It is not necessary to say to anyone who has the smallest acquaintance with history that Spaniards are naturally brave and patriotic. The early history of the Peninsula is one of valour in battle, whether by land or sea. The standard of Castile has been borne by her sons triumphantly over the surface of the globe. Few of us now remember that Johnson wrote of the Spain of his day:

In the old days when Drake undertook to "singe the King of Spain's beard," and carried out his threat, our sailors and those of Philip II., some time "King of England," as the Spaniards still insist on calling him, met often in mortal combat, and learned to recognise and honour in each other the same dogged fighting-power, the same discipline and quiet courage. The picture of the Spaniards standing bareheaded in token of reverence and admiration of a worthy foe, as some small English ships went down with all their crew rather than surrender, in those old days of strife, touches a chord which still vibrates in memory of battles fought and won together by Englishmen and Spaniards under the Iron Duke. True, some battered and torn English flags hang as trophies in the armoury of Madrid, but one likes to remember that in the only battle where our colours were lost, the Spanish troops were commanded by an Englishman, James Stuart, Duke of Berwick, the direct ancestor of the present Duque de Berwick y Alva, and the English by one of French birth. In every case where foreign foes have invaded Spain, sooner or later they have been driven out. Santiago! y Cierra EspaÑa! was the war-cry which roused every child of Spain to close his beloved country to alien domination.

Unfortunately, the yoke of the foreigner came in more invidious guise. From the death of Ferdinand and Isabella to the year 1800, the sons of Spain were immolated to serve causes which were of no account to her, to protect the interests of sovereigns who had nothing in common with her provinces, to add to the power of the Austrian Hapsburgs and the French Bourbons. We have seen how the people whom Napoleon had believed to be sunk in fanaticism, dead to all national aspiration, the mere slaves of a despicable King, and the sport of his debauched Queen and her lover, sprang to arms and drove the invader from their land. So would it be to-day if the country were even threatened by foreign invasion. "The dogs of Spain," as Granville called them, know well how to protect their soil.

Within comparatively recent years the campaign in Morocco, and the expeditionary force sent to Cochin-China, showed that the Spanish army was not to be despised. It has been the misfortune of Spain that her soldiers have too often had the melancholy task of fighting against their own people, or those of their colonies, both of whom have been excited and aided in insurrection for years by foreign contributions of arms and money. In these unhappy fratricidal struggles the fighting has never been more than half-hearted, and during the numerous military pronunciamientos it has often been necessary to keep the troops from meeting, as they could never be trusted not to fraternise; and after the first abortive attempt by Prim to effect the revolution which later freed the country, the curious spectacle was afforded of Prim and his soldiers marching quietly out of one end of a village, while the troops of the Queen, sent in pursuit, were being purposely kept back from marching too quickly in at the other.

The army of Spain would seem to suffer from a plethora of officers, especially those of the highest rank. In the time of Alfonso XII., there were ten marshals, fifty-five generals, sixty-six mariscales de campo, and one hundred and ninety-seven brigadiers; adding those on the retired list liable for service, there were in all five hundred and twenty generals, four hundred and seventy-two colonels, eight hundred and ninety-four lieutenant-colonels, 2113 commandants, 5041 captains, 5880 lieutenants, and 4833 sous-lieutenants. With such an array of officers, it is scarcely to be wondered at that promotion in the ordinary way was looked on as impossible, and the juggle of military pronunciamientos was regarded as almost the only means of rising in the army. It was no uncommon thing to promise a rise of one grade throughout a whole corps to compass one of these miniature revolutions. However, all that is happily past. General Weyler,—whose name indicates alien blood at some period of his family history,—the present Minister of War, has taken the thorough reform of the army in hand, though it is too soon to say if he will be as successful as is generally expected from his known energy and common sense, since the work is only now in progress.

