Search America's historic newspaper pages from 1756-1963 or use the U.S. Newspaper Directory to find information about American newspapers published between 1690-present. Chronicling America is sponsored jointly by the National Endowment for the Humanities external link and the Library of Congress. Learn more
Image provided by: Library of Virginia; Richmond, VA
Newspaper Page Text
PEREGRINE PAPERS By Rev. W. H. T. Squires, D. D. I. Romeo and Juliet. AMONG THE AZORES. The Next Day We Float e?l in a Veritable Paradise. I had noticed her on deck, from time to time, as we tossed over the weltering waves of the wide Atlantic. She was a queenly matron of those calmer days which follow the ardent years of youth. The beautiful girl who trav eled with her must be her daughter, I thought. Alas, how near the truth my guess, and how far! Not until the afternoon of the last day she was aboard did I speak with her. The Azores began to unfold from the mists on our eastern horizon. I thought the whitish banks above the violet sea masses of deceptive clouds, hang ing low. She volunteered the opinion, in th.? enthusiasm of the moment, that it was land and a glad sight, too, for sea-wearied eyes. Ami she was right. IIow did she know? Why ire women always right, provokingly right, when they argue with men? The young lady went into raptures over Mount Pica. And she had reason. All of us joined in her superlatives. "The magnificent mountain is 7.613 feet high," I volunteered. "Men do know something, after all," she said with a bewitching smile. "Now how did you know that?" "Oh, Baedeker the Blessed told me. lie is my bosom companion," I replied. "But I will make one original remark. Pica, a perfect cone, sweeping toward heaven with symmetri cally graceful curves, looks like the pictures of Fujiyama, the sacred mountain of Japan ? though only about half as high." Conversation died, for the barren, rocky slopes of the mountain took on all the hues of a maple leaf bitten by the keen frosts of a Canadian autumn. From deep, royal purple, where the white waves lashed the naked rocks at its base, through all shades and tints of violet and crimson to a crown of pure gold, shining against the deep blue of the sky, Pica was touched with heavenly glory by the low, descending sun. Ah. all the tedium and toss ing of a weary week was lost to memory be fore the sunset glory of Mount Pica ! "I am so glad to reach Horta," said the lady. "My son Guy is vice-consul there, lie does not know we are coming. Tomorrow is his birthday. He will be twenty-four. Is not this an adventure for an old woman like me? We will walk, unannounced, iuto his otiice to morrow morning and ask for an interview !" She laughed a low, musical laugh. "Your speech betraveth you," 1 answered. '"The way you pronunce ' Guy ' convinces me that you are a Virginia." "Well, what if I am? I am not ashamed of it. I hope. 1 am from Richmond." The indescribable accent with which she said " Rich mond" amused me. It was so familiar. "It seems to me that I once heard of Rich mond." I replied. "It is a small, inland town about UK) miles west of Norfolk, is it not* Ami the young lady is your daughter. Guy will welcome his lovely sister, no doubt ? so will all the gay, young blades of Horta, I'll wager." "She is not my (laughter ? yet." There was an unmistakable significance in the adverb. "A romance! A Virginian romance culmi nating joyously und^r the amethystine shad ows of Pica!" I cried with delight. "Yes, they have been sweethearts since they attended John Marshall together." "Attended .John Marshall ?"1 asked in sur prise, "Why the great jurist has been in his grave a century, and the girl doesn't look a day over twenty." "You are stupid," she retorted with spirit, "or you think I am. I refer to the Richmond High School, and you know it." Our vessel was surrounded now by a multi tude of row boats and launches of all sizes and descriptions. The energetic Portuguese were shouting to those upon dnck to come down and be rowed ashore. As soon as pos sible I offered myself, a willing victim, and was soon upon the streets of the quaint, little town. Even in the darkn?ss one could feel the for eign influence. Tiny kerosene lamps at the street corners seemed to make the darkness denser. The streets are but lanes, roughly paved with cobblestones. Stuccoed houses stand stiffly against the narrow sidewalks. The men wear jaunty Spanish costumes; the wo men great, black cloaks, with immense hoods supported over their heads. They look like huge question-marks. Soldiers are everywhere. The Portuguese republic is young, and in a precarious condi tion. Three gentlemen left their wine in answer to my question addressed them first in Eng lish, then in French. The post-office was just ahead on the same street, impossible to miss it. Two squares further along I saw Juliet, an adorable type of Portuguese beauty. She stood on a balcony, a dream of loveliness in silk and lace, the light streaming over her shoulders from the wide French windows. Romeo stood in the street below. He was so handsome 1 did not blame Juliet. And she was so lovely, I could but envy Romeo. His suit was cut in the most approved American fashion. Her father was sitting in the parlor, read ing the news,' all unconscious of the detail he made in the interesting scene. The lovers talked in whispers, for the gallery was just above Romeo's head. They saw my interest, and Romeo stepped back into the deeper shadow of the wall. I had not the heart to interrupt so fair a ro mance, so I waved a blessing to them and passed on, letter in hand. When I returned, a few minutes later, I watched for the house. Romeo had a ladder against the wall. Juliet descended and, with the ladder under one arm and the girl under the other, he retreated hastily into the dark ness of a side street. Gladly would I have tarried in the quaint, little town, but I feared our ship might leave, so I returned to the waiting pirates and was soon on deck again. Our ship gave a long, wierd whistle that sounded like a groan of agony. As she hoisted her anchors a steam launch thrust its nose under her bulkheads. The stairs were lowered, and a girl and man climbed aboard. Bless my heart, it was Ro meo and .Juliet. They hurried to their state room, we cleared the harbor, and stood to ward Porta del Qarda, the metropolis of the Azores, a day's journey eastward. N '\t day we floated in a veritable fairyland; schools of whales sent up fountains of salt spray, sharks could be seen at rare intervals, and poi poses all the time. The islands are a paradise for birds of varied and gorgeous plumage. For miles the farms, orchards and villages, the mountains and valleys were al ways in view. But, as interesting as was this panorama of land and sea, I could not keep my thoughts nor my eyes from Romeo and Juliet. They were so happy,- so radiantly oblivious of all the world besides! As we swung around a sharp promentorv and approached Porta del Garda I had my only opportunity. Romeo was alone, for a moment. He leaned over the rail smoking a cigarette. "It is beautiful," I observed (as a fisher man easts a fly). I wondered whether he could speak English. "Very," he replied. "I thought perhaps you were Portuguese, though you look like an American." "I am an American," laconically. "You are a man of good taste. May I of fer my congratulations. You put it over well. I wonder if Dad is still reading the news?" He started, frowned, then decided to make the best of it, and smiled. "You seem a right wise guy!" I started in my turn and looked at him nar rowly. "You are a Virginian." "What business is that of yours?" "It is none of my business. I never inter fere with the affairs of other people. I have no desire to intrude upon yours, but I know something that I think you ought to know." "I never laid eyes on you before in my life," he retorted, "and I cannot imagine how you could know anything of my private affairs." "Oh, yes you have laid eyes on me. I waved to you last night while your bride hung over the balcony." "Was that really you? I had forgotten the incident." "This is your birthday. You are twenty four today." "You are a wizard." "Not at all. You are from Richmond. You were educated at the John Marshall High School. Nor were you the only person educa ted there. The school is co-educational. There were many pretty girls ? one in particular, to whom you were engaged when you became vice-consul at Ilorta. Your name is Guy." His astonishment was obvious. His cheek flushed. He said not a word, but smoked hard.