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At the Point of the Sword

by Herbert Hayens · English · Gutenberg #22595 · 553,328 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: At the Point of the Sword

Author: Herbert Hayens


        
Release date: September 14, 2007 [eBook #22595]
                Most recently updated: January 2, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22595

Credits: Produced by Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AT THE POINT OF THE SWORD ***




Produced by Al Haines










[Frontispiece: "In a short time they had bound our arms tightly with
strips of hide."]

[Transcriber's note: frontispiece missing from book.]






At the Point of the Sword


A Story for Boys


By

HERBERT HAYENS



  Author of "Ye Mariners of England," "Under the Lone Star,"
  "For the Colours," "A Captain of Irregulars,"
  "In the Grip of the Spaniard,"
  &c., &c.




THOMAS NELSON & SONS, LTD.

LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK

1903




CONTENTS.


      I.  A BIRTHDAY EVE
     II.  AN EXCITING VOYAGE
    III.  THE END OF THE "AGUILA"
     IV.  THE SILVER KEY
      V.  IN THE HIDDEN VALLEY
     VI.  WE LEAVE THE HIDDEN VALLEY
    VII.  WHOM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG
   VIII.  A FRIENDLY OPPONENT
     IX.  A GLEAM OF HOPE
      X.  A STORMY INTERVIEW
     XI.  A NARROW ESCAPE
    XII.  A STERN PURSUIT
   XIII.  HOME AGAIN
    XIV.  FRIEND OR FOE?
     XV.  WE CATCH A TARTAR
    XVI.  GLORIOUS NEWS
   XVII.  DUTY FIRST
  XVIII.  DARK DAYS
    XIX.  FALSE PLAY, OR NOT?
     XX.  "SAVE HIM, JUAN, SAVE HIM!"
    XXI.  ROUGH JUSTICE
   XXII.  THE "SILVER KEY" AGAIN
  XXIII.  AN OPEN-AIR PRISON
   XXIV.  A DANGEROUS JOURNEY
    XXV.  BACK TO DUTY
   XXVI.  THE HUSSARS OF JUNIN
  XXVII.  A DISASTROUS RETREAT
 XXVIII.  THE BATTLE OF THE GENERALS
   XXIX.  HOME AGAIN




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


"IN A SHORT TIME THEY HAD BOUND OUR ARMS TIGHTLY
  WITH STRIPS OF HIDE" . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

"'HELP, HELP!' I EXCLAIMED FAINTLY; BUT HE HEARD ME,
  AND I KNEW I WAS SAVED."

"PUSHING OFF HIS SANDY BED-CLOTHES AT OUR APPROACH,
  HE STRUGGLED TO HIS FEET."

"'SAVE HIM, JUAN, SAVE HIM!'"

"HE GLANCED CONTEMPTUOUSLY AT THE GIGANTIC SORILLO."

"'A SOLDIER FROM AYACUCHO!  HERE IS ONE OF OUR BRAVE
  DELIVERERS!'"




AT THE POINT OF THE SWORD.


CHAPTER I.

A BIRTHDAY EVE.

In spite of my English name--Jack Crawford--and my English blood, I
have never set foot on that famous little island in the North Sea, and
now it is quite unlikely that I ever shall do so.

I was born in Peru, on the outskirts of beautiful Lima, where, until
the year 1819, on the very eve of my fourteenth birthday, the days of
my childhood were passed.

I expect you know that in ancient days Peru was called the "Land of the
Sun," because the sun was worshipped by the natives.  Their great city
was Cuzco, built, it is said, in 1043 A.D., by Manco Capac, the first
of the Incas, or Emperors of Peru.

The natives believed Manco to be a child of the sun; but I have heard
an old story that his father was a shipwrecked Englishman, who married
the daughter of a Peruvian chief.  I do not think this tale correct,
but it is full of interest.

Most of the Incas ruled very wisely, and the remains of palaces,
temples, and aqueducts show that the people were highly civilized; but
in 1534 the Spaniards, under Pizarro, invaded the country, and swept
away the glorious empire of the Incas.

After that Peru became a part of Spanish America, and Pizarro founded
the city of Lima, which he made the capital.

My father, who settled in the country when quite a young man, married a
Peruvian lady of wealthy and influential family.  The estate near Lima
formed part of her marriage portion, and a beautiful place it was, with
a fine park, and a lake which served me both for boating and bathing.
I had several friends, chiefly Spaniards, but two English boys, whose
fathers were merchants in Callao, often visited me, and many a pleasant
game we had together.

At this time Peru was a Spanish colony, but some people, among whom was
my father, wanted to make it an independent country, having its own
ruler.  Being still a boy, I did not hear much of these things, though,
from certain talk, I understood that the country was in a most
unsettled state, and that the Spanish governor had thrown many good men
into prison for urging the people to free themselves.

One evening, in March 1819, I was busy in my workshop painting a small
boat.  My father had been absent for nearly a week, but he had promised
to return for my birthday, and every moment I expected to see him
crossing the courtyard.

Presently, hearing old Antonio unfasten the wicket-gate, I put down my
brush, wiped my hands, and ran out joyously.

The happy welcome died on my lips.  It was not my father who had
entered, but Rosa Montilla, the young daughter of a famous Spanish
officer.  She was nearly a year younger than myself, and a frequent
visitor at our house.  Often we had gone together for a row on the
lake, or for a gallop on our ponies round the park.

She was very pretty, with deep blue eyes and fair hair, quite unlike
most Spanish girls, and generally full of fun and good spirits.  Now,
however, she was very pale and looked frightened.  I noticed, too, that
she had no covering on her head or shoulders, and that she had not
changed the thin slippers worn in the house.

These things made me curious and uneasy.  I feared some evil had
befallen her father, and knew not how to act.  On seeing me she made a
little run forward, and, bursting into tears, cried, "O Juan, Juan!"
using, as also did my mother, the Spanish form of my name.

Now, being only a boy, and being brought up for the most part among
boys, I was but a clumsy comforter, though I would have done anything
to lessen her grief.

"What is it, Rosa?" I asked; "what has happened?"  But for answer she
could only wring her hands and cry, "O Juan, Juan!"

"Do not cry, Rosa!" I said, and then doing what I should have done in
the first place, led her toward the drawing-room, where my mother was.
"Mother will comfort you.  Tell her all about it," I said confidently,
for it was to my mother I always turned when things went wrong.

On this her tears fell faster, but she came with me, and together we
entered the room.

"Juan!" cried my mother.--"Rosa! what is the matter?  Why are you
crying?  But come to me, darling;" and in another moment she was
pressing the girl to her bosom.

At a sign from her I left the room, but did not go far away.  Rosa's
action was so odd that I waited with impatience to hear the reason.
She must have left her home hurriedly and unobserved, since it was an
unheard-of thing that the daughter of Don Felipe Montilla should be out
on foot and unattended.  I was sure that should her father discover it
he would be greatly annoyed.  The whole affair was so mysterious that I
could make nothing of it.  The girl's sobs were more under control now,
and she began to speak.  As she might not wish me to hear her story, I
walked away, meaning to chat with Antonio at the gate, and to await my
father's return.

He might not come for hours yet, as it was still early evening, but I
hoped he would, and the more so now on Rosa's account.  She might need
help which I was not old enough to give; while, as it chanced, Joseph
Craig, my father's trusty English servant, had gone that afternoon into
Callao.  However, he also might be back at any moment now, and would
not, in any case, be late.

Half an hour had perhaps passed, and I was turning from the gate, when
two horsemen dashed up at full speed.  One was Joseph Craig, or José as
the Spaniards called him, and my feeling of uneasiness returned as I
noticed that his face, too, wore a strange and startled look.

José, as I have said, was my father's servant; but we all regarded him
more as a friend, and treated him as one of ourselves.  He was a
well-built man of medium height, with good features and keen gray eyes.
He spoke English and Spanish fluently, and could make himself
understood in several Indian dialects.  He kept the accounts of the
estate, and might easily have obtained a more lucrative situation in
any counting-house in Callao.  He excelled, too, in outdoor sports, and
had taught me to fence, to shoot, and to ride straight.

The second man I did not know.  He seemed to be an Indian of the
mountains, and was of gigantic stature.  His dress was altogether
different from that of the Spaniards, and in his cap he wore a plume of
feathers.  His face was scarred by more than one sword-cut, his brows
were lowering, and his massive jaw told of great animal strength.
José's horse had galloped fast, but the one ridden by the stranger was
flaked with foam.

Antonio would have opened the big gate without question: but I,
thinking of Rosa, forbade him, saying to José in English, "Does he mean
harm to the girl?"

You see, my head was full of the one idea, and I could think of nothing
else.  I imagined that Rosa had run away from some peril, and that this
man with the savage face and cruel eyes had tracked her to our gate.
So I put the question to José, who looked at me wonderingly.

"The girl?" he repeated slowly; "what girl?"

"Rosa Montilla," I answered.

We spoke in English; but at the mention of Rosa's name the mountaineer
scowled savagely, and leaned forward as if to take part in the
conversation.

"The man has come from the mountains with a message for your mother,"
said José; "I met him at the entrance to the park.  But if Rosa
Montilla is here, the news is known already."

His face was very pale, and he spoke haltingly, as if his words were
burdensome, and there was a look in his eyes which I had never seen
before.

I motioned to Antonio, and the two passed through.  What message did
they bring?  What news could link dainty little Rosa with this wild
outlaw of the hills?

José jumped to the ground and walked with me, laying a hand on my
shoulder.  Until then I had no thought of the truth, but the touch of
his fingers sent a shiver of fear through me, and I looked at his face
in alarm.

"What is it, José?" I asked; "what has happened?  Why did Rosa steal
here alone and sob in my mother's arms as if her heart would break?"

"The little maid has heard bad news," he answered quietly, "though how
I do not know."

"And as she had no mother, she came to mine for comfort," I said.  "It
was a happy thought: mother will make her forget her trouble."

José stopped, and looked searchingly in my face.

"Poor boy!" he said.  "You have no idea of the truth, and how can I
tell you?  The little maid did not weep for her own sorrow, but for
yours and your mother's."

At that I understood without further words, though I was to learn more
soon.  The reason of it I guessed, though not the matter; but I knew
that somewhere my dear father lay dead--killed by order of the Spanish
viceroy.

José saw from my face that I knew, and there was sympathy in the very
touch of his hand.

"It is true," he whispered.  "The Spaniards trapped him in the
mountains, whither he had gone to meet the Indians.  They wished to
rise against the government; but he knew it was madness just now, and
thought to keep them quiet till his own plans were ready."

"And the Spaniards slew him?"

"Yes," replied José simply.  "Here," pointing to the mountaineer, "is
our witness."

"But how did Rosa hear of it? she was not in the mountains.  Ah, I
forgot!  Her father stands high in the viceroy's favour.  And so my
father is dead!"

The thought unnerved me, and I could have cried aloud in my sorrow.

"Hold up your head, boy!" exclaimed the harsh voice of the mountaineer.
"Tears are for women and girls.  Years ago my father's head was cut
off, but I did not cry.  I took my gun and went to the mountains," and
he finished with a bitter laugh.

"But my mother!" I said.  "The news will break her heart."

"The world will not know it," he answered, and he spoke truly.

"I am glad the little maid has told her," remarked José, giving his
horse and that of the stranger to a serving-man.  "Jack, do you go in
and prepare her for our coming."

A single glance showed that Rosa had indeed told her story.  She sat on
a lounge, looking very miserable.  My mother rose and came toward me.
Taking my hands, she clasped them in her own.  She was a very beautiful
woman, famous for her beauty even among the ladies of Lima.  She was
tall and slightly built, with black hair and glorious dark eyes that
shone like stars.  I have heard that at one time she was called the
"Lady of the Stars," and I am not surprised.  They shone now, but all
gentleness had gone from them, and was replaced by a hard, fierce
glitter which half frightened me.  Her cheeks were white, and her lips
bloodless; but as far as could be seen, she had not shed a tear.

Still holding my hands, and looking into my face, she said, "You have
heard the news, Juan?  You know that your father lies dead on the
mountains, slain while carrying a message of peace to the fierce men
who live there?"

I bowed my head, but could utter no sound save the anguished cry of
"Mother, mother!"

"Hush!" she exclaimed; "it is no time for tears now.  I shall weep
later in my own room, but not before the world, Juan.  Our grief is our
own, my son, not the country's.  And there is little Rosa, brave little
Rosa, who came to bring me the news; she must go back.  Let Miguel
bring round the carriage, and see that half a dozen of the men ride in
attendance.  Don Felipe's daughter must have an escort befitting her
father's rank."

I began to speak of the strange visitor outside; but Rosa was her first
care, and she would see no one until Rosa had been attended to.  So I
hurried Miguel, the coachman, and the men who were to ride on either
side of the carriage, returning to the room only when all was ready.

Mother had wrapped Rosa up warmly, and now, kissing her, she said,
"Good-bye, my child.  You were very good to think of me, and I shall
not forget.  Tell your father the truth; he will not mind now."

Rosa kissed my mother in reply, and walked unsteadily to the coach.
She was still sobbing, and the sight of her white face added to my
misery.

"Don't cry, Rosa," said I, as I helped her into the carriage and wished
her good-bye, neither of us having any idea of the strange events which
would happen before we met again.

As soon as the carriage had gone, my mother directed that the stranger
should be admitted, and he came in accompanied by José.  I would have
left the room, but my mother stopped me, saying,--

"No, Juan; your place is here.  An hour ago you were but a thoughtless
boy; now you must learn to be a man.--Señor, you have brought news?
You have come to announce the death of my husband; is it not so?"

The mountaineer bowed almost to the ground.

"It is a sad story, señora, but it will not take long to tell.  The
Spaniards pretended he was stirring up our people to revolt; they
waited for him in the passes, and shot him down like a dog."

"Did you see him fall?"

The fellow's eyes flashed with savage rage.  "Had I been there," he
cried, "not a soldier of them all would have returned to his quarters!
But they shall yet pay for it, señora.  My people are mad to rise.
Only say the word, and send the son of the dead man to ride at their
head, and Lima shall be in flames to-morrow."

My mother made a gesture of dissent.

"Don Eduardo liked not cruelty," she exclaimed; "and it would be but a
poor revenge to slay the innocent.  But Juan shall take his father's
place, and work for his country's freedom.  When the time comes to
strike he shall be ready."

"Before the time comes he will have disappeared," cried the
mountaineer, with a harsh laugh.  "Do you think Don Eduardo's son will
be allowed to live?  Accidents, señora, are common in Peru!"

"It is true," remarked José; "Juan will never be out of danger."

"But the country is not ready for revolt, and only harm can come from a
rising now.  Should the Indians leave their mountain homes, the trained
soldiers will annihilate them."

"But Juan must be saved!"

"Yes," assented my mother; "we must save Juan to take his father's
place."

After this there was silence for a time.  Then José spoke, "There is
one way," said he slowly.  "He can find a refuge in Chili till San
Martin is ready; but he must go at once."

A spasm of fresh pain shot across my mother's face, but it disappeared
instantly; even with this added grief she would not let people know how
she suffered.  Only as her hand rested on mine I felt it tremble.

"Let it be so, José," she said simply.  "I leave it to you."

Then she thanked the mountaineer who had ridden so far to break the
terrible news to her, and the two men went away, leaving us two
together.

"Mother," I said, "must I really leave you?"

For answer she clasped me in her arms and kissed my face passionately.

