Three of the inside
passengers sat with backs to the horses, the others facing
them. My coach was full, and stifling hot and stuffy it was
before we had done with it. Of the five others two were fat
priests, and for twenty hours my place was between them. But
in one way I had my revenge: I carried my loaded rifle
between my knees, and a pistol in my belt. The dismay, the
terror, the panic, the protestations, the entreaties and
execrations of all the five, kept us at least from ENNUI for
many a weary mile. I doubt whether the two priests ever
thumbed their breviaries so devoutly in their lives. Perhaps
that brought us salvation. We reached Vera Cruz without
adventure, and in the autumn of '51 Fred and I landed safely
at Southampton.
Two months after I got back, I read an account in the 'Times'
of 'Joe' Clissold's return trip from Mexico. The coach in
which he was travelling was stopped by robbers. Friend
Joseph was armed with a double-barrelled smooth-bore loaded
with slugs. He considered this on the whole more suitable
than a rifle. When the captain of the brigands opened the
coach door and, pistol in hand, politely proffered his
request, Mr. Joe was quite ready for him, and confided the
contents of one barrel to the captain's bosom. Seeing the
fate of their commander, and not knowing what else the dilly
might contain, the rest of the band dug spurs into their
horses and fled. But the sturdy oarsman and smart cricketer
was too quick for one of them - the horse followed his
friends, but the rider stayed with his chief.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE following winter, my friend, George Cayley, was ordered
to the south for his health. He went to Seville. I joined
him there; and we took lodgings and remained till the spring.
As Cayley published an amusing account of our travels, 'Las
Aforjas, or the Bridle Roads of Spain,' as this is more than
fifty years ago - before the days of railways and tourists -
and as I kept no journal of my own, I will make free use of
his.
A few words will show the terms we were on.
I had landed at Cadiz, and had gone up the Guadalquivir in a
steamer, whose advent at Seville my friend was on the look-
out for. He describes his impatience for her arrival. By
some mistake he is misinformed as to the time; he is a
quarter of an hour late.
'A remnant of passengers yet bustled around the luggage,
arguing, struggling and bargaining with a contentious company
of porters. Alas! H. was not to be seen among them. There
was still a chance; he might be one of the passengers who had
got ashore before my coming down, and I was preparing to rush
back to the city to ransack the hotels.
