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cisive tones adopted by most of the
 speakers, convinces us, and, we would fain believe, all thinking
 persons, far more of its reality and permanence than had it indulged
 in the most savage braggadocio or bombast."

That same Monday night, with the vote to Senor Castelar in his pocket,
and with the cheers of the crowd ringing in his ears, Mr Bradlaugh
left Birmingham for London, where he arrived at five o'clock on
Tuesday morning. To drive to his Turner Street lodgings, to wash,
pack, breakfast, write some pressing notes, glance at thirty letters,
then to Cannon Street to catch the 7.40 A.M. mail train to
Dover was fairly quick work, but it was accomplished, and he found
himself in Paris the same evening. Dining at the Orleans Station that
night, he found Gambetta, with half-a-dozen friends whom he was seeing
off to Bordeaux, dining at a table quite near to him. Referring to
this incident, Mr Bradlaugh noted that "_Le Diarias_, of Madrid, says
that in passing through Paris I had a long conference with Monsieur
Gambetta. This, like most newspaper paragraphs about me, is a pure
invention." Mr Bradlaugh published an account of his journey to Spain
in the _National Reformer_ at the time. Much of it--which he called
"A fortnight's very rough notes"--was written while on his journey,
and must have been done under very considerable difficulties. In
carrying the message of the English to the Spanish Republicans, he
went at the imminent risk of his life. In Paris and in London it was
currently reported that he was killed. While he was cut off from all
communication with us, we endured an agony of suspense--my mother and
I at Midhurst, my sister at school in Paris; we read in the papers
that he was dead, and received letters of condolence from different
quarters. Indeed, at Midhurst our first intimation of his supposed
death was a letter of sympathy to my mother, written by the Rev. A. J.
Harrison, Mr Bradlaugh's oft-time opponent in debate.

My father gives so vivid a description of his adventures and his
impressions in his "very rough notes" that I give them in his own
words:--

 "At 8.15 [Tuesday evening] I started for Spain, my hopes of a direct
 journey through that country being a little cooled by the fact that
 although the Spanish Consul-General had positively assured me that
 the line was clear to Madrid, the Railway Company refused to book me
 further than Irun, a small town on the banks of the River Bidassoa,
 and just over the French frontier. All information, however, as to the
 state of the Spanish lines was refused, ignorance being pleaded." At
 Bayonne, "while waiting at the station, I was amused by two Spanish
 'gentlemen,' who, after looking carefully at every passenger, came up
 to me and inquired if I was the bearer of letters for Marshal Serrano.
 Curiously enough, Marshal Serrano, whose ambition seems doomed to just
 disappointment, had just fled from Spain in a vessel from Santander.
 I replied in the negative, and the two, whom I presume to have been
 Spanish detectives, remained watching until the train left Bayonne. At
 Irun my troubles commenced: the railway line was completely cut, and
 I must either take to the road or turn back. The road was said to be
 extremely dangerous, for it was in this district that the vicious and
 bloodthirsty curé of Santa Cruz had his band. Some assured me that the
 Carlists--who, all agreed, had possession of nearly the entire Basque
 district--would not interfere with either English or Americans. Others
 were equally certain that the priest of Santa Cruz would show no
 mercy to either if he happened to be in a murdering humour. Everybody
 advised me not to go alone; but when I found that the only vehicles
 for more than two persons were some dirty, ricketty, awful-smelling
 omnibuses drawn by nearly broken-down hacks, in which--the direct
 route being impossible--nearly twenty miles must be done, at least, in
 a burning heat, through a dangerous district, before better conveyance
 could be got, I determined to risk the journey by myself. I hired a
 small open _calèche_, with two good horses, and having emphatically
 explained to the driver that if he stopped voluntarily on meeting
 with any Carlists I should fire at him, I cocked my revolver, laid it
 on my knees, and off we went at a sharp gallop, which scarcely ever
 slackened until we reached San Sebastian. We drove often close to the
 railway, which I found had been cut in many places; the telegraph
 wires were hanging loose and useless, many of the posts hewn in two.
 Two or three times my driver turned to me and said, 'Los Carlistos,'
 pointing to some men in blue carrying guns and hurrying across the
 field towards us. Our rate, which on these occasions he accelerated
 by sharp whipping, carried us on without encounter. Passing near a
 village on the River Bidassoa, about midway between Irun and San
 Sebastian, some very rough and ragged-looking men ran up to the
 carriage, and one, armed with a long knife in his sash, got hold of
 the door, and addressed me in Basque; but as I did not understand a
 word, I simply pointed the pistol at his head and waved him sharply
 away. My driver continued to gallop, whipping his horses, and the
 other men who shouted to the driver, apparently to stop, having fallen
 in the rear, my friend with the knife, who appeared a little out of
 breath and not to like the look of the pistol barrel, followed their
 example. When we got about two miles ahead, my driver explained to
 me in French that these were only thieves, and not Carlists. I had
 afterwards reason to doubt whether this was not a distinction without
 a difference. The man who drove me into San Sebastian refused to go
 any further, alleging that between San Sebastian and Vittoria the road
 was too dangerous. Finding that it was a thirteen hours' ride, and
 that the necessary relays of horses and oxen for the mountains were
 prepared, and could only be obtained for the diligence which started
 at four next morning, I at once booked a place for the _coupé_ of an
 antiquated machine, which appeared to have lain by ever since the
 introduction of railroads, and to have been dragged out hastily, and
 without repairs, in consequence of the sudden interruption of the
 railway traffic. The clerk who took my money quietly told me that
 the proprietors could not be responsible for my luggage.... At three
 o'clock on Thursday morning I was awakened out of a terribly sound
 sleep, for, not having been in bed since Sunday night, Nature had
 overcome will; I was more fatigued than I had imagined. At a quarter
 to four I was seated in the diligence, heavily freighted with luggage,
 with one fellow-passenger in the _coupé_ [Senor Everisto de Churruca,
 a Spanish civil engineer, who not only spoke French but Basque], four
 in the interior, and three in the _banquette_, or open-hooded seat
 behind the driver. All these passengers, except one, we dropped at
 early stages of our journ

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