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The Funchal Club gives periodically a subscription ball, 'to ameliorate, if possible, the condition of the prisoners at the Funchal jail' asking strangers, in fact, to do the work of Government. The Praca da Rainha, a dwarf walk facing the huge yellow Government House, alias Palacio de Sao Lourenco, has been grown with mulberries intended for sericulture.
The prospect of a night without shelter did not greatly disturb her; she was already conscious that when she came to look back on it, it would take a high rank among her experiences. A turning brought her to the Praca, the little square of the town, its heart and centre. Here there were lights, the signal that the place had waked up for the evening.
"Dis?" he repeated. "Dese clo'se, I keep dem for my town, Dan. To come back wis yais! For not be like a mendigo a beggar. Now, no need to keep dem no more; and dis place oh, Dan, it is so like, so like! I dream it all yais de church, de praca all of it!" "Steady!" growled Dan. "Don't get dreamin' it again." "No," said the Dago; "I never dream no more. Never no more!"
There is a neat group, meat-market, abattoir, and fish-market where there is ne'er a flat fish save those who buy near those dreariest of academic groves, the Praca Academica, at the east end proper, or what an Anglo-Indian would term the 'native town. Here we see the joint mouth of the torrent-beds Santa Luzia and Joao Gomes which has more than once deluged Funchal.
At the water's edge a curious sort of double sleigh, drawn by two oxen, was waiting. Into this we stepped, setting off with considerable rapidity up the steep shingly beach, under a beautiful row of trees, to the 'Praça, where the greater portion of the population were walking up and down, or sitting under the shade of the magnolias.
Through a corner of the praça one saw poplars and elms and the fresh gleam of the river. The nasal hum of many voices sounded blithe and busy. At the bazaar entrance, where old women vended flowers and fruit, Gabriel reined in his horse. "How happy these simple souls!" he mused. "How sure of their salvation! To count their beads and mutter their Ave Marias; 'tis all they need.
The 8,000 men spread themselves over the fertile fields along the valleys of the Bann and the Roe, destroying the standing grain with fire, where it would burn, or with the praca, a peculiar kind of harrow, tearing it up by the roots.
In Lisbon he rebuilt the central part of the town, laying out parallel streets, and surrounding the Praça do Commercio with great arcaded government offices; buildings remarkable rather for the fine white stone of which they are made, than for any architectural beauty.
"There began your troubles," he said pointing, "and there this morning I received a paper which will I hope lead to a solution of this mystery." He handed Adams a bit of Chinese paper on which was written in Portuguese, "Come to the Praca de Luiz de Camoens at 8 A.M. to-morrow; follow the guide who meets you, and the lady Priscilla will be found."
We jogged down the hill a great deal faster than we had come up, stopping only for a short time in the now more than ever crowded 'Praça, to listen to one or two airs played by the Portuguese band, before we got back to the yacht at about half-past ten.
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