"But you will come back, my boy!" she cried; "you will come back.  Now
that your father is no more, you are my only hope, the only joy of my
life.  O Juan, Juan! it is hard to let you go; but José is right--there
is no other way.  I will be brave, dear, and wait patiently for your
return.  Follow in your father's footsteps.  Do the right, and fear not
whatever may happen; be brave and gentle, and filled with love for your
country, even as he was.  Keep his memory green in your heart, and you
cannot stray from the path of honour."

"I will try, mother."

"And if--if we never meet again, my boy, I will try to be brave too."

She wiped away the tears which veiled like a mist the brilliance of her
starry eyes, and we sat quietly in the darkening room, while outside
José was making preparations for our immediate departure.

At last he knocked at the door, and without a tremor in her voice she
bade him enter.

"The horses are saddled, señora."

"Yes; and your plan, what is it?" she asked.

"It is very simple, señora.  Juan and I will ride straight to Mr.
Warren at Callao.  He may have a vessel bound for Valparaiso; if not,
he will find us one for my master's sake.  Once at sea, we shall be out
of danger.  General San Martin will give us welcome, and there are many
Peruvians in his army."

Once my mother's wonderful nerve nearly failed her.  "You will take
care of him, José," she said brokenly.

"I will guard him with my life, señora!"

"I know it, I am sure of it; and some day yon will bring him back to
me.  God will reward you, José.--Good-bye, Juan, my boy.  Oh how
reluctant I am to let you go!"

I will not dwell on the sadness of that parting.  The horses were
waiting in the courtyard, and after the last fond embrace I mounted.

"Good-bye, mother!"

"Farewell, my boy.  God keep you!" and as we moved away I saw her white
handkerchief fluttering through the gloom.

At the gate the Indian waited for us, and he followed a few paces in
the rear.

I thought this strange, and asked José about it.

"It may be well to have a friend to guard our backs," he replied.

So in the gathering darkness I stole away from my home, with my heart
sore for my father's death and my mother's suffering.  And it was the
eve of my birthday--the eve of the day to which I had looked forward
with such delight!

Being so young, I did not really understand the peril that surrounded
me; but my faith in José was strong, and I felt confident that in
taking me away he was acting for the best.

Our path through the park led us near the lake, and I glanced
sorrowfully at its calm waters and fern-fringed border.  I would have
liked to linger a moment at its margin, dwelling on past joys; but José
hurried me on, remarking there was no time to waste.

Only, as the great gates swung open, he let me stop, so that I might
bid a silent adieu to the beautiful home where my happy days of
childhood had been passed.

"Keep a brave heart," said he kindly; "we shall be back some day.  And
now for a word of advice.  Ride carefully and keep your eyes open.  I
don't want to frighten you, but the sooner we're clear of Lima the
better I shall be pleased."

With that he put spurs to his horse, and with the clanging of the gate
in our ears we rode off on the road to Callao, while the gigantic
Indian followed about twenty paces behind.




CHAPTER II.

AN EXCITING VOYAGE.

It may be that José's fears on my account had exaggerated the danger,
as we reached Callao without interruption, and dismounted outside Mr.
Warren's villa.  Here the Indian took leave of us, but before going he
unfastened a silver key from the chain round his neck, and pressed it
into my hand.

"It may happen," said he, "that at some time or other you will need
help.  That key and the name of Raymon Sorillo will obtain it for you
from every patriot in the mountains of Peru.  For the present,
farewell.  When you return from Chili we shall meet again."

Without waiting for my thanks he bade adieu to José and then, spurring
his horse into a gallop, he disappeared.

From the man who opened the gate in answer to our summons we learned
that my father's friend was at home, and leaving our horses, we went
immediately into the house.  This English merchant had often been our
guest, and it was soon abundantly evident that we had done right in
trusting him.  He was a short, round-faced man, with a florid
complexion, twinkling eyes, and sandy hair.  He was very restless and
irritable, and had a queer habit of twiddling his thumbs backward and
forward whenever his hands were unoccupied.

"How do, Joseph?" exclaimed he, jumping up.  "Come to take that berth I
offered you?  No?  Well, well, what a fool a man can be if he tries!
Why, bless me, this is young Jack Crawford!  Eight miles from home, and
at this time of night too!  Anything the matter?  Get it out, Joseph,
and don't waste time."

While Joseph was explaining the circumstances, the choleric little man
danced about the room, exclaiming at intervals, "Ted Crawford gone?
Dear, dear!  Not a better fellow in South America!  I'd shoot 'em all
or string 'em up!  The country's going to the dogs, and a man isn't
safe in his own house!  Eh?  What?  Hurt the boy?  What's the boy to do
with it?  They can't punish him if his father had been fifty times a
rebel!"

"That is so, sir," remarked José; "but he might meet with an
unfortunate accident, or vanish mysteriously, or something of that
kind.  What's the use of making believe?  Those who have got rid of the
father won't spare the son, should he happen to stand in their way."

"Which he will," interrupted Mr. Warren.  "My poor friend was hand in
glove with the Indians, and they'll rally round the boy."

"There are other things, too, which need not be gone into now,
however," said José; "but the long and the short of it is that Jack
must be got out of the way at present."

"And his mother?"

"She has sent him to you."

"But he can't be hidden here.  The rascally Dons will have him in the
casemates before one can say 'Jack Robinson!'"

"We don't mean to stay here, sir," replied José.  "Our idea is to go to
Valparaiso, and we thought if you had a ship--"

"The very thing, Joseph," and the thumbs went backward and forward
taster than ever.  "Maxwell has a schooner leaving in the morning.  You
can go on board to-night if you choose, but you had better have some
supper first."

As it happened, both José and I had been some time without food, so we
were glad to have something to eat; after which Mr. Warren took us to
the quay, where the schooner _Aguila_ lay moored.

"There she is," he remarked; "let us go aboard.  Most likely we shall
find Maxwell there.--Hi, you fellows, show a light!--Lazy dogs, aren't
they?  Mind your foot there, and don't tumble into the harbour; you
won't get to Valparaiso that way.--That you, Maxwell?  I have brought a
couple of friends who are so charmed with your boat that they want to
make a trip in her.  Where do you keep your cabin?  Let's go down
there; we can't talk on deck."

Mr. Maxwell was another English merchant at Callao, and as soon as he
heard what had happened, he readily agreed to give us a passage in the
_Aguila_.  We must be prepared to rough it, he said.  The schooner had
no accommodation for passengers, but she was a sound boat, and the
Chilian skipper was a trustworthy sailor.  Then he sent to his
warehouse for some extra provisions, and afterwards introduced us to
the captain, whose name was Montevo.

As the schooner was to sail at daylight, our friends remained with us,
and, sitting in the dingy cabin, chatted with José about the state of
the country.  By listening to the talk I learned that General San
Martin was a great soldier from Buenos Ayres, who, having overthrown
the Spanish power in Chili, was collecting an army with which to drive
the Spanish rulers from Peru.  At the same time another leader, General
Bolivar, was freeing the northern provinces, and it was thought that
the two generals, joining their forces, would sweep Peru from north to
south.

"And a good thing, too!" exclaimed Mr. Warren.  "Perhaps we shall have
a little peace then!"

"Pooh! stuff!" said his friend; "things will be worse than ever!  These
people can't rule themselves.  They're like disorderly schoolboys, and
need a firm master who knows how to use the birch.  I am all for a
stern master."

"So am I," agreed José, "if he's just, which the Spaniards aren't."

"That is so," cried Mr. Warren.  "What would our property be worth if
it wasn't for the British frigate lying in the harbour?  Tell me that,
Maxwell; tell me that, sir!  They'd confiscate the whole lot, and clap
us into prison for being paupers," and the thumbs revolved like the
sails of a windmill.

So the talk continued until daybreak, when the skipper, knocking at the
cabin door, informed us that the schooner was ready to sail; so we all
went on deck, where the kindly merchants bade us good-bye, and hoped we
should have a pleasant voyage.

"Keep the youngster out of mischief, Joseph.  There's plenty of food
for powder without using him," were Mr. Warren's last words as he
stepped ashore, followed by his friend.

It was the first time I had been on board a ship, and I knew absolutely
nothing of what the sailors were doing; but presently the boat began to
move, the merchants, waving their hands, shouted a last good-bye, and
very quickly we passed to the outer harbour.

I have been in many dangers and suffered numerous hardships since then,
some of which are narrated in this book, but I have never felt quite so
wretched and miserable as on the morning of our departure from Callao.

Wishing to divert my thoughts, José pointed out the beauties of the bay
and the shore; but my gaze went far inland--to the lonely home where my
mother sat with her grief, to the mighty cordillera where my father lay
dead.  Time softened the pain, and brought back the pleasures of life,
but just then it seemed as if I should never laugh or sing or be merry
again.

The first day or two on the _Aguila_ did not tend to make me more
cheerful, though the skipper did what he could to make us comfortable.
We slept in a dirty little box, which was really the mate's cabin, and
had our meals, or at least José had, at the captain's table.

By degrees, however, my sickness wore off, and on the fourth morning I
began to take an interest in things.  By this time the land was out of
sight; for miles and miles the blue water lay around us--an
interminable stretch.  There was not a sail to be seen, and the utter
loneliness impressed me with a feeling of awe.

José was as ignorant of seafaring matters as myself; but the captain
said we were making a good voyage, and with that we were content.  A
stiff breeze blew the schooner along merrily, the blue sky was flecked
only by the softest white clouds, and the swish, swish of the water
against the vessel's sides sounded pleasantly in our ears.  I began to
think there were worse ways of earning a living than by going to sea.

That same evening I turned in early, leaving José on deck, but I was
still awake when he entered the cabin.

"There's an ugly storm brewing," said he, kicking off his boots, "and I
don't think the skipper much likes the prospect of it.  He has all
hands at work taking in the sails and getting things ready generally.
Rather a lucky thing for us that the _Aguila_ is a stout boat.  Listen!
That's the first blast!" as the schooner staggered and reeled.

Above us we heard the captain shouting orders, the answering cries of
the sailors, and the groaning of the timbers, as if the ship were a
living being stretched on a rack.  Slipping out of my bunk and dressing
quickly, I held on to a bar to steady myself.

"Let us go on deck before they batten down the hatches," said José,
putting on his boots again.  "I've no mind to stay in this hole.  If
the ship sinks, we shall be drowned like rats in a trap."

He climbed the steps, and I followed, shuddering at the picture his
words had conjured up.  The scene was grand, but wild and awful in the
extreme.  I hardly dared to watch the great waves thundering along as
if seeking to devour our tiny craft.  Now the schooner hung poised for
a moment on the edge of a mountainous wave; the next instant it seemed
to be dashing headlong into a fathomless, black abyss.  The wind tore
on with a fierce shriek, and we scudded before it under bare poles,
flying for life.

Two men were at the wheel; the captain, lashed aft, was yelling out
orders which no one could understand, or, understanding, obey.  The
night, as yet, was not particularly dark, and I shivered at sight of
the white, scared faces of the crew.  They could do nothing more; in
the face of such a gale they were helpless as babies; those at the
wheel kept the ship's head straight by great effort, but beyond that,
everything was unavailing.  Our fate was in the hands of God; He alone
could determine whether it should be life or death.

Once, above the fury of the storm, the howling of the wind, the
straining of the timber, there rose an awful shriek; and though the
tragedy was hidden from my sight, I knew it to be the cry of an unhappy
sailor in his death-agony.  A huge wave, leaping like some ravenous
animal to the deck, had caught him and was gone; while the spirit of
the wind laughed in demoniacal glee as he was tossed from crest to
crest, the sport of the cruel billows.

The captain had seen, but was powerless to help.  The schooner was but
the plaything of the waves, while to launch a boat--ah, how the
storm-fiends would have laughed at the attempt!  So leaving the hapless
sailor to his fate, we drove on through a blinding wall of rain into
the dark night, waiting for the end.  No sky was visible, nor the light
of any star, but the great cloud walls stood up thick on every side,
and it seemed as if the boat were plunging through a dark and dreary
tunnel.

Close to me, where a lantern not yet douted [Transcriber's note:
doused?] cast its fitful light, a man lay grovelling on the deck.  He
was praying aloud in an agony of fear, but no sound could be heard from
his moving lips.  Suddenly there came a crash as of a falling body, the
light went out, and I saw the man no more.  How long the night lasted I
cannot tell; to me it seemed an age, and no second of it was free from
fear.  Whether we were driving north, south, east, or west no one knew,
while the fury of the storm would have drowned the thunder of waves on
a surf-beaten shore.  But the _Aguila_ was an English boat, built by
honest English workmen, and her planks held firmly together despite the
raging storm.

For long hours, as I have said, we were swallowed up in darkness,
feeling ourselves in the presence of death; but the light broke through
at last, a cold gray light, and cheerless withal, which exactly suited
our unhappy condition.  The wind, too, as though satisfied with its
night's work, sank to rest, while by degrees the tossing of the angry
billows subsided into a peaceful ripple.

We looked at each other and at the schooner.  One man had been washed
overboard; another, struck by a falling spar, still lay insensible; the
rest were weary and exhausted.  Thanks to the skipper's foresight, the
_Aguila_ had suffered less than we had expected, and he exclaimed
cheerfully that the damage could soon be repaired.  But though our good
ship remained sound, the storm had wrought a fearful calamity, which
dazed the bravest, and blanched every face among us.

The skipper brought the news when he joined us at breakfast, and his
lips could scarcely frame the words.

"The water-casks are stove in," he exclaimed, "and we have hardly a
gallon of fresh water aboard!"

"Then we must run for the nearest port," said José, trying to speak
cheerily.

The captain spread out his hands dramatically.

"There is no port," he replied, in something of a hopeless tone, "and
there is no wind.  The schooner lies like a log on the water."

We went on deck, forgetting past dangers in the more terrifying one
before us.  The captain had spoken truly: not a breath of air stirred,
and the sea lay beneath us like a sheet of glass.  The dark clouds had
rolled away, and though the sun was not visible, the thin haze between
us and the sky was tinged blood-red.  It was such a sight as no man on
board had seen, and the sailors gazed at it in awestruck silence.

Hour after hour through the livelong day the _Aguila_ lay motionless,
as if held by some invisible cable.  No ripple broke the glassy
surface, no breath of wind fanned the idle sails, and the air we
breathed was hot and stifling, as if proceeding from a furnace.

The men lounged about listlessly, unable to forget their distress even
in sleep.  The captain scanned the horizon eagerly, looking in vain for
the tiniest cloud that might promise a break-up of the hideous weather.
José and I lay under an awning, though this was no protection from the
stifling atmosphere.

Every one hoped that evening would bring relief, that a breeze might
spring up, or that we might have a downpour of rain.  Evening came, but
the situation was unchanged, and a great fear entered our hearts.  How
long could we live like this--how long before death would release us
from our misery? for misery it was now in downright, cruel earnest.

Once José rose and walked to the vessel's side, but, returning shortly,
lay face downward on the deck.

"I must shut out the sight of the sea," he said, "or I shall go mad.
What an awful thing to perish of thirst with water everywhere around
us!"

This was our second night of horror, but very different in its nature
from the first.  Then, for long hours, we went in fear of the storm;
now, we would have welcomed the most terrible tempest that ever blew,
if only it brought us rain.

Very slowly the night crept by, and again we were confronted by the
gray haze, with its curious blood-red tint.  We could not escape from
the vessel, as our boats had been smashed in the hurricane; we could
only wait for what might happen in this sea of the dead.

"Rain or death, it is one or the other!" remarked José, as, rising to
our feet, we staggered across to the skipper.

Rain or death!  Which would come first, I wondered.