One of the most fertile sources of disturbance in the old days of Isabel II. was the presence of the primo sargentos. These petty officers, having risen from the ranks, and invested with an authority for which they were often quite unsuited, were always ready, for a consideration, to aid the cause of some aspiring politician, now on one side, now on another. They are now, fortunately, abolished.The Spanish artillery is a splendid body, and is officered from the best families in the country. In the only military insurrection in which the common soldiers shot some of the officers obnoxious to them—that of the MontaÑo Barracks, in 1866—the leader of the mutinists was a certain hidalgo. It was the promotion of this man that led indirectly to the abdication of Don Amadeo, who opposed the action. Indignant at the disgrace to the service, all of the artillery officers in Spain sent in their resignations. They were accepted, and the primo sargentos raised to the rank of officers to fill their places. The result was unlimited mutiny among the rank and file and danger to the State. Some of the young officers who had retained their uniforms, though no longer attached to the corps, finding the troops in utter disorder and revolt, quietly donned their uniforms, went down to the barracks, and gave their orders. The men instantly fell into the ranks, and the situation was saved. The primo sargentos were abolished, the officers reinstated. But Amadeo had had enough; he ceased to attempt to reign constitutionally in a country where the constitution meant only one more form of personal greed and excess. He was demasiado honesto for the crew he had been called to command, and he left the country to tumble about in its so-called "republican" anarchy until another military pronunciamiento set Alfonso XII. on the throne. And that has been, fortunately, the last performance of a kind once so common in Spain.

All military men admire the effective corps of light mountain artillery. The small guns are carried on the backs of the splendid mules for which the Spanish army is famous, and can be taken up any mountain path which these singular animals can climb. Mules are also used to drag the heavier guns, and must be invaluable in a mountainous country. The animals are quite as large as ordinary horses, are lithe, active, and literally unhurtable. I have myself seen a mule, harnessed to a cart which was discharging stones over the edge of a deep pit, when levelling the ground at the end of the Fuente Castellana in Madrid, over-balanced by the weight behind him, fall over, turn a somersault in mid-air, cart and all, and, alighting thirty feet below, shake himself, ponder for a few seconds on the unexpected event in his day's labour, and then proceed to draw the cart, by this time satisfactorily emptied, out of the pit by the sloping track at the farther side, and continue his task absolutely unhurt and undisturbed.

Until the final overthrow of the Carlists by Alfonso XII., the Basque Provinces, amongst their most cherished fueros, were exempted from the hated conscription; but the victorious King made short work of that and of all other special rights and privileges—which, in truth, had been abused—and now all the country is subject to conscription. Every man from nineteen to twenty years of age is liable to serve in the ranks, except those who are studying as officers. A payment of £60 frees them from service during peace; but if the country is at war there is no exemption. The conscripts are bound for twelve years—three with the colours, three in the first reserve, three in the second, and three in the third.

