“Well we shall go to look on, wife—simply and merely to look on,” said the hero in a tone of entreaty.
“Let us have done with sightseeing,” answered his wife. “A pretty pair of lookers-on you two would make!”
“The united squadrons,” added Marcial, “will remain in Cádiz—and they will try to force the entrance.”
“Well then,” said my mistress, “you can see the whole performance from within the walls of Cádiz, but as for going out in the ships—I say no, and I mean no, Alonso. During forty years of married life you have never seen me angry (he saw it every day)—but if you join the squadron I swear to you … remember, Paquita lives only for you!”
“Wife, wife—” cried my master much disturbed: “Do you mean I am to die without having had that satisfaction?”
“A nice sort of satisfaction truly! to look on at mad men killing each other! If the King of Spain would only listen to me, I would pack off these English and say to them: ‘My beloved subjects were not made to amuse you. Set to and fight each other, if you want to fight.’ What do you say to that?—I, simpleton as I am, know very well what is in the wind, and that is that the first Consul—Emperor—Sultan—whatever you call him—wants to settle the English, and as he has no men brave enough for the job he has imposed upon our good King and persuaded him to lend him his; and the truth is he is sickening us with his everlasting sea-fights. Will you just tell me what is Spain to gain in all this? Why is Spain to submit to being cannonaded day after day for nothing at all? Before all that rascally business Marcial has told us of what harm had the English ever done us?—Ah, if they would only listen to me! Master Bonaparte might fight by himself, for I would not fight for him!”
“It is quite true,” replied my master, “that our alliance with France is doing us much damage, for all the advantages accrue to our ally, while all the disasters are on our side.”
“Well, then, you utter simpletons, why do you encourage the poor creatures to fight in this war?”
“The honor of the nation is at stake,” replied Don Alonso, “and after having once joined the dance it would be a disgrace to back out of it. Last month, when I was at Cádiz, at my cousin’s daughter’s christening, Churruca said to me: ‘This French alliance and that villainous treaty of San Ildefonso, which the astuteness of Bonaparte and the weakness of our government made a mere question of subsidies, will be the ruin of us and the ruin of our fleet if God does not come to the rescue, and afterwards will be the ruin of the colonies too and of Spanish trade with America. But we must go on now all the same. …’ ”
“Well,” said Doña Francisca, “what I say is that the Prince of Peace is interfering in things he does not understand. There you see what a man without learning is! My brother the archdeacon, who is on Prince Ferdinand’s side, says that Godoy is a thoroughly commonplace soul, that he has studied neither Latin nor theology and that all he knows is how to play the guitar and twenty ways of dancing a gavotte. They made him prime minister for his good looks, as it would seem. That is the way we do things in Spain! And then we hear of starvation and want—everything is so dear—yellow fever breaking out in Andalusia.—This is a pretty state of things, sir—yes, and the fault is yours; yours,” she went on, raising her voice and turning purple. “Yes, señor, yours, who offend God by killing so many people—and if you would go to church and tell your beads instead of wanting to go in those diabolical ships of war, the devil would not find time to trot round Spain so nimbly, playing the mischief with us all.”
“But you shall come to Cádiz too,” said Don Alonso, hoping to light some spark of enthusiasm in his wife’s heart; “you shall go to Flora’s house, and from the balcony you will be able to see the fight quite comfortably, and the smoke and the flames and the flags.—It is a beautiful sight!”
“Thank you very much—but I should drop dead with fright. Here we shall be quiet; those who seek danger may go there.”
Here the dialogue ended, and I remember every word of it though so many years have elapsed. But it often happens that the most remote incidents that occurred even in our earliest childhood, remain stamped on our imagination more clearly and permanently than the events of our riper years when our reasoning faculties have gained the upper hand.
That evening Don Alonzo and Marcial talked over matters whenever Doña Francisca left them together; but this was at rare intervals, for she was suspicious and watchful. When she went off to church to attend vespers, as was her pious custom, the two old sailors breathed freely again as if they were two giddy schoolboys out of sight of the master. They shut themselves into the library, pulled out their maps and studied them with eager attention; then they read some papers in which they had noted down the names of several English vessels with the number of their guns and men, and in the course of their excited conference, in which reading was varied by vigorous commentary, I discovered that they were scheming the plan of an imaginary naval battle. Marcial, by means of energetic gymnastics with his arm and a half, imitated the advance of the squadron and the explosion of the broadsides; with his head he indicated the alternate action of the hostile vessels; with his body the heavy lurch of each ship as it went to the bottom; with his