The captain could do nothing, though I must say he played his part like
a man--encouraging the crew, foretelling a storm which should rise
later in the day, and asserting that we were right in the track of
ships.  We had only to hold on patiently, he said, and all would come
right.

José also spoke to the me cheerfully, trying to keep alive a glimmer of
hope; but as the morning hours dragged wearily along, they were fain to
give way to utter despair.  No ships could reach us, they said, while
the calm lasted, and not the slightest sign of change could be seen.
Our throats were parched, our lips cracked, our eyes bloodshot and
staring.  One of the crew, a plump, chubby, round-faced man, began
talking aloud in a rambling manner, and presently, with a scream of
excitement, he sprang into the rigging.

"Sail ho!" he cried, "sail ho!" and forgetting our weakness, we all
jumped up to peer eagerly through the gauzy mist.

"Where away?" exclaimed the captain.

The sailor laughed in glee.  "Oho!  Here she comes!" cried he; "here
she comes!" and, tearing off his shirt, waved it frantically.

The action was so natural, the man seemed so much in earnest, that we
hung over the schooner's side, anxiously scanning the horizon for our
rescuer.  Again the fellow shouted, "Here she comes!" and then, with a
frenzied laugh, flung himself into the glassy sea.

A groan of despair burst from the crew, and for several seconds no one
moved.  Then José, crying, "Throw me a rope!" jumped overboard, and
swam to the spot where the man had gone down.

"Come back!" cried the skipper hoarsely; "you will be drowned!  The
poor fellow has lost his senses."  But José, unheeding the warning,
clutched the man as he came to the surface a second time.

We heard the demented laugh of the drowning sailor, and then the two
disappeared--down, down into the depths together.

"He has thrown his life away for a madman!" said the captain, and his
words brought me to my senses.

With a prayer in my heart I leaped into the sea, hoping that I might
yet save the brave fellow.

A cry from the schooner told me that he had reappeared, and soon I saw
him alone, and well-nigh exhausted.  A dozen strokes took me to his
side, and then, half supporting him, I turned toward the vessel.  The
men flung us a rope, and willing hands hauled first José and then me
aboard.

"A brave act," said the skipper gruffly, "but foolhardy!"

José smiled, and, still leaning on me, went below to the cabin, where,
removing our wet things, we had a good rub down.

"Thanks, my boy!" said José, "but for your help I doubt if I could have
got back.  The poor beggar nearly throttled me, down under!" and I
noticed on his throat the marks of fingers that must have pressed him
like a vice.

"Do you feel it now?" I asked.

"Only here," touching his throat; "but for that, I should be all the
better for the dip.  Let us go on deck again; I am stifling here.  And
keep up your spirits, Jack.  Don't give way the least bit, or it will
be all over with you.  We are in a fearful plight, but help may yet
come."  And I promised him solemnly that I would do my best.




CHAPTER II.

THE END OF THE "AGUILA."

The drowning of the crazy sailor had a bad effect on the rest of the
crew, and it became evident that they had abandoned all hope.  They
hung about so listlessly that even the captain could not rouse them,
and indeed there was nothing they could do.

This utter inability to help ourselves was the worst evil of the case.
Even I, though only a boy, wanted to do something, no matter what, if
it would help in the struggle for life; but I, like the rest, could
only wait--wait with throat like a furnace, peeling lips, smarting
eyes, and aching head, till death or rain put an end to the misery.

I tried not to think of it, tried to shut out the horrible end so close
at hand; but in vain.  José sat beside me, endeavouring to rouse me.
It must rain, he said, or the wind would spring up, and we should meet
with a ship; but in his heart I think he had no hope.

The day crawled on, afternoon came, and I fell into a troubled sleep.
The pain of my throat directed my wandering thoughts perhaps, and
conjured up horrible visions.  I was lashed to the wheel of the
_Aguila_, and the schooner went drifting, drifting far away into an
unknown sea.  All was still around me, though I was not alone.  Sailors
walked the deck or huddled in the forecastle--sailors with skin of
wrinkled parchment, with deep-set, burning yet unseeing eyes, with
moving lips from which no sound came; and as we sailed away ever
further and further into the darkness, the horror of it maddened me.  I
struggled desperately to free myself, calling aloud to José to save me.
Then a hand was laid softly on my forehead, and a kind, familiar voice
whispered,--

"Jack!  Jack!  Wake up.  You are dreaming!"  Opening my eyes I saw José
bending over me, his face stricken with fear.  My head burned, but my
face and limbs were wet as if I had just come from the sea.  "Get up,"
said José sharply, "and walk about with me.  You must not dream again."

It seems that in my sleep I had screamed aloud; but the sailors took no
notice of me either then or afterwards.  They had troubles enough of
their own, and were totally indifferent to those of others.

The red tinge had now gone from the haze, leaving it cold and gray; the
sea was dull and lifeless, no ripple breaking the stillness of its
surface.

"Is there any hope, José?" I asked in a whisper, and from his face,
though not from his speech, learned there was none.

The captain had stored two bottles of liquor in the cabin for his own
use.  These he shared amongst us; but it was fiery stuff, and even at
the first increased rather than allayed our thirst.  Most of the crew
were lying down now; but one had climbed to the roof of the forecastle,
and stood there singing in a weak, quavering voice.  José spoke to him
soothingly; but he only laughed, and continued his weird song.  His
face haunted me; even when darkness closed like a pall around us I
could still see it.  He sang on and on in the gloom, and it appeared to
me that he was wailing our death-chant.  Presently there was silence,
followed by a slight shuffling sound as the man moved to another part
of the deck; then the song began again, and was followed by a burst of
uncanny laughter.  Suddenly it seemed as if the poor fellow realized
his position, as he broke into a sob and called on God to save him.

Making our way to the other side of the vessel, we found him sitting
disconsolately on a coil of rope, and did our best to cheer him.  The
skipper joined us, but no other man stirred hand or foot.  Apparently
their terrible suffering had overpowered all feeling of sympathy.

"Don't give way," said José brightly, laying a hand on his shoulder;
"bear up, there's a good fellow.  Rain may fall at any moment now, and
then we shall be saved."

"Ah, señor," cried the poor fellow huskily, "my throat is parched,
parched; my head is like a burning coal! but I will be quiet now and
brave--if I can."

"This is terrible," exclaimed the captain piteously, as after a time we
turned away.

"Hope must be our sheet-anchor," said José.  "Once cut ourselves adrift
from that, and we shall go to ruin headlong."

He spoke bravely, but his words came from the lips only, and this we
all knew.  Sitting down on a coil of rope, we waited for the night to
pass, longing for yet dreading the appearance of another dawn.  It was
dreadfully silent, except when some poor fellow broke the stillness
with his groans and cries of anguish.

It was, as nearly as I could judge, about one o'clock in the morning,
when José suddenly sprang to his feet with a cry of joy.

"What is it?" I asked; and he, clapping his hands, exclaimed,--

"Lightning!  See, there is another flash.--Get up, my hearties; the
wind's rising.  There's a beautiful clap of thunder.  We shall have a
fine storm presently!"

One by one the men staggered to their feet.  They heard the crash of
the thunder, and a broad sheet of lightning showed them banks of cloud
gathering thick and black overhead.  Directed by the captain and helped
by José, they spread every sail and awning that could be used,
collected buckets and a spare cask, and awaited the rain eagerly and
expectantly.  Would it come?  Fiery snakes played about the tops of the
masts or leaped from sky to sea; the thunder pealed and pealed again
through the air; the wind rose, the sails filled, the schooner moved
through the water, but no rain fell.

I cannot tell you a tithe of the hopes and fears which passed through
our hearts during the next half-hour.  Now we exulted in the certainty
of relief; again we were thrown into the abyss of despair.  We stood
looking at the darkness, hoping, praying that the life-giving rain
might fall speedily upon our upturned faces.

Another terrific crash, and then--ah, how earnestly we gave thanks to
God for His mercy--the raindrops came pattering to the deck, lightly at
first, lightly and softly, like scouts sent forward to spy out the
land, and afterwards the main body in a crowd beating fiercely, heavily
upon us.  How we laughed as, making cups of our hands, we lapped the
welcome water greedily!  What cries of delight ascended heavenward as
we filled our spare cask and every vessel that would hold water!  The
rain came down in a steady torrent, soaking us through; but we felt no
discomfort, for it fed us with new life.

Presently the captain got some of the men to work, while the others ate
the food which had lain all day untasted, and then, doubly refreshed,
they relieved their comrades.  José and I, too, ate sparingly of some
food; but even this little, with the water, made new beings of us.

As yet the wind was no more than a fair breeze, but by degrees it
became boisterous, and the crew, still weak and now short of three men,
could barely manage the schooner.  José and I knew nothing of
seamanship, but we bore a hand here and there, straining at this rope
or that as we were bidden, and encouraging the crew to the best of our
ability.

As yet we gave little thought to the new danger that menaced us, being
full of thanks for our escape from a horrible death; but the fury of
the storm increased, the wind battered against the schooner in howling
gusts, and presently the topgallant mast fell with a crash to the deck.
Fortunately no one was hurt, and we quickly cut the wreckage clear; but
misfortune followed misfortune, and at length, with white, scared face,
the carpenter announced that water was fast rising in the hold.

Here, at least, José and I were of service.  Taking our places at the
pumps, we toiled with might and main to keep the water down.  Thus the
remainder of the night passed with every one working at the pumps or
assisting the captain to manage the vessel.

Morning brought no abatement of the storm, but the light enabled us to
realize more clearly how near we were, a second time, to death.  The
rain still poured down in torrents, the wind leaped at us with
hurricane fury, the schooner tossed, a helpless wreck, in the midst of
a mountainous sea.  The carpenter reported that, in spite of all our
labours, the water was fast gaining on us.  The sailors now lost heart,
and one of them left his post, saying sullenly they might as well drown
first as last.  It was a dangerous example, but the skipper checked the
mischief.  Running forward with loaded pistol, he shouted,--

"Go back to the pumps, you coward, or I will shoot you down like a dog!
Call yourself a man?  Why, that youngster there is worth fifty of you!"

The fellow returned to his work; but as the hours passed we became more
and more certain that no amount of pumping would save the ship.  Even
now she was but a floating wreck, and soon she would be engulfed by the
raging sea.

While José and I were taking a rest, the captain told us that, even
should the storm cease, the _Aguila_ must go down in less than
twenty-four hours, and that he knew not whether we were close to the
shore or a hundred leagues from it.  José received the news coolly.  He
came of a race that does not believe in whimpering, and his only care
was on my account.

"I am sorry for your mother, Jack," said he, "and for you too.  We're
in a fair hole, and I don't see any way of getting out; but for all
that we will keep our heads cool.  Never go under without a fight for
it--that's as good a motto as any other.  You heard the skipper say the
schooner is bound to go down, and you know we have no boats--they
wouldn't be any good if we had, while this storm lasts; but if the sea
calms, a plank will keep you afloat a long time, and maybe a ship will
come along handy.  Anyhow, make a fight for it, my boy.  Now we'll have
a snack of something to eat, and then for another spell at the pumps."

By this time a feeling of despair had seized the crew, and but for fear
of the captain's pistol they would have stopped work in a body.
However, he kept them at it, and towards noon the tempest ceased almost
as suddenly as it had begun.  The gale dropped to a steady breeze, and
the surface of the ocean became comparatively calm.

The change cheered us; we looked on it as a good omen, and toiled at
the pumps even harder than before.  We could not lessen the quantity of
water, but for a time we kept it from gaining, and a germ of hope crept
back into our hearts.  Every hour now was likely to be in our favour,
as the captain judged the wind was blowing us to some part of the
coast, where we might either fall in with a vessel or effect a landing.
Thus, between hope and fear, the afternoon passed, and then we saw that
the captain's judgment was correct.

Straight before us, though far off as yet, appeared the dark line of
coast with a barrier of mountains in the background, and in front a
broad band of snow-white foam.

Would the schooner cover the distance?  If so, would she escape being
dashed to pieces in the thundering surf?  These were the questions
which agitated our minds as, impelled by the breeze, she drove through
the water.  We of ourselves could do nothing save work at the pumps and
wait for what might happen.

Afternoon merged into evening, and evening into night.  A few stars
peeped forth in the sky, but were soon veiled by grayish clouds.  The
broad white band along the shore was startlingly distinct, and still
the issue was undecided.

The end came with such unexpected suddenness that the men hardly had
time to cry out.  José and I were resting at the moment, when the
schooner lurched heavily, tried to right herself and failed, filled
with water, and sank like a stone.

I often think of that shipwreck as a horrible dream.  Down, down I
went, holding my breath till it seemed impossible to stay longer
without opening my mouth and swallowing the salt water.  By an effort I
restrained myself till my head shot above the surface and once more I
was free to breathe.

The ship had disappeared entirely, and it was too dark to see such a
small object as a man's head.  By great good fortune I managed to seize
a floating spar, and, resting on it, called aloud for José.  The only
answer was the anguished cry of a drowning man across the waste of
waters.  Twice again it came, and then all was silent, though in
imagination I still could hear that anguished cry.  The sea rolled in
long surges, carrying me forward without effort and at a great rate
toward the clear white line.  Live or die, I could not help myself now,
but was entirely at the mercy of the waves.  I thought of José's advice
to make a fight for it, but there was nothing to be done.  Clinging to
my spar, I was tossed from crest to depth like a ball bandied about by
boys.

And now my ears were filled with a great roaring as I approached nearer
to the crested foam; then feeling that the end was very near, I prayed
silently yet fervently that God would comfort my mother in this her new
trial, and prepared myself to die.

From the top of a high wave I went down into the depths, rose again to
the crest of a second huge roller, and then was flung with the velocity
of lightning into the midst of the great sea-horses with their snowy
manes.

Of this part of the adventure I remember but little, only that for a
moment I lay bruised and battered at the foot of a high rock.

Once more José's advice sounded in my ear, and loosing my spar, I
clambered, dizzy and half blind, to the top.  The ramping white horses
raced after as if to drag me back, but finding that impossible, retired
sullenly to spring yet once again.  Shrieking and hissing, the great
white monsters tore along, dashing in fury and breaking in impotence
against the immovable rocks.  The wild, weird scene, too, frightened
me; for I was but a boy, remember, who up to this had never met with a
more stirring adventure, perhaps, than a tussle with a high-spirited
pony.  I was worn out, too, by hard toil, faint from loss of blood,
saddened by the loss of my faithful José, and by the awful calamity
that had overtaken the crew of the schooner.  Yet, in spite of all, so
strong was the instinct to live, that, almost without thought, I
clambered along the rocky ridge which jutted out from the mainland,
while the baffled waves raced hungrily on either side of me, as if even
now loath to abandon their expected prey.

At length the line of white foam was at my back.  I found myself on a
boulder-strewn beach, and for the time safe!  Although half dead with
privation and exposure, I wandered some way along the beach, calling
aloud on José and the sailors, forgetful that the roar of the surf
drowned my voice.

Presently I could go no further, the beach in that direction being
walled in by a rocky cliff, steep and high, and but for a narrow
fissure upon which I happily came, insurmountable.