Navy? Alas! Spain has none. Two battle-ships alone remain—El Pelayo and Carlos V. (the former about nine thousand five hundred tons, the latter not more than seven thousand)—and some destroyers and torpedoes. How a nation that once ruled the sea, and whose sailors traversed and conquered the New World, has allowed her navy to become practically extinct at the moment when nations which have almost no seaboard are trying to bring theirs up within measurable distance of England's, it is impossible to say. Even before the outbreak of the war with America there were but a few battle-ships, and these were wanting in guns and in almost all that could make them effective—save and except the men, who behaved like heroes. It seems to be a consolation to Spaniards to remember that it was in the pages of an English journal that an Englishman, who had seen the whole of the disastrous war, wrote: "If Spain were served by her statesmen as she has been served by her navy, she would be one of the greatest nations of the world to-day."The history of the part borne by the Spanish navy in the late war with America, as written by one of Admiral Cervera's captains,[1] with the publication of the actual telegrams which passed between the Government and the fleet, and the military commanders in the colonies, is one of the most heartrending examples of the sacrifice, not only of brave men, but of a country's honour to political intrigue or the desire to retain office. This, at least, is the opinion of the writer of this painful history, and his statements are fully borne out by the original telegrams, since published. It is impossible to imagine that any definite policy at all was followed by the advisers of the Queen Regent in this matter, unless it were the incredible one ascribed to it by Captain Concas Palan of deliberately allowing the fleet, such as it was, to be destroyed—in fact, in the case of Admiral Cervera's squadron, sending it out to certain and foreseen annihilation—so as to make the disaster an excuse for suing for peace, without raising such a storm at home as might have upset the Ministry. With both fleets sunk, and those of their men not slain, prisoners of war, there was no alternative policy but peace. Captain Concas Palan claims for his chief and the comrades who fell in this futile and disastrous affair "a right to the legitimate defence which our country expects from us, though it is against the interested silence which those who were the cause of our misfortunes would fain impose on us," and says that "some day, and that probably much sooner than seems probable at present," the judgment of Spain on this episode will be that of the English Review, which he quotes as the heading of his chapter. He goes on: "War was accepted by Spain when the island of Cuba was already lost to her, and when the dispatch of a single soldier more from the Peninsula was infinitely more likely to have caused an insurrection than that of which our Ministers were afraid—at the moment, also, when our troops were in want of the merest necessaries, the arrears of pay being the chief cause of their debilitated condition, and when a great part of the Spanish residents in Cuba, under the name of 'Reformers,' 'Autonomists,' etc., had made common cause with the insurgents, while they were enriching themselves to a fabulous extent by contracts for supplies and transports. In these circumstances it was folly to accept a struggle with an immensely rich country, possessing a population four times that of ours, and but a pistol shot from the seat of action." The Government of Spain was perfectly aware that the troops in Cuba were already quite insufficient even to cope with the insurgents, that the people at home were already murmuring bitterly at the cost of the war, and that it was impossible to send out a contingent of any practical value. Sickness of all kinds, enteric, anÆmia, and all the evils of under-fed and badly found troops, were rapidly consuming the forces in Cuba, "and yet the Government took no thought of who was to man the guns whose gunners were drifting daily into the hospital and the cemetery.... The national debt was increasing in a fabulous manner, and recourse was had to the mediÆval remedy of debasing the currency, while even at that moment the troops had more than a year's pay in arrear, and absolute penury was augmenting their other sufferings."

This was the moment which the responsible Ministers of the Crown thought propitious to throw down the gauntlet to the overwhelming power of America rather than to face what the writer terms the "cabbage-headed riff-raff of the Plaza de la Cevada" of Madrid. Again and again was the absolute inefficiency of the fleet pointed out to them. Even the few ships there were, all of them vastly inferior to those of the United States' navy, were without their proper armament; they might have been of some service in defence of the coast of Spain, but in aggressive warfare they were useless. Allowing somewhat for the natural indignation of one of those who was sacrificed, who saw his beloved commander and his comrades-in-arms sent like sheep to the slaughter, and all for an idea,—and that a perfectly stupid and useless one,—there is no gainsaying the facts which Captain Concas Palan relates, and the original telegrams verify every word of his story. Admiral Cervera was sent out with sealed orders; but he had done all that was in his power—even asking to be relieved of his command—to prevent the folly of sending away from the coasts of the mother country the only ships which could have protected her, while they were absolutely useless against the American navy in the Antilles. Left with no alternative but obedience, he managed to gain the safe harbour of Santiago de Cuba with his squadron intact. Secure from attack, he landed his men to assist in the defence of the town from the land side. And then came the incredible orders that he was to take out his four ships to be destroyed by the American navy waiting outside! Never in the world's history was a more magnificent piece of heroism displayed than in the obedience to discipline which caused Admiral Cervera to re-embark his marines and lead them forth to certain death, well knowing what they were to face, for he hid nothing from them. He called on them as sons of Spain, and they answered heroically, as Spaniards have ever done in history: "For honour!"

Spain has suffered deeply and sorely in her pride; but she has never worn her heart on her sleeve—she suffers in silence. A quotation from the Época of July 5th, two days after the destruction of Cervera's fleet, shows the spirit in which the country bore that terrible blow. It is headed "Hours of Agony." "Our grief to-day has nothing in it which was unexpected. The laws of logic are invincible; our four ships could not by any possibility have escaped the formidable American squadron. The one thing that Spain expected of her sons was that they should perish heroically. They have perished! They have faced their destiny; they have realised the sole end which Spain looked for, in this desperate conflict into which she has been drawn by God knows what blind fatality; they have fallen with honour."

