XIXGIBRALTAR APPEARS AND DISAPPEARS
IT may seem superfluous to observe that the military spirit dominated every other at “The Gib,” but the ladies of the Cultus party had little idea how forcibly it would affect them until they were behind the guns.
Four regiments were quartered at the station—brilliant uniforms in all directions. Regulation scarlet most in vogue; also “the sporty Rifles,” parti-colored like paroquets, green predominating; also Scotch Highlanders in white and flesh tints of nature. Bands and bag-pipes, fifers and drum corps perambulated the narrow streets—action, color, martial music in the air—the spirit of the place exhilarating at first and its activity contagious.
“Look at those red-breasts, and, oh, dear, how very perky!” exclaimed Miss Winchester, as Tommy Atkins and a group of his chums went by—Tommy had winked at her when passing.
“Come, Paul, fall in! Keep step! We’ll take that battery just ahead.”
“Look before you leap!” cried Adele, laughing.
“Oh, that’s only a military mote in your eye,” laughed Miss Winchester, “soldiers don’t mind a small matter like that——” and she drew the young people off along the crooked street which led to the hotel, Convent (headquarters), Park and Alameda beyond, Professor and Mrs. Cultus followingin a carriage. As they looked upward the Rock frowned upon them from a great height, and O’Hara’s Tower appeared near as the bird flies, but a fatiguing ascent for those on foot. At the Signal House flags were fluttering, and with a glass one could distinguish “wig-wagging” in the direction of the Mediterranean, possibly to an approaching steamer many miles distant, on the way from that Far East which they all hoped soon to reach.
Life at “The Gib” not forming an integral part of this narrative, it is enough to recall that during their stop-over between steamers they were fortunate in assisting at a battle upon the neutral-ground, after which they attended a ball at the “Convent.” Our interest just now is to note how well Mrs. Cultus improved her opportunity, especially after visiting Tangiers.
When at home Mrs. Cultus was a busy member in several clubs, all fashionably active in good works. She had a pigeonhole for each particular style of club letter paper, with headings artistically engraved. Among them, “Politely Civil Club,” “Amateurs’ Topographical,” “Domestic Relief Association,” “Cat Home,” and “Old Man’s Depository.” Mrs. Cultus doted on cats and variety in good works, and was determined to prove all things and hold fast to that which is good. In a spasm of zeal previous to her departure she had faithfully promised to report from abroad such of her observations “obtained by travel on the spot,” as might be interesting in connection with the club work at home. It goes without saying that both Gibraltar and Tangiers each proved to be a bonanza to Mrs. Cultus, and she very wisely determined to get rid of the troublesome business at once.
“I know I can write something better than that communication about ‘Tobogganing in St. Petersburg,’ and as to the one on ‘Seesawing in Alaska,’ it was a very trivial production. In civil matters it’s quite as important to know what not to do as what to do, and I certainly do see here on ‘The Gib’ manythings highly instructive to Uncle Sam in connection with our new colonies. Now, let me see! Let me arrange my thoughts before writing them out.
“Why, I feel quite an embarrassment of riches” (she repeated it in French): “Gibraltar! certainly the most cosmopolitan region we have yet reached, a perfect conglomeration of diversified interests, and yet they are not at loggerheads; military, also millinery, costumes very important; not so much commercial as confidential; financial, with four kinds of currency; national yet international, geographically considered; diplomatic, aromatic, and ethical; all substantial problems working in harmony—not a gun fired to keep the peace, only for salutes.”
Mrs. Cultus’ finished production proved to be in a style quite unique, what might be called demi-semi-official or colloquial-realistic, with “side tags” to inform the Club in what direction the region might be further “explored.” Of course her full text became part of the archives of the Society, but her opening and closing sentences were in this case so brilliant that the world at large should really have the benefit of their luminosity. No expert in the modern school of English composition had greater appreciation than Mrs. Cultus of the real value of an opening sentence to attract attention in the right direction. What she fired off at the Amateurs’ Topographical thus began:
“We are supposed to be in Europe, en route from America to Asia; as a matter of fact we are in Africa, just across the way. I write from the Café Maure, in order to get the flavor of the place.” With her literary feet thus planted on four continents at once, why, of course the Club knew precisely where she stood, and obtained a glimpse of the habits and customs of the population, also of Mrs. Cultus in particular. Her closing sentence was also a masterpiece, this time of imagery and charming retrospection, all carefully led up to by a vivid description of the Zok or market place; introducinga group of snake-charmers at work charming, fascinating to watch, especially fascinating when the charmers, accompanied by tom-toms and a sana (tambourine), appeared to eat the snakes.
