nd we passed
another on an island about half-way in, both in mocking contrast to the
old round sandstone tower which rears itself amongst the palmetto scrub
about a mile outside the _puerto_. What that old crumbling castle
was for it is difficult to see, for in the days when it was built there
was no known artillery which would throw a ball half-way across the
shallow bay.

"The lazaretto," said Taltavull, pointing to a grim, gray fortress
farther along the shore, with high limestone walls, and lookout towers
at the corners. "Heaven help the poor cholera-stricken wretches whose
fate it is to be boxed up in that prison! It helps to show, however,
what a rabid hatred the Mallorcans have of all manner of disease. Read
George Sand's book about the island if you want to understand that. She
brought Chopin here long ago, and wintered with him at the Valledemosa
Convent, hoping to save him from consumption. The people in the village
there are as hospitable as any in the world as a general thing, but
they ostracized these two because of their dread and loathing for
sickness, and deliberately tried to starve them out."

"Brutes," said Haigh.

"I think," commented the anarchist, "that they'd a perfect right to act
as they did. They chose to, and that was sufficient. That's my creed."

"Poor creed," said Haigh. "Cospatric, stand by with that mud-hook, and
we'll bring to by the schooner here. It's getting very shallow."

We brought up to an anchor, snugged down, and then hailed a boat and
got put ashore where the fishing craft were riding to their bowfasts,
and discharging scaly rainbows on to the stone quay. The inevitable
Carabinero gave us an examination, and then we made our way up from the
little port village through beanfields and vineyards and oliveyards,
past an old Roman amphitheatre on to the double-walled town.

Very Asiatic in appearance is Alcudia as one approaches it, with its
yellow and white houses, its domes, its crumbling amber walls, with
ragged date-palms scattered here and there, and dusty green clumps of
prickly pear scrawming about everywhere. But as a walled city its days
are done. The massive gateway with its pitting of Saracen round-shot
has no guard. The two fosses are planted thickly with grotesquely
gnarled olive-trees. The streets are clean and the houses are in good
repair, but there is a lazy old-time air about the place that would
clog the hurrying feet of even a sight-seeing American.

We f