I say happily, for at the summit of the cliff I fancied I saw the flash
of a lantern.  A lantern meant human beings, who on hearing my story
would search the shore, and find, perhaps, that others besides myself
had escaped from the wreck.  With this idea in my head, I began to
climb, going very steadily; for, as I have said, the track was little
more than a fissure in the rock, and my head was far from clear.  I
toiled on, cutting my hands and legs with the jagged rocks, but making
some progress, till at length I had covered the greater part of the
distance; then I could do no more.  A tiny crevice gave me foothold,
and I was able to rest my arms on a wide ledge, but had no strength to
draw myself up to it.  Twice I tried and failed; then fearful lest my
strength should give way, I strove no more, but, raising my voice,
shouted loudly for help.  Very mournful the cry sounded in the silent
night, as I hung there utterly helpless on the face of the cliff.

Again and again I shouted with all my might, to be answered at first
only by the roar of the surf below.  Presently, on the summit of the
cliff, not far above me, a lantern flashed, then another, and another,
and a voice hailed me through the darkness.

"Help!" I cried, "help!" and my voice was full of despair, for my
strength was fast ebbing.  I must soon lose my hold, and be dashed to
pieces at the foot of the cliff.

The lanterns flashed to and fro above me.  Would they never come
nearer?  What was that?  A big stone bounding and bouncing from rock to
rock whizzed past my head, and disappeared in the gloom below.
Collecting all my strength, I shouted again, fearing that it must be
for the last time.

But now--oh, how sincerely I gave thanks to God!--a light had come over
the edge of the cliff, and though moving slowly, it certainly advanced
in my direction.  Yes, I saw a man's outline.  In one hand he carried a
lantern, in the other a noosed rope, and he felt his way carefully.

"Help! help!" I exclaimed, faintly enough now; but he heard me, and I
knew I was saved.  Putting the lantern on the ledge and grasping the
collar of my coat, he got the noose round my body under the arms, and
those above drew me up.

[Illustration: "Help! help!" I exclaimed, faintly; but he heard me, and
I knew I was saved.]

The lanterns showed a group of men in uniform, who crowded around me as
I reached the top; but being uncertain how long my strength would last,
I cried,--

"A wreck!  Search the beach.  There may have been others washed ashore."

Upon this there was much talking, and then two men carried me away,
leaving their companions, as I hoped, to search for any chance
survivors.




CHAPTER IV.

THE SILVER KEY.

It would be hard for me to tell just what happened during the next day
or two.  I did not lose consciousness altogether, but my nerves were so
shattered that I mixed up fact and fancy, and could hardly separate my
dreams from events which actually took place.

On the third or fourth day my senses became clearer I lay on a bed in a
small cell-like apartment.  In the opposite corner was a mattress, with
a blanket and rug rolled neatly at the head; above it, on the wall,
hung a sword and various military articles, as if the room belonged to
a soldier.

Presently, as I lay trying to recall things, the door was pushed open,
and a man entered.  He was young; his face was frank and open, and he
had fine dark eyes.  He was in undress uniform, and I judged, rightly
as it turned out, that he was a Spanish officer.  Seeing me looking at
him, he crossed to the bed, and exclaimed in the Spanish tongue, "Are
you better this morning?"

I nodded and smiled, but could not speak--my throat hurt me so.

"All right!" he cried gaily.  "Don't worry; I understand," and at that
he went out, coming back presently with the military doctor.

Now I had no cause, then or afterwards, to love the Spaniards; but I
hold it fair to give even an enemy his due, and it is only just to say
that this young officer, Captain Santiago Mariano, treated me royally.
In a sense I owed my life to him, and I have never forgotten his
kindness.

As my strength returned he often sat with me, talking of the wreck,
from which I was apparently the only one rescued.  Three men, he said,
had been washed ashore, but they were all dead.  Two were ordinary
sailors, and from his description I easily recognized the third as
Montevo, the skipper.

There was a rumour, the young officer continued, that a man had been
picked up by some Indians further along the coast; but no one really
knew anything about it, and for his part he looked on it as an idle
tale.

There was small comfort in tills; yet, against my better judgment, I
began to hope that José had somehow escaped from the sea.  He was a
strong man and a stout swimmer, while for dogged courage I have rarely
met his equal.

One morning Santiago came into my room--or rather his--with a troubled
expression on his face.  I was able to walk by this time, and stood by
the little window, watching the soldiers at exercise in the courtyard.

"Crawford," said he abruptly, "have you any reason to be afraid of
General Barejo?"

Now, until that moment I had not given a thought to the fact that in
escaping one danger I had tumbled headlong into another; but this
question made me uneasy.  As far as safety went, I might as well have
stayed at my mother's side in Lima as have blundered into a far-off
fortress garrisoned by Spanish soldiers.

"I ought not to speak of this," continued Santiago, "but the warning
may help you.  Did you hear the guns last night?"

"Yes," said I, wondering.

"It was the salute to the general, who is inspecting the forts along
the coast."

"I have heard my father speak of General Barejo."

"Well, after dinner last evening the commandant happened to speak of
your shipwreck, and the general was greatly interested.  'A boy named
Crawford?' said he thoughtfully; 'is he in the fort now?' and on
hearing you were, told the commandant he would see you in the morning.
This is he crossing the courtyard.  He is coming here, I believe."

I had only time to thank Santiago for his kindness when the general
entered the room.  He was a short, spare man, with closely-cropped gray
hair and a grizzled beard.  His face was tanned and wrinkled, but he
held himself erect as a youth; and his profession was most pronounced.

The young captain saluted, and, at a sign from the general, left the
room.

Barejo eyed me critically, and with a grim smile exclaimed, "By St.
Philip, there's no need to ask.  You're the son of the Englishman
Crawford, right enough."

"Who was murdered by Spanish soldiers," said I, for his cool and
somewhat contemptuous tone roused me to anger.

He smiled at this outburst, and spread out his hands as if to say, "The
boy's crazy;" but when he spoke, it was to ask why I had left Lima.

"Because I had no wish to meet with my father's fate," I answered
brusquely; and he laughed again.

"Faith," he muttered, "the young cockerel ruffles his feathers early!"
and then, again addressing me, he asked, "And where were you going?"

"On a sea voyage, for the benefit of my health--and to be out of the
way."

To this he made no reply, but his brows puckered up as if he were in
deep thought.  I stood by the window watching him, and wondering what
would be the outcome of this visit.

After a short time he said, slowly and deliberately, so that I might
lose nothing of his speech, "Listen to me, young sir.  Though you are
young, there are some things you can understand.  Your father tried,
and tried hard, to wrest this country from its proper ruler, our
honoured master, the King of Spain.  He failed; but others have taken
his place, and though you are only a boy, they will endeavour to make
use of you.  We shall crush the rebellion, and the leaders will lose
their lives.  I am going to save you from their fate."

I thought this display of kindness rather strange, but made no remark.

"In this fortress," he continued, "you will be out of mischief, and
here I intend you shall stay till the troubles are at an end."

"That sounds very much as if you mean to keep me a prisoner!" I
exclaimed hotly.

"Exactly," said he; then turning on his heel he walked out.

From the window I watched him cross the courtyard and enter the
commandant's quarters.  Ten minutes afterwards Santiago appeared with a
file of soldiers.

"Very sorry, my boy," said the young captain, coming into the room,
"but a soldier must obey orders.  You are my prisoner."

"I couldn't wish for a better jailer," said I, laughing.

"I'm glad you take it like that, but unfortunately you won't be under
my care.  Have you all your things?  This way, then."

We marched very solemnly side by side along the corridor, the soldiers
a few paces in the rear.  At the end stood a half-dressed Indian,
holding open the door of a cell.

"Oh, come," said I, looking in, "it's not so bad."

The cell was, indeed, almost a counterpart of Santiago's room, only the
window was high up and heavily barred.  The furniture consisted of
bedstead and rugs, a chair, small table, and one or two other articles.
The floor was of earth, but quite dry; and altogether I was fairly
satisfied with my new home.

"You'll have decent food and sufficient exercise," said the captain,
who had entered with me; "but"--and here he lowered his voice to a
whisper--"don't be foolish and try to escape.  Barejo's orders are
strict, and though it may not appear so, you will be closely guarded."

"Thanks for the hint," said I as he turned away.

The Indian shut the door, the bolts were shot, the footsteps of the
soldiers grew fainter, and I was alone.

I shall not dwell long on my prison life.  I had ample food, and twice
a day was allowed to wander unmolested about the courtyard.  The
general had gone, and most of the officers, including Santiago, showed
me many acts of kindness, which, though trifling in themselves, did
much towards keeping me cheerful.

Several weeks passed without incident, and I began to get very tired of
doing nothing.  There seemed to be little chance of escape, however.
Every outlet was guarded by an armed sentry, and I was carefully
watched.  One day I dragged my bedstead under the window, and making a
ladder of the table and chair, climbed to the bars.  A single glance
showed the folly of trying to escape that way without the aid of wings.
That part of the fort stood on the brink of a frightful precipice which
fell sheer away for hundreds of feet to the rocky coast.

Of course I had no weapon of any kind, but the Spaniards had allowed me
to keep the silver key, which hung around my neck by a thin, stout cord.

I had almost forgotten the mountaineer's strange words, when a trifling
incident brought them vividly to my mind.  One morning the Indian, as
usual, brought in my breakfast, and was turning to go, when he suddenly
stopped and stared at me with a look of intense surprise.  He was a
short, stout, beardless man, with a bright brown complexion and rather
intelligent features.

"Well," I exclaimed, "what is it?  Have I altered much since yesterday?"

The man bent one knee, and bowing low, exclaimed in great excitement,
"It is the key!"

Then I discovered that, my shirt collar being unfastened, the silver
key had slipped outside, where it hung in full view.

"Yes," said I, "it is the key right enough.  What of it?"

His eyes were flashing now, and the glow in them lit up his whole face.

"What is the master's name?" he whispered eagerly.

Now this was an awkward question for me to answer.  In the first place,
the man might or might not be trustworthy; and in the second, the only
name I knew was that of the bandit chief.  However, I concluded the
venture was worth making, and said, "Men call the owner of the key
Raymon Sorillo."

"Ah!" exclaimed the Indian, with a sigh of satisfaction, "he is a great
chief.  Hide the key, señor, and wait.  A dog's kennel is no place for
the friend of our chief."

With that he went out, and the door clanged after him, while I stood
lost in astonishment.  What did he mean?  Was it possible that he
intended to help me?  Thrusting the mysterious key out of sight, I sat
down to breakfast with what appetite I could muster.  All that day I
was in a state of great excitement, though at exercise I took care to
appear calm.  I waited with impatience for the evening meal, which, to
my disgust, was brought by a strange soldier.

"Hullo!" I exclaimed, "a change of jailers?  What has become of the
other fellow?"

"The dog of an Indian is ill," answered the man, who was evidently in a
very bad temper, "and I have his work to do."

Placing the things on the table, he went out, slamming the door behind
him, and shooting the bolts viciously.  The next morning he came again,
and indeed for four days in succession performed the sick man's duties.

Now you may be sure I felt greatly interested in this sudden illness.
It filled me with curiosity, and to a certain extent strengthened my
hope that the Indian intended to help me to escape from the fort.  What
his plans were, of course I could not conjecture.

On the fifth night I undressed and lay down as usual.  It was quite
dark in the cell, and the only sound that reached me was the periodical
"All's well!" of the sentry stationed at the end of the corridor.  For
a long time I lay puzzling over the strange situation, but at length
dropped into a light sleep.

Suddenly I was awakened by a queer sensation, and sat up in bed.  It
was too dark to see anything, but I felt that some one was creeping
stealthily across the floor.  Presently I heard a faint sound, and knew
that the object, whatever it might be, was approaching nearer.  At the
side of the bed it stopped, and a muffled voice whispered, "Señor, are
you awake?"

"Yes," said I.  "Who's there?"

"A friend of the silver key.  Dress quickly and come with me; the way
is open."

"Where is the sentry?" I asked.

"Gagged and insensible," replied the voice.  "Quick, while there is yet
time."

Perhaps it was rather venturesome thus to trust myself in the hands of
an unknown man, but I slipped on my clothes, and keeping touch of his
arm, accompanied him into the dimly-lighted corridor.

Turning to the left, we glided along close to the wall.  At the end of
this passage the body of the sentry lay on the ground, while near at
hand crouched an Indian, keeping watch.

This man joined us, and my guide immediately led the way into an empty
room, the door of which was open.  As soon as we were inside he closed
it softly.

"Keep close to me," he whispered, and then said something to an unseen
person in a patois I did not understand.

Presently he stopped, and I could just distinguish the figure of a
third man, who, grasping my hand, whispered, "The silver key has
unlocked the door, señor."

Before I could recover from my astonishment--for the man who spoke was
the sick jailer--my guide let himself down through a trap-door, and
called to me to follow.  I found myself on a flight of steep steps in a
kind of shaft, very narrow, and so foul that breathing was difficult.
At the bottom was a fair-sized chamber, with a lofty roof--at least I
judged it so by the greater purity of the air--and here the guide
stopped until his companion caught up with us.  The jailer, to my
surprise, had remained in the fort, but there was no time for
explanation.

The exit from the chamber was by means of an aperture so low that we
had to lie flat on the ground, and so narrow that even I found it hard
work to wriggle through.

Of all my adventures, this one impressed itself most strongly on my
mind.  People are apt to smile when I speak of what one man called
"crawling along a passage;" yet had the terrors of the journey been
known beforehand, I think I could hardly have summoned the courage to
face them.

We went in Indian file, I being second, and my shoulders brushed the
sides of what was apparently a stonework tube.  There was not a glimmer
of light, and the foul air threatened suffocation at every yard.  I
could breathe only with great difficulty, my throat seemed choked, I
was bathed in perspiration, while loathsome creatures crawled or
scampered over every part of me.

Before half the distance was covered--and I make the confession without
shame--I was truly and horribly afraid.  However, there was no turning
back--indeed there was no turning at all--so I crawled on, hoping and
praying for light and air.

Presently I caught sight of a dull red glow like that from a burning
torch, my breath came more easily, and at the end of another hundred
yards the guide, rising to his feet, stood upright: we had arrived at
the exit from the tunnel.  Clambering up, I once more found myself in
the open air, and was instantly followed by the second Indian.  Two
other men waited for us, and the four, with some difficulty, rearranged
a huge boulder which effectually blocked the aperture.

Then the light from the torch was quenched, and I was hurried off in
the darkness.  For an hour perhaps we travelled, but in what direction
I had no idea.  At first we had the roar of the thundering sea in our
ears, but presently that grew faint, until the sound was completely
lost.  The route was rocky, and I should say dangerous; for the guide
clutched my arm tightly, and from time to time whispered a warning.

At last he stopped and whistled softly.  The signal was heard and
answered, and very soon I became aware of several dusky figures,
including both men and horses.  No time was wasted in talk; a man
brought me a horse, and a loose cloak with a hood in which to muffle my
head.  I mounted, the others sprang to their cumbrous saddles, and at a
word from the guide we set off.

The route now lay over a desert of loose sand, in which the animals
sank almost to their fetlocks; every puff of wind blew it around us in
clouds, and but for the hood I think I must have been both blinded and
choked.

I have not the faintest idea how the leader found his way, unless it
was by the direction of the wind, as there were no stars, and it was
impossible to see beyond a few yards.

Hour after hour passed; dawn broke cold and gray.  The choking sand was
left behind, and we approached a narrow valley shut in by two gigantic
ranges of hills.  Here a voice hailed us from the rocks, the guide
answered the challenge, and the whole party passed through the defile
to the valley beyond.

It was now light enough to observe a number of Indian huts dotted about
on both slopes; and the horsemen who had formed my escort quickly
dispersed, leaving me with the guide.

"We are home," said he, "and the dogs have lost their prey."

Dismounting and leading the horses, we approached a hut set somewhat
apart from the rest.  An Indian boy standing at the entrance took our
animals away while we entered the hut.