That is true; but how about the leaders whose long misrule of the colonies had helped to bring on the disaster which their predecessors for many years had courted? How about the political corruption which, when large sums were being spent on the colonies, had allowed immense private fortunes to be made while Manila was left without defences, and the absolutely unassailable bay of Santiago de Cuba had on the fort which commanded its entrance only useless old guns of a past century, more likely to cause the death of those who attempted to serve them than to injure an enemy? How about the Government that deliberately entered on a war of which the end was perfectly foreseen, and, while seated safely in office at home, thought the "honour of Spain" sufficiently vindicated by offering up its navy, already made useless by neglect and niggardliness, as a sacrifice? Captain Concas Palan points out that even after it was fully recognised that the retention of Cuba was impossible, the worst catastrophes might have been avoided. "In place of treating for peace while the squadron was intact at Santiago, which, as well as Manila, could have been defended for some time, the Ministers waited to sue for peace until everything was lost, while it was perfectly well known beforehand that that result was inevitable." During the whole time, maÑana veremos was the rule of action—a to-morrow that never was to dawn for those whose lives it was intended to sacrifice. Heaven works no miracles for those who fling themselves against the impossible!

So long ago as 1823, Thomas Jefferson wrote to President Monroe: "The addition of the island of Cuba to our Confederacy is exactly what is wanted to round our power as a nation to the point of its utmost interest." John Quincy Adams went so far as to state that "Cuba gravitates to the United States as the apple yet hanging on its native trunk gravitates to the earth which sustains it"—a statement which has the more force when it is remembered that for over fifty years the Cuban insurgents had been liberally supplied with arms, ammunition, stores, and troops from the United States whenever they required them! And this, not because Cuba was mismanaged by Spain, but because America coveted her as "the most interesting addition that could be made to our system of States," to quote Jefferson once more.

Nevertheless, the heroic sons of Spain were offered up as an expiation for the sins of her political jugglers for generations past. With the knowledge that America had at least for seventy years been seeking an excuse for "rounding her power as a nation" by the seizure of Cuba, no real effort was made to redress the grievances of her native population, nor to efficiently defend her coasts.

The state of affairs in Manila was still worse. The culpable neglect of the Government had resulted in the so-called squadron not being possessed of one single ship of modern construction or armament; and when the unfortunate marines and their heroic commanders had been immolated by the overwhelming superiority in numbers and efficiency of the Americans, the noisy injustice and anger of a senseless crowd at home were allowed to compass the lasting disgrace of casting the blame for the foreseen disasters on Admiral Montojo, who was thrown as a victim to the jackals.

To-day, we find Spain absolutely without a navy. Two second- or third-class ships—and they not even properly found or armed—are all she possesses. Men she has, however, with the traditions of a great past, while the officers of her navy are thoroughly alive to the class of ships and the armament which are needed to give their country the protection, and their foreign policy the dignity, which other countries of far less importance are able to sustain. No wonder that her writers are pointing out that instead of being satisfied with immense long-winded despatches and notes, couched in grandiloquent language, which Spanish Foreign Ministers seem to think amply sufficient, strong nations have a habit of sending an iron-clad, or two or three cruisers to back up their demands, and that no other European country but Spain thinks it safe or wise to leave her coasts and her commerce entirely without protection in case of a European war breaking out. Will the nation itself take the matter in hand, and in this, as in so many other matters, advance in spite of its Government? If it waits for the political seesaw by which both parties avoid responsibility, there will be small chance of a navy. The same ministry is in power to-day which landed the country in the Spanish-American War, and it would seem as if the nation considers it the best it can produce. MaÑana veremos?

[1] La Escuadra del Almirante Cervera, por Victor M. Concas Palan.