“It was diabolical,” wrote Mrs. Cultus; “I fled, and called the others to escape fascination also. We had enough of the Zok and snakes. Unfortunately, camels were in our way. I had nothing but my parasol to keep the beasts off. No doubt they too had been fascinated by the snakes, for a hubbub arose which completely demoralized the dromedaries. A camel with both humps up and rear legs in the air and his front legs helping him to scream is calculated to make one leave his vicinity unceremoniously. We did, we made our exit—sans ceremonie—as I have the profound honor of now doing at the end of this report.”
And the Society sent her a note of appreciation later on for the sincere observation and vivid realism displayed in her graphic report—noblesse oblige.
But in the meantime, while the report was on its way home, Mrs. Cultus, when thinking it over, seemed not quite sure as to its effect, in fact rather worried.
“I know,” said she, “that my style embodies that happy medium between dignity and frivolity which is sure to take at the Club, but, oh, just suppose somebody has described Tangiers before!”
Miss Winchester overheard this terrible conjecture with the keen interest of a real member of the literary craft, and naturally came to the rescue of Mrs. Cultus, who was yet a novice.
“Tangiers!—sung about before? Not more frequently than some other good songs.”
“What song are you talking about, Frank? I sang no song.”
“‘Thou art like unto a flower, O Tangiers! so pure, so white,’ et cetera. A Morocco rose by any other name will always smell as sweet.”
“Anyhow, it’s Oriental,” quoth Mrs. Cultus, “and that’s what I’m after just at present.”
Oriental—yes; they had been fascinated by their first glimpse of the Orient and its surfeit of varied impressions. From this time forward Adele was continually looking Eastward with great and increasing eagerness. The shores of the Mediterranean had yet in store for her some experiences quite as forcible as those of the Atlantic mid-ocean, but she knew it not. No doubt this had something to do with her present mood when they came to leave Gibraltar, and she stood with Paul and the Doctor upon deck, watching the disappearance of the Rock.
The steamer took a southerly course when leaving port, heading for the African shore, then bore off towards the Orient, which was the real goal of their voyage. When passing Europa Point the impregnable Rock, with terraced fortifications, loomed up in gigantic proportions; seen edgewise, its decreased width added to the apparent height. Lofty and massive, it was indeed a Pillar of Hercules at the Gateway of the Inland Sea.
The steamer passed into more open waters, the Rock rising higher and higher, as if determined to assert its majesty, no longer a pillar but a column of Victory, a strong and mighty outpost of Europe, an advance guard of that domain which lay behind, a bulwark of defence, a salient point for attack, a formidable diplomatic menace to the nomads of Africa—“Thus far shalt thou go and no farther.” And they sailed onwards, out upon the blue expanse of sea and sky; the landscape receded from view and different objects sank in turn beneath the horizon. The graceful curves of the Iberian coast faded away in the background, the mainland of Europe but a thin line in the distance; the gateway of the Straits soon followed, and the Atlantic, highway to America and home, was lost to sight. There was naught left in what they saw to suggest America.
As the ship sailed on, the sunlight pouring upon the sands of Africa produced a hazy, luminous, rose-tinted mist o’er the Land of the Moors, the mountains of Morocco blended away amid the fleecy clouds in the azure of distance.
And they gazed until the sombre outline of the Rock alone remained, an isolated dot upon the waters. A fisherman’s craft scudded across the open, the Rock was hidden behind a sail. A sea gull flitted along the horizon, the Rock was no larger than a bird. The human eye grew weak in the effort to retain its whereabouts. Could it yet be seen? Yes, it is there—a mere speck in space! No, ’tis gone! Gibraltar had disappeared.
Adele, standing between the Doctor and Paul, clinging to the arms of her good friends, looked dreamily upon the vacancy. In thoughtful silence this vivid experience in life had become but a thing of the past.