MATAMOROS'S RELEASE FROM PRISON
IN a memorandum which our brother has left among his papers we find some interesting notes on the manner of his release from his long confinement at Granada, which we give in his own words:—
“In the month of May, 1863, I was sentenced to nine years at the galleys. It was afterward thought that this sentence might be changed into nine years of banishment. My own wish was not to have any alteration at all in the original sentence, nor to ask for pardon from Queen Isabella. An excellent friend to me and my work in Spain wrote to me some months before, saying, ' You ought not to ask for anything, nor to admit of any alteration in the sentence pronounced, as you have been now finally sentenced to the galleys,' and my own sentiments on the matter were entirely in accordance with this advice. Nevertheless, the general opinion of my friends was of a contrary nature. All wished that I should accept the commutation of the sentence, so when the royal order was communicated to me I accepted the matter, so as not to place myself in opposition to my friends' wishes and not to prejudice my dear fellow prisoners.
“The immediate consequence of this commutation in the sentence was that my liberation from the prison of Granada took place at five o'clock in the morning of the 29th May, 1863, and I was accompanied by the Sergeant of the Civil Guard, Antonio Perez Oriviola. My journey from Granada to Malaga I accomplished by the diligence, accompanied by Trigo, Alhama, and their two daughters, and by the wife of the former. The conditions that the Sergeant of the Civil Guard fixed before consenting to allow us to travel by diligence were:—First. That a carriage should take us from the gates of the prison to the distance of half a league from the town, and that another should wait outside Malaga, so as to prevent any public manifestations in either of these towns. Second. That we must take all the seats in the diligence. Third. That I should pay for the seats of the Civil Guard to Malaga and back to Granada. Fourth. That once in the diligence I must not get out before arriving at Malaga, and if I was hungry I must eat in the diligence. Fifth. That none of the public papers of Granada, or of any other part of Spain, should mention about our deliverance. Such were the principal conditions, and there were other unimportant ones not added.
We arrived at Malaga at half-past seven o'clock the same evening. The Sergeant of the Civil Guard behaved very well to us, showing us much attention. He appeared to be a worthy and educated man, never unnecessarily displaying his authority, but doing all in his power to be agreeable to us, and at the mime time to fulfill his obligations. Indeed, on the whole he appeared to sympathize with us. We arrived safely, but dreadfully tired. Nothing important happened by the way, with the exception of the conduct of the last guard we had when entering into Malaga, who was drunk and was very impertinent to us; but this was of small importance.”
After sleeping at the prison of Malaga they proceeded to Gibraltar, according to orders received from Madrid. From the same paper we extract the following: —
“At four o'clock in the evening the public prison of Malaga was filled with police. The commissary and the turnkeys were waiting for us. Our sortie from the prison was managed with much prudence on the part of the authorities. We were each one of us led to the port by a single policeman, and each one through a different street in the town of Malaga, and thus arrived at the place where we were to embark. The Mole was filled with people; many were waiting for us there. The boat left the shore at six in the evening, and I left my beloved Malaga; but oh, how my heart bled as I left the shore of my fatherland!
“At nine o'clock in the evening the ship of war Alerta,' in which we were, started on her way to Gibraltar. They gave us good places on board, and during the journey we received many kind attentions. We arrived at Gibraltar on the 31st of May, at nine in the morning.”
After passing a few days there he determined on visiting England, and embarked for London on the 22nd June, 1863, at an early hour of the morning. Of this he says: —
“The first day on board I passed tolerably, but on the second I found myself unwell from head to foot, and with this many sorrowful recollections came into my mind, as well as lamentable meditations and impressions, making my fatiguing journey sadder still. Yes, but all this was necessary; it was indispensable to sacrifice all, all, all, for that holy work, the evangelization of Spain, for the temporal and spiritual wants of my dear friends, and in connection with everything that had to do with my poor and unfortunate country.”
After a rough passage along the coast of Spain and Portugal, they experienced finer weather across the Bay of Biscay, but nevertheless he appears to have suffered much. He adds: —
“Finally we came in sight of England. What joy! what profound delight for all the Englishmen on board 1 The most unspeakable delight was painted on the countenance of each one, and they all, as if drunk with pleasure, came to point me out that speck of land that loomed in the distance, exclaiming, ' England! England!’ We gradually neared the shore. I had formed a very unfavorable idea of the vegetation of England, fancying that it was poor and feeble; but my surprise was great when I discerned from the vessel that, on the contrary, it was luxuriant, healthy, and very lovely. On entering a little further inland we saw the country more clearly. It was the Isle of Wight; and now for the first time I saw an English town. On the 30th June we reached the mouth of the Thames. What a lovely aspect presented itself before me; what a delightful impression it made on my mind; and what poetry filled my soul on that beautiful morning! As we proceeded up the river the stream became narrower, and every turn brought before us something agreeable to look upon.”
At length our dear brother arrived in London, and remained there about a fortnight. His reception was, unfortunately, very far from what his true friends wished to give him, but all was permitted by Him who giveth not account of any of His matters.
We cannot look back to this period of dear Manuel's history without feeling that the fire of persecution was hotter—or, at least, the fogs of intolerance and misunderstanding were darker and heavier around him at this time—than ever before. It is a mournful page in the history of our English Christianity, and we gladly turn it over, leaving to Him who hath said "There is nothing hid that shall not be revealed," to show in his own good time how pure and single-eyed was dear Manuel in all his dealings, and also how severely he suffered at the hands of some from whom he expected love and support.