The Argosy — page 55: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

42 The Cruise of the Reserve Squadron. ~ Nevada gleaming in the moonlight. ‘The scene was full of magic. Nothing broke the stillness but the sudden and occasional outringing of the silvery bell on the Torre de la Vela. The watchman was awake; the irrigators were at their work in the plains. What we looked upon we had seen a few hours ago from that old tower. ‘The sun was then declining, a mist was creeping up the valley like a golden tide, nature had been flushed with rosy light. Now all was changed. All was steeped in the hush and death of night, save where the southern moon warmed back to life the sleeping earth. We left it, marvelling. Down the old stairs and through the en- chanted courts, in and out of the columns and their mysterious shadows; back into the Court of the Myrtles, through the little arch- ways and slender pillars, and once more out in the world. The portal closed upon us—and seemed to close an event in our lives. The night was still young, and a few of us felt inclined to see Granada by artificial light as well as by moonlight. In its crowded streets we might draw comparisons with Malaga. So three of us started, _ accompanied by our indispensable courier. The avenue was dark, silent and sombre; any amount of brigandage might be lurking be- hind those trees; and the guide to animate our courage, related to us how one night he had come up this very same avenue and discovered ‘a stranger who had been attacked by brigands, robbed and stripped. They hadn’t left him a shred; not so much as a collar or a pair of boots. Thereupon Wiley had had to go up to the hotel and geta suit of clothes before the unfortunate victim could be made present- able to.face the world once more. ‘‘ And I firmly believe,” continued our guide, ‘that my coming up the avenue at that moment saved the man’s life. The scoundrels heard footsteps, knew not whose they were or how many there might be, and with a final crack on the head, which, happily, did no great harm, they made off with their booty— watch, money, clothes—everything he had about him.” We enjoyed this lively anecdote very much; and when the guide pointed out the exact spot where the unhappy man was nearly murdered, lingered as short a time as curiosity and politeness per- mitted; and felt rather glad when we had passed through Charles V.’s Gate of Greeco-Tuscan architecture, and duly admired its crowning ornament—a helmet, or the arms of the town, or something of the sort—that in the strong moonlight formed itself into the head of the most grotesque old witch that ever was seen in life or on canvas. By day or by night, there was ever the likeness of a grinning old Mother Hubbard: and the most solemn old crow flying across the world must have laughed as he looked. Down the narrow, tortuous Calle of Gomeres, out into the broad Alameda, and turning to the left, we soon reached the Zacatin, to- night crowded and noisy. Presently we came upon an assemblage of shows and booths, travelling theatres and shooting galleries, as if it were the occasion of some great féte or fair. Perhaps it was so. ECOMMEDOOKS. CO