
Portuguese women, but we did not get on very well, the Spaniards
objecting to anything being done, all of them apparently waiting for
the Virgin or some of the saints to come to our aid; but as neither did,
Nunn and I were exasperated, and finally took the matter into our own
hands. By my orders, despite the energetic protests of the drivers, he
unhitched the oxen from the middle team, and between us we got them to
the mule cart, hitched them in front of the mules and pulled out and
past the other carts. Here the Spaniards halted us, and after an angry
altercation in the dark--and it was dark--they agreed to go on. So,
taking a yoke of oxen from our cart, they were put in front of the four
of the first cart, and off we started. Nunn volunteered to stand by and
guard the stranded cart; so giving him two blankets and a little brandy
we drove off in the darkness. But not until, in sight of all, I had
given him a revolver, and each of the unlucky thirteen a good nip of
brandy. My anxiety about serious results was over as soon we started,
and in an hour and a half we halted in front of a wretched mountain inn,
patronized by muleteers, with the first story for a stable, but none of
us were disposed to be particular. A supper of Spanish beans was soon
ready, and then a bed was made up on the floor, and the women were soon
asleep. After seeing that the mules and oxen were fed, I took half an
hour's nap. Then with two drivers we started back, taking three yoke of
oxen. What a tramp I had back through the snow and storm! I was very
happy, however, for I knew my wife and party were safely sheltered, and
the excitement of action kept one from being gloomy.
In due time we found our stray, hitched to and started, but it was hard
pulling and the exhausted oxen had to come to frequent halts. At last,
just as I was beginning to feel tired, we came to the fonda.
The snow had slackened, but the wind was beginning to blow, so Nunn and
I carried all the luggage and traps into a corner of the stable below,
and tumbling down into the hay we were soon in the land of dreams. In my
dreams I was on a shoreless sea in a bark that silently and swiftly
circled around. Dark clouds closed in on all sides, while my boat sailed
between ever-narrowing walls, the clouds still closing in, until a giant
hand grew out from a ragged edge of the cloud wall, which, seizing the
prow of my boat, pulled it into the gloom and darkness. I felt the
clouds brushing my cheek. I heard the roar of falling water, and felt
that my doom was sealed. I thought of my wife, and, trying to call her
name, was dumb. I looked behind. Far off and far up there was a glow of
rosy light, and within the aureole was her face, full of sorrow, looking
at me with pity in every feature. As I looked, her face was slowly
eclipsed by a cloud. Then with one cry I plunged into the sea--and
awoke.
That dream would easily have joined the long procession of forgotten
dreams, but it was recalled many a time during many years. And, try as I
might, I felt it to be a portent and a prophecy.
When I awoke in the morning I was dumfounded to find a blizzard blowing
that the cattle could not face, and with every appearance of
continuance. In reply to my inquiries I learned they sometimes blew in
those altitudes for a week. This was unpleasant news for me, and the
prospect made me nervous. It was now Thursday, the fourth day since our
departure from Paris. And what might have happened in London in that
time! Here was I as completely isolated from the outside world and from
all news about my companions in England as if on a desert isle. For all
I knew discovery might have been made, and full details of the fraud
might be blazing in the press of Europe. I began to fear I had run into
a trap. To make matters worse, the steamer El Rey Felipe was advertised
to sail Monday from Cadiz, and to miss her seemed danger indeed.
I was a prisoner in a wretched inn in a defile of the Pyrenees, with a
civil war raging, and no telling what might arise to detain us. Our
objective point was only some thirty-five miles away, but with roads
deep in snow, with wretched cattle and more wretched Spaniards for
drivers, there was poor prospect of making headway. I felt it would
never do for me to suffer longer detention.
I determined to leave my wife and baggage in charge of Nunn, to put the
$120,000 I had in a bag and start back to the French frontier, cross
into France and catch the Saturday steamer from Havre to New York,
explaining to my wife that important business demanded my presence in
America, that she could follow on the next steamer and that I would meet
her on arrival.
In the mean time my unlucky thirteen were happy. For were they not
sheltered, with plenty of food and high wages, all out of the pocket of
the great lord the Virgin herself must have sent to them? In fact, they
were winning from me what to them was a fortune. I was paying each man a
dollar a day and $5 for each team and cart.
From my experience I must give the Spaniards a good name for honesty. Of
course, they were charging me cut-throat prices, but they were poor,
and wealthy lords did not often come their way. Aside from that they
were very honest. Many things, such as rugs, shawls, lunch baskets,
dressing cases, etc., that must have seemed of value to them, lay around
everywhere, but not a single article was missing during the entire trip.
All day long the blizzard blew. It was a novel situation, and how I
should have enjoyed it had I only possessed that greatest of all
blessings--a good conscience! As it was, I was in misery, and could find