﻿THE 
  LAND 
  OF 
  THE 
  BASQUES 
  

  

  Home 
  of 
  a 
  Thrifty, 
  Picturesque 
  People, 
  Who 
  Take 
  Pride 
  

   in 
  the 
  Sobriquet, 
  "The 
  Yankees 
  of 
  Spain" 
  

  

  By 
  Harry 
  A. 
  McBride 
  

  

  SPANISH 
  trains, 
  except 
  on 
  the 
  few 
  

   important 
  direct 
  routes, 
  have 
  little 
  

   ways 
  and 
  mannerisms 
  all 
  their 
  own. 
  

   My 
  first 
  experience 
  was 
  on 
  the 
  corrco 
  

   from 
  Barcelona 
  to 
  Bilbao, 
  an 
  express 
  

   scheduled 
  to 
  leave 
  at 
  five 
  in 
  the 
  morning 
  

   and 
  to 
  arrive 
  at 
  eight 
  in 
  the 
  morning 
  of 
  

   the 
  following 
  day 
  ; 
  also 
  an 
  express 
  that 
  

   carried 
  no 
  sleeping-car. 
  

  

  The 
  journey 
  was 
  scarcely 
  begun 
  when 
  

   it 
  became 
  evident 
  that 
  the 
  ordinary 
  rail- 
  

   way 
  means 
  of 
  transportation 
  on 
  the 
  

   Peninsula 
  offered 
  an 
  excellent 
  opportu- 
  

   nity 
  to 
  sit 
  and 
  think 
  and 
  to 
  smoke 
  cigar- 
  

   ettes. 
  In 
  America 
  we 
  have 
  one 
  car 
  where 
  

   smoking 
  is 
  indulged 
  in, 
  but 
  in 
  Spain 
  there 
  

   is 
  only 
  one 
  car 
  set 
  aside 
  where 
  "to 
  smoke 
  

   is 
  prohibited," 
  and 
  that 
  car 
  is 
  as 
  often 
  as 
  

   not 
  empty. 
  

  

  This 
  express 
  made 
  slightly 
  more 
  than 
  

   fifteen 
  miles 
  an 
  hour, 
  and 
  halted 
  at 
  in- 
  

   numerable 
  stations 
  where 
  the 
  neat 
  little 
  

   brick 
  station-houses, 
  almost 
  exactly 
  alike 
  

   in 
  construction, 
  were 
  the 
  only 
  signs 
  of 
  

   human 
  habitation. 
  I 
  suppose 
  there 
  must 
  

   have 
  been 
  a 
  little 
  town 
  or 
  village 
  not 
  

   more 
  than 
  one, 
  or 
  two, 
  or 
  three 
  miles 
  

   away; 
  but 
  Spanish 
  railways 
  are 
  expert 
  

   in 
  the 
  matter 
  of 
  successfully 
  dodging 
  the 
  

   towns 
  and 
  stopping 
  in 
  a 
  field 
  at 
  a 
  very 
  

   safe 
  distance, 
  the 
  locomotoras, 
  as 
  it 
  were, 
  

   having 
  not 
  yet 
  become 
  city-broken. 
  

  

  At 
  each 
  stop 
  there 
  was 
  plenty 
  of 
  time 
  

   to 
  get 
  out, 
  light 
  a 
  fresh 
  cigarette, 
  and 
  

   take 
  quite 
  a 
  promenade, 
  while 
  the 
  engi- 
  

   neer 
  renewed 
  his 
  acquaintance 
  with 
  the 
  

   hangers-on 
  at 
  the 
  station 
  and 
  gave 
  them 
  

   all 
  the 
  latest 
  Barcelona 
  gossip. 
  

  

  THE 
  LEISURELINESS 
  OF 
  SPANISH 
  TRAINS 
  

  

  DEMONSTRATED 
  

  

  A 
  picturesque 
  touch 
  at 
  many 
  stations 
  

   was 
  the 
  pair 
  of 
  Guard 
  i-as 
  Civiles 
  standing 
  

   stolidly 
  by, 
  carbines 
  at 
  their 
  side, 
  gravely 
  

   overlooking 
  the 
  throng, 
  in 
  their 
  Napo- 
  

   leonesque 
  uniforms 
  — 
  triangular 
  hat 
  of 
  

   polished 
  black 
  leather, 
  gray 
  tunic, 
  with 
  

   "Sam 
  Brown" 
  of 
  white, 
  a 
  wide 
  yellow 
  

  

  belt, 
  and 
  gray 
  trousers. 
  This 
  anti-bandit 
  

   rural 
  police 
  is 
  one 
  of 
  the 
  most 
  efficient 
  

   and 
  laudable 
  institutions 
  of 
  Spain. 
  

