United States or Vietnam ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
I went over to San Sebastian by tug from Socoa on the 16th of August, and sent up my card to M. de Brunet, the British Vice-Consul. He said he had called on the prisoners, and that the sailors murmured at their treatment. If I went to the citadel, after three as it was Saturday afternoon, and visiting hours commenced then I could see them without difficulty.
Sebastian; General Saarsfield is at the other side of the Borunda, at Pampeluna; and Espartero, with his army, is at Bilboa. It is impossible that there can be any communication between these three, except by the French frontier, and by sea from Socoa, or by the Ebro. An arrangement is made for an attack, and a day named. What was the consequence?
As soon as the daring little privateer had done her work she innocently steamed to Socoa; the Carlists on the hills waved adieu and disappeared; the French soldiers returned to their quarters; and the Fontarabian "volunteers of liberty " well, most probably they swore terribly, and effected a masterly retrograde movement on the nearest posada. I had a call to board the San Margarita.
They came down in numbers in front of my hotel at nine o'clock on the morning of Monday, July 28th, a few days after my arrival, when a strange yellow funnel turned the point, and a long low Red-Roverish three-masted schooner-yacht steamed into Socoa, the roadstead of St. Jean de Luz.
The dirty hot little tug, the Alcorta, that plies between the quay and Socoa, had left; and I grieved not, for the thought of a passage by her was nausea. Three more torturing hours never dragged their slow length along for me than those I spent on board her coming over.
There was one comfort. On the way to Bayonne a boat-load of men had been landed at Socoa on leave, amongst them the Basque pilot, who might otherwise have been helped to a short shrift, and the dog's death from a yard-arm.
I respectfully declined fortunately for myself; my orders were to get to the Carlist headquarters, not to go playing Paul Jones. Leader and Smith Sheehan were about to cross the border, and readily acceded to my request to form one of the party. We rose at daybreak next morning and looked out of window for the San Margarita. The roadstead of Socoa was a blank.
Not a boat could be had in St. Jean de Luz for love or money; the passage from the sea into the harbour is narrow, and the fishermen, though hardy navigators, are shy of facing the current when the sea is rough. Leader and myself walked by the goat-path on the crags leading to the southern side of the harbour so as to avoid the bar, and succeeded in chartering a skiff at Socoa.
As I left after the shave he followed, and accosted me on the flagway confidentially. "How are you, captain?" "You are in error," I answered. "I am no captain." "What! Did I not see you take a boat for the San Margarita at Socoa?" "That may be; but I only boarded her through curiosity." "Do not be afraid," he whispered. "How is Don Guillermo?" "What Don Guillermo?" "Señor Leader.
Word Of The Day