"Will you eat, señor, or sleep?" asked my rescuer.

"Sleep," said I, "as soon as you have answered a question or two."

I cannot repeat exactly what the man told me, as his Spanish was none
of the best, and he mixed it up with a patois which I only half
understood.  However, the outline of the story was plain enough, and
will take but little telling.

My late jailer belonged to the Order of the Silver Key, a powerful
Indian society, acting under the leadership of Raymon Sorillo.  He had
been placed in the fort both as a spy on the garrison and to assist
comrades if at any time they endeavoured to capture the stronghold by
way of the secret passage.  Only the commandant and his chief officer
were supposed to know of its existence, but a strange accident had
revealed it to the Indians some years previously.

The jailer, of course, could have set me free, but in that case he must
have joined in my flight.  The plan he adopted was to communicate with
his friends, and then, by feigning illness, to divert suspicion from
himself.  As soon as we descended the steps, he replaced the trap-door,
removed all signs of disturbance, and crept cautiously back to his room.

When the Indian had finished his explanation, I asked him to what place
he had brought me.

"The Hidden Valley," he replied, "where no Spaniard has ever set foot.
Here you are quite safe, for all the armies of Peru could not tear you
from this spot."

"Does Sorillo ever come here?" I asked.

"Rarely; but his messengers come and go at their pleasure."

"That is good news," I remarked, thinking of my mother.  "I shall be
able to get a message through to Lima.  And now, if you please, I will
go to sleep."

He spread a rug on the earth floor, covered me with another, and in a
few minutes I was fast asleep, forgetful even of the dismal tunnel and
its horrible associations.




CHAPTER V.

IN THE HIDDEN VALLEY.

Perhaps my Indian host overstated the case, but he could not have been
far wrong in saying that no stranger had ever succeeded in finding the
Hidden Valley.

Let me describe the coast of Peru, and then you may be able to form
some idea of the district between the Spanish fortress and my new home.
The coast is a sandy desert studded with hills, and having in the
background stupendous ranges of towering mountains.  From north to
south the desert is cut at intervals by streams, which in the rainy
season are converted into roaring rivers.  Little villages dot the
banks of these streams, and here and there are patches of cultivated
land.

From one river to another the country is for the most part a dreary
desert of sand, where rain never falls nor vegetation grows--a dead
land, where the song of a bird is a thing unknown.  Sometimes after a
sandstorm a cluster of dry bones may be seen--the sole remains of lost
travellers and their animals.  At times even the most experienced
guides lose the track, and then they are seen no more.  Over such a
desert I had ridden from the fort, and the Indians assured me that,
even in broad daylight, I could not go back safely without a guide.

As for the valley itself, it was comparatively nothing but a slit in
the mass of mountains.  A river ran through it, and the water was used
by the Indians to irrigate the surrounding land.  Their live stock
consisted chiefly of oxen and horses, and the principal vegetables
cultivated were maize and coca.  You may not know that this coca is a
plant something like the vine, and it grows to a height of six or eight
feet.  The leaves are very carefully gathered one by one.  They are
bitter to the taste, however, and as a rule strangers do not take
kindly to coca.  The Indian is never without it.  It is the first thing
he puts into his mouth in the morning, and the last thing that he takes
out at night.  He carries a supply in a leathern pouch hung round his
neck, and with this and a handful of roasted maize he will go a long
day's journey.  I had never chewed coca before, but soon got into the
habit of doing so, much to the delight of my new friends.

My stay in the Hidden Valley, although lasting nearly two years, had
little of interest in it.  The Indians treated me with every respect.
I was lodged in the best house, and was given the best fare the valley
produced.  Within the valley I was master, but I was not allowed to
join any of their expeditions, and without their help it was
impossible, as I have explained, to get away.

Their advice to stay quietly in my hiding-place was indeed the best
they could give.  I was quite safe, the Spanish soldiers in the fort
being unable to follow me, and indeed, as we gathered from the spy,
quite at a loss to account for my escape.  Away from the valley, too, I
should be utterly helpless.  I could not return to Lima, and without
money there was little chance of making my way into Chili.

The two things that troubled me most were José's fate and my mother's
unhappiness.  At first I had ventured to hope that my friend still
lived; but as the weeks and months passed without any tidings, I began
to look upon him as dead.  The Indians thought it certain I should
never see him again.

As to my mother, she would be in no particular uneasiness until the
time came for the return of the _Aguila_; but I dreaded what would
happen when Mr. Maxwell had to confess the schooner was overdue, and
that nothing had been heard of her.  Many miserable hours I spent
wandering about the valley, and thinking how my mother would watch and
wait, hoping against hope for some tidings of the missing ship.

One night--it was in the December of 1819--I had gone to bed early,
when an unusual commotion in the valley caused me to get up.  My Indian
host had already gone out, so, putting on my things, I followed.

Naturally my first thought was of the Spaniards; but the natives,
though flocking towards the entrance to the valley, did not appear
alarmed.  Several of them carried torches, and a strange picture was
revealed by the lurid flames.

On the ground lay a horse so weak and exhausted that it could barely
struggle for breath.  Close by, supported in the arms of two Indians,
was the rider, a short, rather stout man of brown complexion.  His eyes
were glazed as if in death.  Blood gushed from his ears and nostrils,
his head hung limply down: it was hard to believe that he lived.

The natives gabbled to each other, and I heard the words frequently
repeated, "Sorillo's messenger!"  Then an old, old woman--the _mother_
of the village--tottered feebly down the path.  In one hand she carried
a small pitcher, and in the other a funnel, whose slender stem they
inserted between the man's teeth.  In this way a little liquid was
forced into his mouth, and presently his bared breast heaved
slightly--so slightly that the motion was almost imperceptible.

However, the old woman appeared satisfied, and at a sign from her the
stricken man was carried slowly up the path.  One native attended to
the horse, and the rest returned to their huts, talking excitedly of
what had happened.

"Is that a messenger from Raymon Sorillo, Quilca?" I asked my host.

"Yes," said he, "and he has had a very narrow escape.  He has been
caught in a sandstorm.  Perhaps he lost the track.  Perhaps the
soldiers gave chase, and he went further round to baffle them.  Who
knows?  But we shall hear to-morrow."

"Then he is likely to recover?"

"Yes; the medicine saved him.  Didn't you see his chest move?"

"Yes," I replied, thinking that but a small thing to go on.

"That showed the medicine was in time," returned Quilca.  "It has begun
its work, and all will be well."

Quilca spoke so confidently that, had I been the patient, I should have
started on the road to recovery at once.

"Will he stay here long?" I asked.

"Who knows?" replied Quilca.  "The chief gives orders; the servants
obey."

"But he will return at some time?"

"It is likely."

"And will he take a message to my mother, do you think?"

"Oh yes," said the Indian; "I had forgotten.  Besides"--and he touched
the cord supporting the silver key--"he is your servant, as I am."

For three days the messenger was too weak to explain his errand; but
the medicine worked wonders, and at the end of a week he sent for
Quilca and the other leading men of the tribe.

What orders he brought I did not learn; only my host told me that the
rising to which they looked forward had been put off.  The Chilians
were not ready, and could not be in Peru for at least another six
months.

Quilca was dreadfully disappointed; but the chief had spoken, and his
word was law.  Indeed, it was most extraordinary to see with what
reverence his commands were treated.  Had it been his pleasure, I am
sure his followers would have willingly gone to certain death.

On the day following this I visited the messenger, who, on seeing the
silver key, bowed low before me.

"What are my lord's commands?" asked he humbly.

"They are very simple," I replied.  "In a short time you are returning
to your chief.  Say to him that Juan Crawford is safe in the Hidden
Valley, and ask him to tell Señora Maria Dolores Crawford at Lima so.
Can you remember that?"

The blood mounted into the man's face as he said, "I will remember."
Then he added in quick, eager tones, "Are you the son of Don Eduardo?"

"He was my father."

At that the man bent again and kissed my hand, saying,--

"Señor, he was our best friend.  He loved our people, and when he was
killed there was much weeping in the villages of the Indians."

"He gave his life for you," said I slowly.

"As we will give ours for his son," answered the man; and no one
hearing him could have doubted the sincerity of his words.

At the end of a fortnight he was strong enough to travel, and his last
words as he struck into the narrow pass were, "I shall not forget,
señor."

After his departure I felt much easier.  True, there was a terrible
journey before him, which hardly one man in a thousand could hope to
accomplish successfully; but he was a daring and plucky rider, used
alike to desert and mountain.  Then, too, any Indian on the route would
give him food and shelter, and warn him of any lurking soldiers.

He would relate my story to Raymon Sorillo, and I knew that the
gigantic chief would carry the news to my mother.  I no longer fretted
at being shut up in the valley, but passed my time merrily with the
boys and younger men of the tribe, learning their patois, riding, and
practising shooting with the musket, and with bow and arrow.

On my fifteenth birthday Quilca organized some sports, and though not
gaining a first prize in any event, I performed so creditably that the
Indians were delighted with my prowess.

"The young chief will make a warrior," said they, and I felt proud of
their praise.

Let me try to give you a picture of myself at that time.  I was tall
for my age, standing five feet five inches in height.  I had curly dark
hair, cut rather short, and brown eyes.  My face was tanned through
exposure to the weather and regular exercise had made my muscles hard
as iron.  Like my companions, I wore a short woollen jacket, dark in
colour, and breeches open at the knees, and caught up with strips of
coloured cotton.  My cap was of wool gorgeously embroidered; dark
woollen stockings without feet covered my legs, and in place of boots I
had a pair of goatskin sandals.  Thrown over my left shoulder was a
small poncho, which dangled like the cloak worn by some of our cavalry
soldiers.

Some time during the month of April Sorillo's messenger returned,
bringing me two letters--one from my mother, the other from the chief.

I need not say how eagerly I opened the first.  It was very long,
consisting of several closely-written pages, but it did not contain a
word too much.  I read it over and over again, until I could almost say
it by heart.  No word had reached Lima of the wreck of the _Aguila_;
but the British merchants, though bidding my mother be of good cheer,
had put the schooner down for lost.  My message had shown their fears
to be well grounded, but at the same time it had carried joy and
thankfulness to my mother's breast.

"I grieve for poor José," she wrote, "but I thank God every hour for
your safety."

The letter from Sorillo was brief.  After saying how glad he was to get
my message, he went on,--

"For the present, stay in the Hidden Valley; there is no safer place in
Peru.  The fruit ripens slowly, and even yet is not ready for plucking.
San Martin has not left Valparaiso, and little beyond skirmishing will
be done this year."

Apparently, however, he had sent definite orders to the tribe, as from
this date I noticed a great difference in our hitherto peaceful abode.
Every man went armed day and night, scouts were posted on the
mountains, and swift riders scoured the desert for miles.

Once, too, a band of horsemen, twenty strong, led by Quilca, left the
valley at night.  I could not learn their business, because Quilca said
they were acting under the secret orders of the great chief.  They were
absent three days, and when, in the gray dawn of the fourth morning,
they rode back up the valley, three were missing.  The leader had a
bloodstained bandage round his head, and several men bore signs of a
fierce conflict.

"You are hurt?" said I, as Quilca dismounted.

"It is nothing," replied he carelessly.

"And three of your followers have not returned!"

"It cost six lives to kill them," he answered, with fierce
satisfaction, passing into the hut.

This expedition was followed by others, and from the talk in the valley
I gathered that Sorillo had started the Indians on the war-trail.
Already the Spaniards were safe only in large numbers, for on every
weak and isolated detachment the fierce mountaineers swept down like
hawks on their prey.

Now and again they were beaten off; but this did not happen often,
because they knew the number of their enemy almost to a man, and had
learned the most effective method of attack.  Generally speaking, the
little body of Spanish soldiers had no chance whatever, either of
flight or of victory.

From time to time strange and startling rumours reached us.  In
September we heard that the Chilian army had landed on the coast, and
soon afterwards that the Englishman Cochrane had swept the Spanish
fleet from the seas.  José had often spoken of this daring sailor, who,
after performing many glorious deeds in the British navy, had taken
command of the Chilian fleet, and had done much to make Chili
independent of Spain.  Now, with his ships and sailors, he was helping
to do the same for Peru.

On hearing these things I became impatient, not wishing to remain
cooped up in the valley while the Liberating Army was marching on Lima.

However, my deliverance, though slow in coming, came at length, but
before that time I had a most startling surprise.  One morning, in the
last week of January 1821, I had gone out very early, half expecting to
see Quilca returning from one of his excursions.  Most of the Indians
were astir, when suddenly a man came running from the mouth of the pass.

"Here they are!" he cried; "here they are!"

We pushed down quickly to meet them, I in the very front.  Quilca
appeared first, riding slowly, as if his horse were tired out.  His
men, lolling on their animals, followed, some of them with closed eyes
and half asleep.

Presently I caught sight of Sorillo's messenger, nearly at the end of
the line; and then I opened my eyes wide, thinking they had played me
false.  Was I awake, or was I dreaming?  Was I--

"Jack!"

That settled it!  The Indians stared in astonishment, as with a
startled cry I ran past them to where in the rear a man had jumped from
his horse to the ground.

"José!" I cried, "José!" and for the life of me could say no more, but
stood staring at him as if he had been some strange, unnatural animal.

Had I the skill of an artist, I should love to draw his face as he
looked into mine.  It was strong and firm and purposeful, but the gray
eyes softened into almost womanly tenderness.

"Why, Jack," said he, shifting the reins and laying a hand on my
shoulder, "you're quite a man!  Your mother would be proud of you!"

"Have you seen her?" I asked.

"Yes; all's well at home.  But we'll talk of that later on.  So you've
turned Indian, eh?"

"It's better than living in a cell!"

"So it is; and you didn't go down in the ship, after all?"

"No; but I must tell you the story when you've had something to eat.
Give your horse to this youngster, and now come on to Quilca's hut; you
must be tired."

"I was," replied he, "but the sight of you woke me up.  I wondered if
you'd be waiting to see the braves come home.  That Quilca of yours is
a born soldier.  He'd make a good general if they didn't train him!"

He rattled on, and I listened, glad just to hear the sound of his
voice, without reference to what he said.

Quilca bade us welcome to the hut, and his womenfolk brought in the
food and drink they had prepared.

José, as I have said, knew the Indian patois, which during the meal, he
used for the benefit of our host, whose Spanish was rather halting.  He
talked of the war, and told how the Chilians had landed, and how the
Royalists were broken up and in full retreat.  The campaign, he said,
was as good as over, and San Martin could be President of Peru any day
he chose.

At that I was much astonished, for knowing the Spanish leaders, I had
expected them to fight to the death; but it was pleasing news, all the
same, and I began to speculate on how soon we should be in Lima.

After breakfast José had a long nap, and then I took him for a stroll
in the valley, where we could talk without interruption.

I was anxious to hear about my mother, but first I told my own
story--the rescue by the Spanish soldiers, the coming of General
Barejo, and the power of the silver key, as also the escape by the
underground passage, just as I have related it here.

"Barejo's a dangerous man," remarked José thoughtfully.  "He'll spend
the last drop of blood in his body to keep this country for Spain.
He's Loyalist and Royalist to the core.  It's a pity, too, because he
is fighting for a lost cause."

"The more honour to him!" I answered warmly.

"Just so," exclaimed José, with a queer smile; "but, all the same, he
makes things more difficult for us."

"Well, put him on one side now.  Tell me your own adventures, and where
you were when my message reached Lima."