  

  After 
  something 
  like 
  two 
  dozen 
  of 
  these 
  

   stations 
  had 
  been 
  safely 
  negotiated 
  and 
  

   the 
  stops 
  becoming 
  longer 
  and 
  longer 
  in 
  

   duration, 
  it 
  became 
  evident 
  that 
  we 
  were 
  

   dropping 
  considerably 
  behind 
  our 
  sched- 
  

   ule. 
  I 
  asked 
  a 
  fellow-traveler 
  if 
  we 
  were 
  

   likely 
  to 
  make 
  up 
  the 
  lost 
  time. 
  The 
  

   question 
  seemed 
  to 
  daze 
  him; 
  then 
  he 
  

   said: 
  

  

  "Pues 
  no, 
  hombre, 
  claro 
  que 
  no 
  ; 
  pero 
  

   que 
  importa 
  eso." 
  Quite 
  so; 
  inconceiv- 
  

   able 
  that 
  there 
  could 
  be 
  any 
  importance 
  

   attached 
  to 
  such 
  a 
  small 
  matter. 
  

  

  At 
  last 
  we 
  had 
  managed 
  to 
  become 
  six 
  

   hours 
  behind 
  time, 
  and 
  then 
  the 
  engineer 
  

   evidently 
  became 
  thoroughly 
  discouraged, 
  

   for 
  it 
  was 
  announced 
  that 
  we 
  should 
  ar- 
  

   rive 
  at 
  Saragossa 
  at 
  about 
  19 
  o'clock; 
  

   that 
  this 
  train 
  would 
  be 
  taken 
  off 
  there, 
  

   and 
  that 
  the 
  passengers 
  could 
  proceed 
  by 
  

   the 
  first 
  train 
  on 
  the 
  following 
  day 
  if 
  

   they 
  felt 
  so 
  disposed. 
  

  

  THE 
  BASQUE 
  PROVINCES 
  RESEMBLE 
  AN- 
  

   OTHER 
  WORLD 
  

  

  The 
  next 
  day 
  we 
  ran 
  out 
  of 
  Aragon 
  

   and 
  Navarre 
  into 
  another 
  world, 
  the 
  

   Basque 
  provinces 
  — 
  more 
  hilly, 
  more 
  in- 
  

   dustrious, 
  more 
  modern 
  — 
  the 
  New 
  Eng- 
  

   land 
  of 
  Spain. 
  Even 
  the 
  train 
  picked 
  up 
  

   spirit 
  and 
  arrived 
  at 
  each 
  succeeding 
  little 
  

   station 
  punctually, 
  according 
  to 
  the 
  un- 
  

   failing 
  station 
  clock. 
  

  

  In 
  the 
  real 
  Spanish 
  provinces 
  the 
  peas- 
  

   ants 
  met 
  on 
  the 
  highway 
  never 
  fail 
  to 
  

   greet 
  the 
  traveler 
  with 
  the 
  salutation 
  : 
  

  

  "Vaya 
  Ud. 
  con 
  Dios." 
  

  

  This 
  is 
  a 
  century-old 
  request 
  to 
  God 
  

   to 
  be 
  with 
  you 
  on 
  your 
  way. 
  In 
  the 
  

   Basque 
  provinces, 
  however, 
  it 
  is 
  changed 
  

   to 
  a 
  brisk 
  "Buenos"; 
  they 
  are 
  so 
  modern 
  

   that 
  they 
  even 
  abbreviate 
  "good-day." 
  

   and 
  say 
  only 
  the 
  first 
  half 
  of 
  it. 
  

  

  The 
  "Vascongados/' 
  as 
  the 
  Spaniards 
  

   call 
  them, 
  or 
  the 
  "Kuskaldunae," 
  as 
  they 
  

  

  63 
  

  

  