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 L60 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