"On the way there.  When the schooner foundered, I reckoned it was all
over.  I went down to a great depth, but, as luck would have it, came
up just clear of a broken mast.  One of the sailors was holding to it,
and I joined him, though without any hope of being saved.  You know I'm
pretty strong, but I was helpless in that wild sea.  The waves just
flung me about anyhow.  The other chap lasted an hour or two, when down
he went with a scream, and I heard no more of him.  But I needn't dwell
on the horrors of that night; you had a strong taste of them yourself.
About daybreak I was flung like a spent ball on to a sandy beach.  I
had just strength to crawl a few yards further up, and then collapsed.
It seems some Indians carried me away, and nursed me back to health,
but for weeks I was wild as a loon.  They searched the coast, but found
nothing, and I concluded you were at the bottom of the sea.  Then I got
a passage to Pisco in a coasting brig, and from there made my way
overland to Callao."

"Where you heard I was alive?"

"Yes; I hardly know whether I stood on my head or my heels when I was
told.  It was old Mr. Warren who informed me.  I went to him because I
dared not go to your mother.  I was afraid that--"

"All right; I understand."

"So I went to Warren, and he began a long yarn; but as soon as he said
you were alive, I was off like a shot to Lima."

Then he talked of my mother, repeating the messages she had given him,
and I could have listened for hours.  As it was, I plied him with
questions, asking this and that--if my pony was well; had he seen Rosa
Montilla; was my mother less sad; and a hundred other things, many of
them trivial enough, yet full of interest to me.

At the end I asked how he had found his way to the Hidden Valley.

"Oh!" replied he with a jolly laugh, "that was simple.  I hunted up
your black-browed bandit, who passed me on to one of his band.  How he
found the way I can't tell you, but he brought me along all right."

"And now what are we going to do?"

"Well, that depends.  If the Spaniards give in, we can just go quietly
back home."

"And if they don't?"

"Well, in that case--"

"We must join General San Martin!" I exclaimed.

"I suppose so," he said, half reluctantly.  "You're only a boy, but
there are many youngsters of your age with the army, and you've a big
stake in the country.  But we can afford to let that matter stand for a
day or two longer."




CHAPTER VI.

WE LEAVE THE HIDDEN VALLEY

Now, before proceeding with my story, it will be well to mention here one
piece of information which José, not caring, perhaps, to add to my
troubles, did not give me.  Indeed, very little was said about it at any
time, for reasons which will be clear to any one who makes himself
acquainted with this narrative.

On the very morning after my flight from Lima, a servant of the
government paid my mother a visit of official importance.  He brought
with him a notable document full of curious legal phrases, which, put in
simple language, meant that all my father's vast estates had been
confiscated and given over to that loyal and worthy Spaniard Don Felipe
Montilla.  As an act of mercy, my mother was permitted to retain the
house and grounds at Lima during her lifetime.

In presenting this famous letter, the messenger was, of course, only
doing his duty, but it is certain that in some way he failed in the
respect due to a noble lady.  He may have been one of those mean-spirited
people who delight in trampling on the fallen.  There are, strange to
say, many such in the world.

My mother never alluded to the incident, which was related to me by Tomas
Peraza, an old and faithful servant, next in importance to José himself.

"The man had been with my lady nearly an hour," said he, in describing
the event, "when her bell rang, and I went into the room.  She stood in
the centre of the apartment, her cheeks very red, and her eyes flashing
like summer stars.

"'Peraza,' she exclaimed, 'our house has fallen very low, but even so its
members brook insolence from no man.  Bid my servants bring stout sticks
and chastise this rude fellow back to the place from which he came!'

"You may be sure that I lost no time in obeying.  The fellow drew his
sword even in the presence of a lady; but it was knocked from his grasp,
and we drove him from the grounds with blows and buffets.  It was a
strange spectacle, and the people came flocking to us in crowds.  At
first they would have interfered, but on hearing me cry, 'This for
insulting the Donna Maria Crawford!' they desisted.  And in this way we
pursued him right to the Government House, where he flung himself upon
the protection of the soldiers."

It was a harsh measure, perhaps; but then no man should be wanting in
respect to a woman, and the fellow had but himself to blame.

José, as I have said, withheld the news, or I should have gone at all
risks to Lima.  As it was, I stayed contentedly in the valley, waiting
until the Indians received the signal to move.

From that time we heard rumours of hard fighting in various parts of the
country, and about the middle of March 1821 a messenger arrived from
Raymon Sorillo.  He brought the order for thirty men to march to Pisco,
on the sea-coast, where a small patriot detachment had landed under the
command of Colonel Miller.

"A countryman of ours, Jack," remarked José, "and, from what I hear, one
of the finest fellows in South America.  The patriots think almost as
much of him as they do of the famous Lord Cochrane."

"What is he like?"

"I haven't seen him; but he is quite young--not twenty-four yet--though
he has been soldiering for the last eight years.  He served under
Wellington in Spain, fought all through the Chilian War, was Cochrane's
right-hand man at the capture of Valdivia, and now he has come to help
us.  He has been shipwrecked, taken prisoner, wounded times out of
number, blown up by a powder explosion--after which he was confined for
six weeks in a dark room and fed through a plaster mask--and nearly
killed by fever.  I should say he has crowded as much excitement into his
life as any man in the world."

"He seems to be a lively customer!"

"He is," laughed José; "and nothing will ever kill him, in my opinion!"

"Don't you think we might join him?" I asked, my blood being fired by
José's description.

"Well," said my companion, after a pause, "that's what I was about to
suggest.  You must throw in somewhere, and I'm not over anxious for
Sorillo to get hold of you.  He's a cruel fellow, though kind enough to
us, and all the cut-throats in the country are likely to flock to him.
I'm sorry for the Spaniards who fall into his hands!"

Quilca was rather opposed to our plans, but finding us determined, he at
last agreed that we should accompany him on the next expedition.

Day had but just broken when we rode from the valley and I turned to take
a farewell glance at the place which had been my home so long.  I had not
been altogether unhappy there, yet I was glad to go into the world again,
to take the first step on the road to Lima and my mother.

The march to Pisco passed without incident.  We suffered horribly, it is
true, from thirst, and from choking, blinding sandstorms; but there were
no Spaniards in that desolate district to bar our way.

A few hours' march from the town we fell in with some Indian scouts, and
learned from them that the Patriots lay encamped in the Chincha Baja, a
beautiful valley.  Our joy at these tidings was, however, soon dashed by
the report that they were in a deplorable condition--suffering from fever
and ague, and unable to move.

The gloomy picture was not overdrawn.  The valley was a hospital, but
almost destitute of doctors and medicine.  The sentries, selected from
the strongest of the troops, could barely stand, staggering even under
the weight of their muskets.  Privates and officers alike were prostrate,
and a score of strong men could have killed them all without effort.

As it chanced, the enemy, stationed in an adjoining valley, though
suffering less severely, were in no condition to make an attack, and the
two parties could do no more than idly watch each other.

Ordering his men to dismount, Quilca went to find an officer, and soon
returned with the startling intelligence that the colonel himself lay
dangerously ill in one of the huts.

"Not an encouraging start!" I remarked.

"A bad beginning often makes a good ending," answered José cheerfully.
"Let us go to see him."

The doctor, a Spaniard, was attending his patient when we entered the
hut, and he beckoned us toward the bed.

I could not repress a start at the sight which met our eyes.  The colonel
was turning restlessly but feebly from side to side; his eyes were
unnaturally bright; his cheek bones stood out sharp and prominent.  He
mumbled to himself in short snatches, but so faintly that only a word
here and there reached us.

Once he smiled pleasantly, saying, "Yes, I see the steeple!  Dear old
Wingham!"

I did not at that time understand the allusion, but afterwards it became
plain that he referred to his home, the home of his childhood, a place
called Wingham, in Kent.

"Do you know," said José sharply, turning to the doctor, "that your
patient is dying?"

"Perfectly; but what can I do?" replied he.  "He is suffering from the
tertian ague; the valley is permeated with it."

"We must get him out of it," said José, with decision.

"But where will you take him? the town is as bad."

"On shipboard, and give him a sea-breeze."

"The Chilian squadron is absent, cruising."

"Then we must beg, borrow, or steal a trading-vessel; for go he must and
shall."

It was wonderful how the doctor brightened up at these words, and still
more wonderful how he allowed himself to be commanded by a stranger.  But
José was a strong man though not often exerting his strength, and there
was that in his face which made most men chary of coming to handgrips
with him.

"Come, Jack," said he, "let us go to the bay and find a ship, if we wish
to save the colonel's life.  Another week of this pestilence and he will
be dead, and Peru can't afford to lose him just yet."

"But suppose," said I, as we rode away from the valley, "that the
authorities won't allow him to be moved?"

"Why, we'll move him in spite of them.  Quilca's men can be trusted to
help us.  'Twill be a little campaign on our own account!" said he, with
a jovial laugh.

Even José, however, could not impress a vessel that had no existence, and
the bay was empty.  A few boats only lay peacefully resting on the placid
waters, but of a ship there was no sign.  We stood for an hour staring
seaward, as if our will could conjure up a vessel, and then returned to
the town.  We paid a visit to the governor, but he could not help us.  It
was unlikely there would be a vessel, he said, until Lord Cochrane
returned with the squadron from Callao.

"When will that be?" I asked.

The governor gave his shoulders an expressive shrug.

"The gallant Englishman does not confide in me," he replied.  "He may
come to-day; he may not come for a twelvemonth."

It was getting late now, and nothing further could be done till the
following morning.  José was disappointed, but in no way disheartened.

"If we can't get what we want," said he, "we must be satisfied with what
we can get.  There's a fine bit of philosophy for you!"

"And what can we get?"

"A house at the seaside.  We'll look for a sheltered place on the beach
to-morrow, bring down some men to build a hut, and have the colonel
removed to it.  With the sea air filling his lungs, he may yet have a
chance of recovery."

Instead of returning to camp, we slept that night at Pisco, and after an
early breakfast went again to the beach.  José had just selected an
admirable spot for the hut, when we suddenly heard a shout of "Sail ho!
sail ho! There's another--and another!  Why, it must be Cochrane's
squadron!"

In an instant we were gazing seaward, and there, sure enough, rounding
the corner of the bay, were several vessels, led by a stately ship.

By this time a number of people had assembled, and more were coming in
hot haste from the town.  They talked and gesticulated violently--the
majority, I observed being doubtful if the incoming vessels were friends
or foes.

As they drew nearer, however, all misgiving vanished, every one agreeing
that the leading ship was the _San Martin_, so named in honour of the
great general.

"The luck's with us!" cried José joyfully.  "Before nightfall we'll have
the colonel on board one of those craft.  How beautifully the admiral's
ship is handled! she comes sweeping in like a great sea-bird."

"Hadn't we better get a couple of men to pull us out to her? she'll
anchor soon."

"The very thing! we can't afford to lose time."

Our arrangements did not take long to make, and we were soon speeding
across the bay, our crazy boat being propelled by two wiry Indians.  The
whole squadron was now well within the bay, the smaller craft lying close
in, and flying the Chilian colours; but José directed the boatmen to pull
for the flagship.

"_San Martin_ ahoy!" he yelled, standing up in the stern and hailing the
ship in what he believed to be sailor fashion.

"Hullo!  Who are you?" came the answer.

"Is Admiral Cochrane on board?"

"Well, he was a minute ago."

"Throw a rope, will you? we're coming up."

This conversation was carried on in English, for many officers in the
Chilian navy were Englishmen; and now the man on the _San Martin_
exclaimed, "Well, you're a cool customer anyhow!  Walt a bit while I tell
the captain."

"Hang the captain!" roared José; "it's a matter of life and death."  And
those on deck, seeing how terribly in earnest he was, flung over a rope,
and we scrambled up the ship's side.

"Now, my man," exclaimed a sharp voice, "what is it you are in such a
tremendous hurry about?"

"I want to see Lord Cochrane immediately," said José.

"His lordship is engaged in his cabin.  Give your message to me."

"I prefer to manage my own business, thank you," replied José coolly.
"Tell the admiral I have come from Colonel Miller."

As he finished speaking, a distinguished-looking officer, accompanied by
several others, appeared on deck, and I knew instinctively that we were
in the presence of the famous Admiral Cochrane, whose marvellous exploits
had gained for him the admiration of the world.

Hearing the name of Miller, he stopped, and looking at us, said, "What is
that about Colonel Miller?"

"He is dying, sir!" exclaimed José, as much at ease with an admiral as
with a private sailor.  "His men are all down with ague, and the colonel
will be dead inside a week unless you remove him at once."

"Mr. Welsh," remarked the admiral to a handsome young fellow standing
near, "this is your affair.  Do whatever you think best; but remember, I
would rather lose a ship than Miller.  He's the one man we can rely upon
ashore."  Then looking at us, he added, "You are not soldiers?"


"This lad," replied José, pointing to me, "is Jack Crawford.  His father
was one of the largest landowners in Peru, and a great patriot.  The
Spaniards shot him some time ago, and the boy has been hiding ever since.
Yesterday we arrived at Pisco to join the detachment there, as
volunteers, and found the colonel delirious with fever.  A few days
longer in camp will finish him."

"He shall be removed at once," exclaimed the Admiral.--"Captain
Wilkinson, will you order a boat to be lowered!" and then he began to
question José further concerning the condition of the troops.

Very quickly the boat was got ready, Mr. Welsh took his seat, and at his
suggestion we followed, giving instructions to our own men to return to
shore.

"Are you a doctor?" asked José of our companion.

"Yes; I am Lord Cochrane's private surgeon, though, fortunately, he gives
me but little work to do," and he laughed merrily.  I have said that he
was a handsome fellow, with a boyish, fresh-coloured face, and bright,
sparkling eyes.  He talked to us cheerfully about the campaign, and would
not allow that Colonel Miller was in danger of dying.

"You don't know him as well as we do," he said, with a laugh.  "Most men
who had been through what he has would be dead already; but Miller stands
alone.  The last time we brought him from Pisco he had a ball in the
right arm, another had smashed his left hand, while a third had gone
through his chest, fractured a rib, and passed out at the back.  Of
course we gave him up, but he pulled through comfortably."

"Well, he is pretty bad now," said José significantly.

"He'll be leading a bayonet charge in a month," laughed the young
surgeon, "if the war lasts as long.  For my part, I expect it to be over
sooner."

"I had no idea," said I, "that the Spaniards would be beaten so easily."

"The odds are all against them, you see.  Lord Cochrane has scooped up
their navy, San Martin is waiting to pounce on Lima, they have to watch
General Bolivar in the north, and most of the people are in favour of the
revolution.  Hullo! here we are!  I suppose you'll come with me to the
camp?"

"Yes," said José, "and back to the ship if you will let us.  We can do no
good here."

"All right.  I daresay we can find you a berth."

The young surgeon came near to losing his self-possession when he saw the
actual state of things.

"Whew!" exclaimed he, "this will have to be altered.  Why, the men are
dying on their feet!  And I suppose it's the same old story--not enough
doctors, no proper attendants, and musty drugs.  Well, we'll clear the
colonel out of it first, and then see what can be done for the others."

While he attended to his patient, we had a litter made ready, in which
the colonel was placed and carried to the water's edge, where the ship's
boat was in waiting.  The sailors rowed steadily and well, and we soon
had the satisfaction of seeing the sick man comfortably installed in one
of the ship's cabins.

Lord Cochrane showed the greatest concern at his old friend's shocking
condition, and did everything possible to help forward his recovery.

