Certainsummersagoourcruisers，theSt.LouisandtheHarvard，arrivedatPortsmouth，NewHampshire，withsixteenorseventeenhundredSpanishprisonersfromSantiagodeCuba.Theywerepartlysoldiersofthelandforcespickedupbyourtroopsinthefightsbeforethecity，butbyfarthegreaterpartweresailorsandmarinesfromCervera'sill—fatedfleet.
　　Ihavenotmuchstomachforwar，butthepoetryofthefactIhavestatedmadeaverypotentappealtomeonmyliteraryside，andIdidnotholdoutagainstitlongerthantolettheSt.LouisgetawaywithCerveratoAnnapolis，whenonlyherlessdignifiedcaptivesremainedwiththoseoftheHarvardtofeedeitherthevaingloryorthepensivecuriosityofthespectator.ThenIwentoverfromoursummercolonytoKitteryPoint，andgotaboat，andsailedouttohavealookatthesesubordinateenemiesinthefirsthoursoftheirimprisonment.
　　I.
　　ItwasanafternoonofthebrilliancyknownonlytoanafternoonoftheAmericansummer，andthewateroftheswiftPiscataquaRiverglitteredinthesunwithareallyincomparablebrilliancy.Butnothingcouldlightupthegreatmonsterofaship，paintedthedismallead—colorwhichourWhiteSquadronsputonwiththeoutbreakofthewar，andshelaysulleninthestreamwithalookofponderousrepose，towhichtheactivitiesofthecoaling—bargesatherside，andofthesailorswashingherdecks，seemedquiteunrelated.Alonggunforwardandalonggunaftthreatenedthefleetoflaunches，tugs，dories，andcat—boatswhichflutteredabouther，buttheHarvardlookedtiredandbored，andseemedasifasleep.
　　Shehad，infact，finishedhermission.Thecaptiveswhomdeathhadreleasedhadbeencarriedoutandsunkinthesea;thosewhosurvivedtoafurtherimprisonmenthadallbeentakentotheprettyislandamilefartherupintheriver，wherethetiderushesbackandforththroughtheNarrowslikeatorrent.ItsdefiantrapidityhaswonittherethegraphicnameofPull—and—be—Damned;andwecouldonlyhopetoreachtheislandbyaseriesofskilfultacks，whichshouldhumorboththewindandthetide，bothdeadagainstus.Ourboatman，oneofthoseshoreNewEnglanderswhoarebornwithaknowledgeofsailing，waseasilymasteroftheartofthis，butittooktime，andgavememorethantheleisureI
　　wantedfortryingtoseetheshorewiththestrangeeyesofthecaptiveswhohadjustlookeduponit.Itwasbeautiful，Ihadtoown，eveninmyqualityofexileandprisoner.Themeadowsandtheorchardscamedowntothewater，or，wherethewanderinglineofthelandwasbrokenandliftedinblackfrontsofrock，theycrepttotheedgeofthecliffandpeeredoverit.Asummerhotelstretcheditsverandasalongalovelylevel;
　　everywhereincloveryhollowsandonbreezyknollsweregrayoldfarm—
　　housesandsummercottages—likeweather—beatenbirds'nests，andlikefreshlypaintedmarten—boxes;butallofacoldNewEnglandneatnesswhichmademehomesickformymalodorousSpanishfishing—village，shamblingdowninstonylanestothewarmtidesofmynativeseas.Here，everyplacelookedasifithadbeennewlyscrubbedwithsoapandwater，andrubbeddownwithacoarsetowel，andwasofanantipatheticalertness.Thesweet，keenbreezemademeshiver，andthenorthernsky，fromwhichmyblindingsouthernsunwasblazing，wasashardassapphire.
　　ItriedtobewildermyselfintheignoranceofaCatalonianorAsturianfisherman，andtowonderwithhisdarkenedmindwhyitshouldalloranyofithavebeen，andwhyIshouldhaveescapedfromtheironhellinwhichIhadfoughtnoquarrelofmyowntofallintothehandsofstrangers，andtobehaledoverseastothesealienshoresforacaptivityofunknownterm.ButIneednothavebeenatsomuchpains;
　　theintelligence（Idonotwishtoboast）ofanAmericanauthorwouldhavesufficed;forifthereisanythingmoregrotesquethananotherinwaritisitsmonstrousinconsequence.IfwehadagriefwiththeSpanishgovernment，andifitwassomortalwemustdomurderforit，wemighthavesentajointcommitteeoftheHouseandSenate，and，withtheimprovedmeansofassassinationwhichmodernsciencehasputatourcommand，killedofftheSpanishcabinet，andeventhequeen——motherandthelittleking.Thiswouldhavebeenconsequent，logical，andinasortreasonable;buttobutcherandcapturealotofwretchedSpanishpeasantsandfishermen，haplessconscriptstowhompersonallyandnationallywewereassomanymeninthemoon，wasthatmelancholyandhumiliatingnecessityofwarwhichmakesithomicideinwhichthereisnoteventhesavinggraceofhate，ortheexcuseofhotblood.
