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communicating with my friends in England were temporarily cut off. To
my disgust, I found that the boat for Bayonne, although advertised
for Thursday, might not start till Sunday, and here I was, a prisoner
at large in Santander, not even being able to return from thence to
Vittoria, or to communicate my whereabouts to any one.... On Monday
afternoon, while wandering about the streets, I came across a bill
outside a shipping office headed 'Para Burdeos,' and not quite sure
of my Spanish, or rather, being quite sure it would not do to trust
to it, I went inside to inquire for some one who could talk French.
The only person able to talk anything but Spanish was the principal,
who turned out to be the same gentleman employed by Mr Layard, the
English Ambassador at Madrid, to provide the steamer by which Marshal
Serrano made his escape from Spain. I could not help wondering,
when this shipowner, after closing, with an air of mystery, the
sliding window communicating with the clerk's office, showed me the
letters he had received from Mr Layard bespeaking the steamer, and
from Marshal Serrano, thanking him after his escape. What would the
English Government have said if the Spanish Ambassador in England had
furnished one of the Fenian leaders with the means of escape from
London to Southampton, and had there engaged him a steamer for Havre?
Yet this is precisely what A. H. Layard did for Marshal Serrano last
month in Spain. _Revenons à nos moutons_; I had rightly understood
there was a steamboat, and 'a fine swift one,' announced to start for
Bordeaux that evening. I wanted to embark at once, but found that some
delay had taken place in the embarkation of the cargo, and the boat
would not leave until two on Tuesday. But even this was comparative
bliss; the boat was warranted to make the passage in twenty-four
hours. I should be at Bordeaux at two on Wednesday; I should then be
able to leave by the express train for Paris, get there on Thursday
morning, perhaps catching the tidal train to London in time to
encounter Father Ignatius at the New Hall of Science on Thursday
evening. My spirits rose, and I went back to the Fonda de Europa to
sleep joyously till morning.
"Next morning I received news not so good. The captain of the vessel,
the _Pioneer_, Captain Laurent, was staying in the same Fonda as
myself; it was doubtful, he said, if he could weigh anchor before
four or five. This was driving it very close for saving the train
at Bordeaux; but worse news was to come: the boat did not start at
all until Wednesday, and instead of doing the journey in twenty-four
hours, it took nearer thirty-four hours, so that I ultimately arrived
in Bordeaux towards midnight on Thursday, and naturally not in Paris
until Friday night.... The good steamer _Pioneer_ abounded in strange
smells. The captain said it had never carried passengers before, and
for the sake of the travellers I hope that she may never carry them
again; but we (there were eight other passengers) made the best of our
position, and bivouacked somehow with tarpaulin and sailcloth spread
on the iron bottom of the hold; and except that in the Bay of Biscay
the _Pioneer_ sometimes suddenly put my head where my feet ought to
have been, and then reversed the process with alarming sharpness,
there was little to complain of."
Of course Mr Bradlaugh's journey was followed by the usual cry from
those whose mercenary minds cannot conceive of a man doing anything
he is not absolutely obliged except for the purpose of gaining some
money reward. Just as earlier it had been said that he was paid by
the Tories, or the Whigs, or the Communists, or some others equally
probable, now the story was that he was paid by--of all people in the
world--the Carlists![170]
[Footnote 170: "We are informed, on what should be the very, best
authority, nevertheless we must refrain from guaranteeing the
authenticity of the statement, that the expenses of the great
Republican deputation from England to Spain was (_sic_) entirely
defrayed by the Carlist Committee in London."--_Weekly Dispatch_, June
8th, 1873.]
What Mr Bradlaugh thought of Senor Castelar will be a point of
peculiar interest to those who have felt respect or admiration for
both men. In narrating his Spanish adventures, my father uttered
no set judgment on the Spanish statesman; he did not weigh him or
criticise him, but here and there he alluded to this or that quality.
"Of Senor Castelar himself," he said in one place, "it is difficult to
speak too highly.... As an orator, he has no equal in Spain; and as a
journalist, his pen has made itself a Transatlantic reputation." He
then went on to enumerate some of the good works which Senor Castelar
had inaugurated or in which he had taken part. Later on, speaking of
the possibility of the maintenance of the Republican Government in
Spain, Mr Bradlaugh said that there needed at the head of affairs "a
Cromwell with the purity of a Washington.... Senor Castelar feels too
deeply, and the pain and turmoil of Government will tell upon his
health if he re-assumes power. He is honest and earnest and devoted
to Republicanism, and withal so loving and lovable in his nature. I
was present at breakfast with Senor Castelar when he received the
telegraphic despatch announcing the fall of Monsieur Thiers, and the
election of Marshal MacMahon as President. The news seemed to affect
Senor Castelar very deeply. He evidently regarded it as paving the way
for the accession of the Monarchical party in France, and consequently
as giving encouragement to the Legitimist or Carlist party in Spain."
"Honest," "earnest," "loving and lovable,"[171]--all admirable
qualities, not enough to make a Cromwell or a Washington, but
nevertheless all very admirable. My father believed Senor Castelar
possessed these, and from him I learned to admire and reverence him.
Since my father's death I have had reason to doubt whether Castelar
really possessed any one of these fine traits of character. At the risk
of his life Mr Bradlaugh went to him to carry a message of sympathy
and congratulation at a critical moment in his career; Senor Castelar
received him with the utmost friendship and cordiality, and every
honour was shown him during his few days' stay in Madrid. Having thus
professed friendship to his face, Senor Castelar waited for eighteen
years, and then, a few weeks after my father's death, he wantonly
published[172] one of the most grotesque, one of the most foolishly
malicious attacks upon Mr Bradlaugh that it would be possible for a
sane man to pen.
[Footnote 171: In New York Mr Bradlaugh afterwards spoke of Castelar as
"one of the most holiest, thorough, and loyal Republicans in Europe.
Spain and the world should be proud of him."]
[Footnote 172: See _Cardiff Weekly Mail_ and other English papers of
this date.]
CHAPTER XXXVII.
GREAT GATHERINGS.
There will probably be many who remember the agitation there was in
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