As it chanced, I was much in the sick man's cabin; the doctor, to whom I
had taken a singular liking, using me as a sort of assistant.  In the
early evening he went ashore with the admiral, who also took José with
him, and together they visited the sick camp.  It was late when they
returned, but our patient had suffered no hurt during their absence.
Indeed he lay very still and quiet, while from time to time I wiped the
sweat from his brow and gave him cooling drinks.

José did not come into the cabin again, but I heard from the doctor that
it had been decided to bring the soldiers on board, in the hope that a
sea voyage would set up their strength.  Our own particular Indians
returned to the Hidden Valley, but in the course of a day or two the rest
of the troops were embarked on the flagship.  Then we stood out to sea,
bearing southward, the other vessels of the squadron taking the opposite
direction.

Thanks partly to the young surgeon's skill, but chiefly, perhaps, to his
own marvellous constitution, the colonel began to mend slowly.  The fever
abated, he was able to take some nourishing food, and at last a day came
when we carried him on deck.

It was extraordinary to behold the joy with which his appearance was
greeted, not only by his own troops, but by every man on board.  Some of
them knew him only by report, but most of the sailors had witnessed his
daring deeds, while the marines had taken part in them.

The officers, too, from the admiral downward, came about him, and though
too weak as yet for much talk, he acknowledged their kindness by a
charming and fascinating smile.

At the end of an hour the doctor gave orders that he should be carried
back to his cabin, saying with a laugh, "That's enough excitement for the
first day, colonel.  Mustn't overdo it, you know."

Whether it was the bracing effect of the fresh sea air, or the sight of
his men's most obvious improvement, I know not, but from that day his
strength increased with astonishing rapidity.

During this period of convalescence he talked with me a good deal, and in
the kindest manner, so that shortly I became as ardent a hero-worshipper
as the others.  He sent for José, too, thanked him for his prompt action,
and declared that in a sense he was indebted to him for his life.

"But," said he, smiling, "I don't know yet who you are, or how you came
to turn up at Pisco just at the right moment!"  Whereupon José gave him
an outline of our story.

He listened attentively, and at the end said, "I have heard of your
father, my boy, through General San Martin, who will be glad to make your
acquaintance.  Meanwhile I shall charge myself with your welfare--that
is, if you care to share my fortunes."

"I ask for nothing better, sir," I replied, flushing with pleasure.
"There is no leader I would rather choose to follow."

"Then you shall have your wish," said he, "unless the general finds other
work for you."




CHAPTER VII.

WHOM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG.

It was, I believe, Lord Cochrane's desire to land his troops close to
the port of Arica; but two unsuccessful attempts having been made, the
plan was abandoned.

Colonel Miller, who had by this time resumed his duties, next
transferred his men to two small schooners captured from the enemy, and
having taken on board food and water sufficient for twenty-four hours,
set sail for the Morro de Sama, a miserable port ten leagues north of
Arica.

José and I accompanied him, as did also, to my great delight, the young
doctor.  Our two vessels were crazy craft: they had only temporary
rudders, and it was impossible to steer with any degree of accuracy.
Owing to this the trip occupied just double the calculated time, so
that on landing we were half dead with hunger and thirst.  The soldiers
still suffered somewhat from the effects of the ague: their legs
tottered under them, and at first they could not march longer than half
an hour at a time without lying down to rest.

You must not, however, suppose that we were at all downhearted on this
account.  The men had the greatest confidence in their leader, while
the gaiety and high spirits of the young doctor acted as a fine tonic.
He was full of quips and cranks, and his merry sayings brought a smile
to the faces of even the most wearied.

A winding path three miles in length brought us to the summit of a
steep mountain, where we stopped awhile to rest, and to enjoy the
refreshing breeze.

"Well, Crawford," exclaimed the doctor cheerfully, when we once more
resumed the march, "how do you like being on active service?  A
pleasant change, isn't it, from being cooped up on board ship?"

At the moment I hardly agreed with him, but I made an effort to reply
to his banter.

Only to a few of us was the really desperate nature of our expedition
known.  Of the Spaniards we entertained no manner of fear; the sole
terror lay in the route to be traversed.  We were already parched by
thirst, and more than twenty miles of sandy desert lay between us and
water.

Nor was this all.  Only one man knew the route, and years had gone by
since he had last travelled over it.  If his strength or memory failed,
it might well happen that the dreary desert would be our burial-place
and the loose sand our winding-sheet.  It was not exactly a cheering
prospect, but we made the best of it.

The colonel marched at the head of his men, the doctor at the rear, so
that he might assist any unfortunate stragglers, while José and I went
forward with the guide.

With frequent halts for rest we ploughed our way through the shifting
sand, our eyes aching and our throats terribly dry.

About midnight, as near as I could judge, the guide stopped
irresolutely.

"What is it?" asked José, in an excited whisper; "what is wrong?"

We could not see the fellow's face, but he seemed very agitated, and
there was a break in his voice as he answered,--

"I don't know--I am not sure--but I can't be certain that we are on the
right track."

The words sounded like a sentence of death, and I could hardly repress
a cry of horror.

"Be still!" whispered José; "the men must not know.  Stay here a minute
while I ask the colonel to halt.  That will give us a little
breathing-space."

He was soon back, and taking the guide's arm, he exclaimed,--

"Now come, get your wits about you, and let us see what can be done.
Where do you think we ought to be?"

"I don't know," replied the guide helplessly.  "The saints preserve us,
or we are lost!"

"Now look here," said José sternly: "you are giving way, and that won't
do.  Pluck up your courage, man, and remember that all our lives are in
your hands."

I think, perhaps, this awful responsibility had much to do with
breaking the guide down.  He wrung his hands and groaned, saying aloud
that he had brought us to death.

"But we aren't dead yet," I remarked, "and needn't be if only you will
collect your wits.  Come, let us cast about a bit; maybe you'll find
some landmark that will help you."

"No, no," he cried; "we may be right now, and if we stray away we shall
certainly be lost.  May the saints preserve us!"

I think the fellow would be there yet, but for the click of José's
pistol and the stern ring in his voice as he said sharply,--

"This nonsense has to stop.--Take his arm, Jack.--Now go on without a
word, until you can make up your mind one way or other about the route."

The next quarter of an hour was one of the worst in my life.  The man
stumbled this way and that, now going in a straight line, again turning
to right or left, and all the time the troops in our rear were resting
in fancied security.  I shuddered to think what would happen if the
guide failed to locate the track.  Suddenly he ran forward quickly,
dragging me with him, and then uttered a joyful cry.  We were at the
foot of a sandy hillock of peculiar shape, much like, as far as I could
tell, a truncated cone.

It was not high, but apparently of considerable circumference.

The guide laughed and wept like a man bereft of his senses, and then
crying, "We are saved!" he straightway fell on his knees and offered up
a prayer of thanksgiving.  The strangely-shaped hillock showed him that
thus far he had led us correctly; and although during the night he had
several further twinges of alarm, he did not lose his nerve again.

As mile after mile was traversed our thirst became excruciatingly
painful, and there was no chance of relief.  Between us and the valley
of Sama no drop of water would be found.  Still we plodded on, parched
and weary, until in the eastern sky the dawn rose slowly.  For just a
brief period we felt the cold, damp, but refreshing breath of morning,
and then the hot sun added to our misery.  Our heads were scorched by
its burning rays, and we were almost blinded by the glare reflected
from the deep, loose sand.

It was nearly nine o'clock when the guide, extending his arm,
exclaimed, "Sama--water!"  And looking ahead, we caught a glimpse of
the cool green vegetation in the Sama valley.

Under other circumstances it would have been laughable to watch the
effect produced by our near approach to the valley.  What semblance of
order the colonel had kept on the march vanished.  Breaking their
ranks, the men rushed forward eagerly in search of the welcome water.
One who for the last mile had been crawling along, supported by the
doctor, darted off like a champion runner, though he fell exhausted
before covering half the distance.  On reaching the sparkling stream,
we all, without exception, flung ourselves down by the margin, and
lapped the water like thirsty dogs.

Here we remained till the next day, being supplied with food by the
people from Sama, who also procured for us about a dozen horses, two of
which, I am thankful to say, fell to José and myself.

Most of the men, after eating and drinking, stretched themselves out on
the grass, and were fast asleep in a moment; but our leader had much to
do, and the cheery young doctor spent half his time in attending on the
sick.  In this José helped him.  I wished to do so, but in truth the
long march, and the want of food and water, had worn me out.

"Lie down and get some rest," said the doctor, "or you will be left
behind to-morrow.  We have another twelve leagues or so before us yet."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To a village called Tacna."

"We call it a town," laughed José.  "Why, there are more than four
thousand people living in it."

"Dear me," exclaimed the doctor good-humouredly, "what a considerable
place!"

Attended by José, he passed on laughing, and I curled up in the
sheltered nook which I had selected as bed and bedchamber in one.  I
know nothing of what happened after that until José, shaking my arm,
told me to rise.

It was scarcely light; but the troops were already preparing their
simple breakfast, for they had another long and tedious march before
them.

"How do you feel, Jack?" asked José.

"All right, thank you," said I, giving myself a shake, "but
tremendously hungry.  I could eat a horse!"

At that he laughed, saying, "Before the campaign's over I daresay you
will be glad to eat part of one"--a prophecy that was more than
fulfilled.

Directly after breakfast the men were assembled, the colonel addressed
them in a few stirring words, and the march began.  We did not
anticipate an attack, but a few sturdy and well-mounted peasants from
Sama rode ahead to make sure that the route was clear.

Outside Tacna we were met by the inhabitants, who escorted us, with
much noise and cheering, in triumph to the town.

"These worthy people are good patriots, Crawford," said the doctor, who
was riding next me.  "Hark how they cry 'Down with the Spaniards!'  It
is lucky for them that we are not part of the Spanish army."

"As to that," I answered, "it is as easy to shout for one side as for
the other.  It is only a matter of words, after all."

"Well," he laughed, "if cheers were bullets, we need not go short of
ammunition."

We remained several days in Tacna, where I had the luck to be quartered
on a wealthy Spanish merchant.  It was most amusing to be in his
company, as he hated us like poison, and, in spite of himself, could
hardly prevent his real sentiments from popping out at inconvenient
times.  However, either from fear or from policy, he treated me well,
and during our stay in the town I lived on the best of everything.
This was an agreeable interlude in the making of war, and suited me
admirably.

Like all good things, it came to an end much too soon, and very
suddenly.  José, the doctor, and I had been spending an evening with
one of the principal inhabitants, and on coming away met the colonel.

"I am pleased that you keep good hours," said he, with a smile.  "We
march at dawn.  The Spaniards are moving in three detachments to
intercept us; we must crush them one by one."

"Well," exclaimed the doctor pleasantly, "we can't grumble; we have had
a pleasant breathing-space."

During our stay at Tacna we had received reinforcements, bringing our
adventurous party up to four hundred and fifty, of which about a third
part consisted of cavalry.  The few days' rest had recruited our
strength, and we set out in high spirits for Buena Vista, a tiny hamlet
at the foot of the Cordillera.

As yet we had obtained no definite news of the enemy; but while we lay
at Buena Vista, a native scout brought word that a strong Spanish force
was stationed at Mirabe, a village some forty miles distant.  The
colonel's resolution was instantly taken, and as soon as day broke we
were once more moving.

After we had left the valley, our route lay across a region where no
blade of grass had ever grown.  As far as the eye reached, the scene
was one of utter desolation.  The horses picked their steps gingerly,
and the foot-soldiers stumbled along as best they could, tripping now
and then over the stones and boulders that strewed the path.  All day
long, with intervals for rest, we tramped, and the coming of night
still found us pursuing the tedious journey.

The last part was worse than the first.  For six miles the road
descended amidst steep rocks and mighty precipices.  The pass was so
narrow that we had to march in single file, each horseman on foot and
leading his animal.  Had the Spaniards caught us there, not a man would
have escaped.

Slowly and carefully we descended in one long line, until at midnight
we reached the rugged bank of the river which rushes through the Mirabe
valley.  In a hollow on the opposite side lay the village, and behind
the mud walls surrounding the cultivated grounds were the Spaniards,
little dreaming of our proximity.

"Now," exclaimed the colonel softly, "we have them in our power.  We
have but to cross the river and fall upon their camp."

He had already begun to give his orders, when the report of a
pistol--fired, whether by accident or design, by one of our men--rang
out, and all chance of a surprise vanished.  The Spaniards, in alarm,
began firing rapidly, though they could not see us, a thick wood
stretching between them and the river.

"I'd hang that fellow," growled José.  "He's either a fool or a rogue,
and has completely spoiled the colonel's plans."

"Never mind," said the colonel cheerfully; "we must make new ones," and
he immediately dispatched two rocket parties--one to the right, the
other to the left--in order to engage the enemy's attention.

Meanwhile each mounted man, taking up a foot-soldier behind him,
crossed the river, and then returned for another, until in a short time
all had safely effected a passage.  Then, unable to do more in the
darkness, we lay down to wait for the coming of dawn.

Many of the men fell fast asleep in spite of the random firing, but my
mind was busy with thoughts of the approaching fight.

About two o'clock, Dr. Welsh, who had been assisting the regular army
surgeons, came and lay down beside me.

"Well, Crawford," said he, finding I was awake, "how do you like the
music?  Rather alarming at first, eh?  But you'll get used to it.
After hearing the bullets swish round your ears a time or two you'll
think nothing of it."

"That may be," I replied, "but it is distinctly unpleasant just now."

He laughed, saying the fight would be only a skirmish at the most, and
not worth considering.

"Are you going to stay with us?" I asked.

"Oh no," said he; "this is only a run ashore, just to stretch my legs a
bit, you know.  They get cramped on board ship.  By George, those
fellows intend serenading us till daybreak.  Who's that on the other
side of you--Craig?"

"Yes--sound asleep and snoring.  I wish I were."

"Ah, no doubt he has a clear conscience.  Take pattern by him, my boy."

"Thanks for the advice," said I, laughing; "it's very kind of you to
offer it."

"It costs nothing," he answered banteringly; "which explains why so
many people are willing to give it."

After a time I fell asleep, and did not waken till, at the first streak
of dawn, an order was quietly passed through the lines for every man to
hold himself in readiness.

José sat up, rubbed his eyes lazily, and declared that he could sleep
another twenty-four hours.

"There's too much hurry and bustle about this kind of warfare," said
he.  "Why don't both sides agree to meet at a certain place, and to
fight it out?"

"A famous plan, upon my word!" cried the doctor; "it would save no end
of trouble."

"And get the business over quickly," said José, who was saddling up.
"Hullo, there goes the colonel!  I wonder if he ever gets tired?"

"No," laughed the doctor merrily; "he's made of iron."

The dawn was broadening now; and moving from the shelter of the wood,
we saw the Spaniards on a level piece of ground about half a mile wide.

"They're trying to gain the ridge on the left," cried José; "that will
give them the advantage."

But the colonel had seen the manoeuvre also, and flung his small body
of cavalry at them with such force that they drew back, trying to
retreat by the winding track through the mountains.  Again they were
intercepted, this time being forced to the edge of a precipitous cliff.

"By George," exclaimed the doctor, "they're in it now!  It's neck or
nothing with them."

All this time I had quietly sat on my horse, watching the phases of the
fight.  The scene was to me so extraordinary that I had no sense of
fear.  I was not upset even by the strange, wailing sounds made by the
rushing bullets.

José and I were with the reserve cavalry; Welsh was at the colonel's
side.  The Spaniards fought with desperate courage, I could see that,
and they pushed our men hard.  Fallen soldiers dotted the level tract
of ground.  Some, raising themselves painfully, began to crawl back.