　　IwasabletoconsolemyselfperhapsalittlebetterforthecaptivityoftheSpaniardsthanifIhadreallybeenoneofthem，aswedrewnearerandnearertheirprisonisle，anditopeneditsknottypointsandlittleravines，overrunwithsweet—fern，blueberry—bushes，bay，andlowblackberry—vines，andrigidlytraversedwithahighstockadeofyellowpineboards.Sixoreightlong，low，woodenbarracksstretchedsidebysideacrossthegeneralslope，withthecaptiveofficers'quarters，sheathedinweather—proofblackpaper，atoneendofthem.Abouttheirdoorsswarmedthecommonprisoners，spillingoutoverthestepsandonthegrass，wheresomeofthemloungedsmoking.Oneoperaticfigureinalongblanketstalkedathwartanopenspace;buttherewassuchpovertyofdramainthespectacleatthedistancewewerekeepingthatweweregladofsomuchasashirt—sleevedcontractordrivingoutofthestockadeinhisbuggy.OntheheightsoverlookingtheenclosureGatlinggunswerepostedatthreeorfourpoints，andeverythirtyorfortyfeetsentriesmetandparted，soindifferenttous，apparently，thatwewonderedifwemightgetnearer.Weventured，butatacertainmomentasentrycalledtous，"Fiftyyardsoff，please！"Ouryoungskipperanswered，"Allright，"
　　andasthesentryhadagunonhisshoulderwhichwehadeveryreasontobelievewasloaded，itwaseasilyourpleasuretoretreattothespecifiedlimit.Infact，wecameawayaltogether，afterthat，solittlepromisewasthereofourbeingabletosatisfyourcuriosityfurther.
　　Wecameawaycarefullynursingsuchimpressionaswehadgotofaspectaclewhosehistoricalqualitywedidourpoorbesttofeel.Itrelatedus，aftersolicitation，tothewarsagainsttheMoors，againsttheMexicansandPeruvians，againsttheDutch;totheItaliancampaignsoftheGranCapitan，totheSiegeofFlorence，totheSackofRome，tothewarsoftheSpanishSuccession，and`whatothers.IdonotdenythattherewasacertainaestheticjoyinhavingtheSpanishprisonersthereforthiseffect;wecameawaydulygratefulforwhatwehadseenofthem;
　　andwehadlongdulyresignedourselvestoseeingnomore，whenwordwassenttousthatouryoungskipperhadgotapermittovisittheisland，andwishedustogowithhim.
　　II.
　　Itwasjustsuchanotherafternoonwhenwewentagain，butthistimewetookthejoyoustrolley—car，andboundedandpirouettedalongasfarasthenavyyardofKittery，andtherewedismountedandwalkedamongthevast，ghostlyship—sheds，solongemptyofships.ThegrassgrewintheKitterynavy—yard，butitwasallthepleasanterforthegrass，andthosepale，silentshedswerefarmoreimpressiveintheirsilencethantheywouldhavebeenifresonantwithsawandhammer.Atseveralpoints，anunarmedmarinelefthisleisuresomewhere，andlungedacrossourpathwithamuteappealforourpermit;butwewerenowheredelayedtillwecametotheofficewhereithadtobecountersigned，andafterthatwehadpresentlycrossedabridge，byshady，rusticways，andwereontheprisonisland.Here，ifpossible，thesenseofsomethingpastoraldeepened;amandrivingafileofcowspassedbeforeusunderkindlytrees，andthebellwhichtheforemostofthesemilkymothersworeabouthersilkenthroatsentforthitsclear，tendernoteasiffromthedepthofsomegrassybosk，andinstantlywitchedmeawaytothewoods—pastureswhichmyboyhoodknewinsouthernOhio.Evenwhenwegottowhatseemedfortificationstheyturnedouttobethewallsofanoldreservoir，andboreontheirgateapaternalwarningthatchildrenunaccompaniedbyadultswerenotallowedwithin.