I make no pretence of giving an accurate description of the combat.  To
me it was a confused medley of men and horses inextricably mixed; of
shining swords, of blinding red flashes; and my ears were deafened with
the fierce cries and shouts of men spending their lives recklessly
under the rising sun.

At last I saw the colonel raise his sword.  Then he shouted something
in Spanish, whereat, gathering up the reins in my left hand, I spurred
my horse, to keep company with the rest.

"A firm seat, Jack; keep a firm seat!" cried a familiar voice in my
ear; and there was José, riding as coolly as if taking a canter over
the grounds of our park at home!

We were riding at no great pace, but all well together, when again the
colonel's voice rang out, and we broke instantly into a gallop.  Then
in a flash I saw a body of Spanish cavalry drawn up to receive us,
while from our left came a stinging hail of bullets.

A man close to me dropped his sword with a cry of pain, and the next
moment his horse, taking the bit between its teeth, rushed madly to the
front.  I watched its progress with queer fascination.  On it went,
right through the Spaniards, who edged aside to let it pass, straight
to the brink of the precipice, over which it fell, still carrying its
hapless rider.  It seemed to me that I heard his shriek, though that
must have been fancy, as it could not have risen above the tumult of
the fight.

"Forward!" roared the colonel, waving his sword, and the next instant
we were in the midst of the throng.  The young doctor was just in front
of me, José on my right hand, and the men pressing close behind.  I saw
nothing of the fight save that part only which concerned myself.  Again
and again the shining steel was within a hair's-breadth of me--now at
my head, now at my heart--while I was almost suffocated in the press.

Inch by inch, by sheer force of steel, we threaded our way through,
re-formed on the further side, and, still headed by the colonel, dashed
once more into the fray.  This time the resistance was less obstinate.
The Spaniards began to weary--to fall back, as if unable to hold their
ground.

"Hurrah!" cried the young doctor, "hurrah! they're done for!"

I shall not easily forget the picture he made.  His handsome face was
flushed with excitement, his beautiful eyes were ablaze with light; he
sat his horse erect as a young sapling.  A handsomer or finer man could
not have been.

I saw the tragedy from beginning to end, but could do nothing to
prevent it.  It was over quick as a flash of summer lightning.  Before
us rode a Spanish officer, calling fiercely on his men to come back.
At the sound of the doctor's triumphant note he turned, and I saw his
face black with anger.

"Ah, Englishman!" he cried savagely; and even as he spoke his left arm
rose, there was a flash, a report, and the doctor fell forward on his
horse's neck.

"See to him, Crawford!" cried the colonel huskily; and as I clutched
the animal's bridle, the troopers swept on in hurricane fury, while
from all parts of the battlefield there rose a cry of triumph.




CHAPTER VIII.

A FRIENDLY OPPONENT.

I had known the young English doctor only a short time, but I had
learned to love him as a dear friend.  In the fight he had shown
himself brave and fearless, but quite apart from this, his qualities
endeared him to every one.  He was always cheery and full of hope, even
in our worst straits; he was tender-hearted as a child, and every sick
or wounded soldier worshipped him for his unvarying attention and
kindness.

He was not dead when, slipping from my horse, I placed my arm round him
as well as I could to support him.  I saw that his eyes were open, and
that a beautiful smile lit up his face.  For a second or two he
recognized me and tried to speak, but this was beyond his powers.  Then
a change came swiftly and suddenly; the light faded from his eyes, his
cheeks grew ashen gray, and though quite unfamiliar with death, I knew
that his spirit had fled.

Some wounded Indians, staggering from the fight, helped me to place the
lifeless body on the ground; and these poor, simple natives filled the
air with their lamentations.  The death of the brilliant young surgeon
had deprived them of a good friend, and they were quick to show their
grief.

The fight was now over.  The majority of the Spaniards were either
killed or captured; but no one took much pleasure in the well-earned
little victory.  From the chief to the meanest soldier in the
detachment, every one mourned sincerely the loss of a trusty comrade.

On active service, however, one has not much time to spend in grieving.
There were the dead to be buried, the wounded to be seen to, the
prisoners to be secured, and then, after a short space for food and
rest, we were marching in hot pursuit of the scanty remnant that had
escaped.

"It's lucky," observed José, with a laugh, "that the colonel managed to
procure a few horses."

"His command would have been one short without them," I replied.

We were by no means a smart-looking detachment.  The officers rode on
horseback, and a number of mules had been obtained for the men, who
followed the system of _ride and tie_.  Our clothes began to show signs
of hard wear, we suffered much from hunger and thirst, and most of all
from loss of sleep.  This last was really a terrible hardship, and I
noticed more than one poor fellow fall from his mule in a kind of
stupor as I rode along.

However, by dint of pegging away, we arrived at the town of Moquegua
just in time to capture most of the runaways, and then, utterly worn
out and exhausted, gladly settled down for a few days' rest.

José and I were billeted in a house near the colonel's quarters, and
the people gave us a warm welcome.  They spread a good meal, to which
we did ample justice, and then, although barely noon, we went straight
to bed.

"I hope," exclaimed José as he lay down, "that we shan't be disturbed
for a month.  I can easily do with a month's sleep."

"The chances are," said I gloomily, "that the colonel will be knocking
us up before we have fairly begun to dream."  At which dismal prophecy
José threatened me with all sorts of pains and penalties unless I held
my peace.

As it happened, the colonel did not need us, and we actually slept
without waking until nine o'clock the next morning, when, having made a
hearty breakfast, we went to call upon the chief.

"Why, Crawford," exclaimed the colonel, smiling, "I thought you were
lost!"

"Only in dreams, sir," I replied.  "We've been catching up a little of
our lost sleep.  We did not know how soon we might be on the march
again."

"So you made the most of your opportunity?  Well, I don't blame you;
but it is possible we shall make a long halt here."

"Possible," remarked José to me afterwards, "but not probable;" and
events proved that, as far as we were concerned, he was right.

That evening the colonel invited us to dinner; but we had scarcely sat
down when he was called away to speak to a messenger who had brought
important news.  He returned looking rather thoughtful, and, catching
sight of José, exclaimed,--

"Craig, you are pretty well acquainted with the Indian dialects, I
believe?"

"Yes, sir," answered José readily; "I can manage to talk with most of
the natives."

"Then you are the very man I want.  I'll tell you all about it after
dinner.  Mustn't send you off without satisfying the inner man, eh?"

José glanced at me with a smile, as much as to say, "I wasn't very far
out this morning;" while I was all curiosity as to what the business
might be.

As soon as we had finished, the colonel and José had a very earnest and
confidential talk, after which my companion rejoined me, and together
we left the room.

"What is it?" I asked anxiously; "anything of importance?"

"Rather, unless the Indian has made a mistake.  La Hera is hiding with
a few wounded men in the mountains, not a dozen miles away."

This was the Spanish leader whom we had defeated at Mirabe.  He was a
bold, dashing soldier, and a firm Loyalist, whose capture would deal
the enemy a heavy blow.

"Get the horses ready," said José, "while I pick out a few men.  We
mustn't make a mess of this affair, or the colonel won't trust us
again.  And don't mention where we are going, up at the house.  I
daresay the folks are all right, but what they don't know they can't
tell."

"Where shall I meet you?"

"Outside the colonel's quarters.  Now, off with you, we've no time to
waste."

The horses had benefited by their unusually long rest, and having
saddled them with the help of one of our host's servants, I led them
into the street.  José soon appeared with a dozen mounted men, wild,
fierce-looking fellows, and all natives.

Presently the guide came out, and directly afterwards the colonel, who
spoke a few words, telling us that we were bound on an important
errand, which he trusted we should accomplish successfully.  Then the
guide placed himself, on foot, beside José's horse, and we moved off.

He led us at first, purposely, in a wrong direction, in case of prying
eyes, turning back at the end of a mile or so, and then steering across
a wild and lonely desert track.  Having covered nearly a dozen miles,
we came to a tiny hamlet at the foot of the mountains.  Halting here,
we left our horses in charge of two men and pressed forward on foot.

Fortunately, in one way though not in another, it was a moonlight
night, and we could see where to step.  All around us towered huge
mountains, grim and forbidding.  We marched in single file by the edge
of steep precipices, so close sometimes that we seemed to hang over the
awful abyss.  Further and further we penetrated into the dreary
recesses.  We seemed to be a body of ghosts traversing a dreary world.
No man spoke; we heard the cry neither of bird nor of animal.  The only
sound to break the eerie silence was the occasional clatter of a stone,
which, loosened by our passage, rolled over into the unknown depths.

I looked neither to right nor to left, but kept my gaze fixed on José,
who walked before me.  The track narrowed down so that it hardly
afforded footing for one, and I prayed in my heart that we might soon
come to a better vantage-ground.

I was no coward, and since leaving home had met with more than one
adventure, but this was the most perilous of all.  Despite every effort
to keep firm, my limbs trembled, my head grew dizzy; I was seized by a
strong temptation to launch myself into space.  The fit passed as
suddenly as it had come, but I felt the sweat trickling down my face.

Presently we emerged on to a broad platform, and José, stopping, seized
my hand.  He was trembling now, but it was at the thought of danger
past.  One by one the men stole cautiously along while we waited,
watching with fascinated eyes, and drawing a deep breath of relief as
each stepped safely from the perilous path.  Whether they had also felt
fearful I could not tell; their faces were wonderfully impassive, and,
except when roused by savage anger, quite expressionless.

At a sign from José they dropped to the ground behind a group of
boulders, and he, addressing them in some Indian dialect, issued his
instructions.  I gathered very little from his speech; but presently
the men disappeared, gliding like serpents along the side of the
cliffs, and leaving me with José and the guide.

"I don't much like this, Jack," said José.  "I almost wish you had
stayed behind.  I hope the colonel can depend on this fellow."

"What is it?" I asked.  "I suppose we didn't come out just for the
pleasure of exercising ourselves on that goat-track?"

"No," said he; "though, to be sure, that was an uncommon diversion.
The real thing is just about to begin, and this is the way of it.
According to the guide, La Hera is in a cave close at hand."

"All the more chance of trapping him."

"I'm not so sure of that.  The entrance to the cave is some sixty feet
from the ground, in the side of a steep cliff."

"Well, we've had some experience in mountain-climbing."

"Yes, but not this sort.  The face of the cliff is as perpendicular as
the side of a house."

"The other fellows got up."

"So they did, but it was in the daylight, and there was no one at the
top waiting to pop them off with a bullet.  It seems the bandits have
been in the habit of using this cave as a depot, and one of them guided
La Hera there with the real object of betraying him."

"Ugh!" said I; "these traitors make me sick."

"Just so; but they are very useful.  Without the help of this one, for
instance, we can't capture La Hera, unless we starve him out."

"What does he propose to do?"

"Well, there is a stout rope fixed in the cave which he will let down
at the right moment.  Up this we shall have to climb by help of the
niches that have been cut in the cliff."

"Suppose La Hera finds it out, and is waiting to receive us?"

"That," replied José, with a shrug of the shoulders, "is just what is
bothering me.  However, we shall soon discover.  Our men have had time
to hide themselves, and the guide is getting fidgety.  But I say, Jack,
I wish I hadn't brought you."

"I'm rather pleased now that you have, though I wasn't half an hour
ago."

"No; I thought you breathed too hard to be enjoying yourself."

With that he ordered the native to proceed; and we all three crept
along, keeping well in the shadow, though the enemy, feeling secure in
possession of the rope, were hardly likely to have set a watch.

Coming to a halt, the guide pointed to a towering cliff, which, on that
face at least, was in truth steep and smooth as the wall of a house.
Our men lay close at hand, but completely concealed, watching for the
lowering of the rope.

Now it seemed to me that we were running great risk when our object
might have been gained with none at all.  Why not, as José had remarked
a short time previously, starve the inmates out?

"No good," answered he, when I asked the question.  "The guide says
there are stores in the cave sufficient to last a small party for
months.  The war would be over before they had finished their
provisions.  No; we must get them by surprise or not at all.  I should
like to see that rope dangling."

It was weary waiting, and a great strain on our nerves too, as every
moment's delay gave us more time to appreciate the danger.  The longer
I pondered the more I disliked the business, and doubted what would be
the end of it.  La Hera was a bold man, and if he got an inkling of the
truth, we should meet with an unpleasant reception.  He might not
approve of such an unceremonious intrusion into his dwelling-place.

I was still thinking of these things when the Indian guide drew our
attention to the cliff.  The time had come.  There, distinguishable in
the pale moonlight, dangled the rope, and as we watched it descended
lower and lower, very steadily, until the end of it was not higher than
a man could grasp.

It was the signal agreed upon to show that the enemy were asleep.

Calling softly to one of his men, José said, "Stay here and watch.  If
we are betrayed, take this man back to Colonel Miller.  If he tries to
escape, kill him."

The Indian moved not a muscle, while his guard took his place beside
him with drawn sword, for no muskets had been brought on the
expedition.  Then word was quietly passed round to the others, and one
by one we gathered close to the hanging rope.

We could not communicate with the man at the top, lest we should be
heard by the Spaniards, and we dared not make a sound.  Holding a knife
between his teeth, José clutched the rope firmly, planted one foot in a
niche, and began to mount.  When he had reached half-way up, I began
the ascent, bidding the men be ready to follow me.

I did not mind this part of the enterprise, dangerous though it was.
The niches cut in the rock afforded decent foothold, while the rope was
knotted at intervals.  The peril lay not so much in the climbing as in
the chance of discovery.  If the Spaniards learned what was going
forward, nothing could save us from certain death.  This was an
unpleasant thought, which I hastened to put as far from me as possible.

Meanwhile José's head was on a level with the cave, and I felt that the
best or the worst of the business would soon be known.  If the enemy
were awake, it would go hard with him.  His foot left the last niche,
he swung on the rope, and as I watched breathlessly he disappeared.

Casting a glance downward, I called softly to the troopers to hurry,
and then went up hand over hand at a breakneck pace.  In a short time I
was gazing at as strange a spectacle as I have ever seen.  The cavern
was an immense apartment, with steep walls and exceedingly lofty roof.
Near the centre was a fire, on which some one had hastily thrown a
fresh supply of dry fuel, and the red flames were leaping high in long,
thin tongues.

Just inside the entrance José and the traitorous Indian stood over the
windlass, by means of which the rope was worked, and as I ran to their
side, one of the Spanish soldiers uttered a cry of alarm.  Instantly
all was tumult and confusion.  Shots were fired at random, men shouted
wildly, "We are betrayed!" while, above all, José's voice rang out high
and clear, "Surrender! you are my prisoners."

With a rush the Spaniards sprang at us, fighting with the fury of wild
animals, while we had to guard not only ourselves but the rope up which
our men were swarming.  If that were cut or loosened, our opponents
would hold us at their mercy.  We fought against long odds, but for a
time held our own, though once I was stricken almost to my knees, and
felt the graze of a sharp blade across my cheeks.

Fortunately help came soon, or it would have gone badly with us.  With
a wild shout a burly trooper sprang into the fray, and another soon
joined him.  A third and a fourth followed quickly, and the issue was
placed beyond doubt.

Now, although our Indians made splendid soldiers, they hated the
Spaniards so much that it was difficult to restrain their passions.
Some excuse may be found for them in the long years of misery and
oppression they had endured; but, of course, José set his face sternly
against cruelties.

Thus it was in our enemies' own interest that I raised my voice,
crying, "Surrender, and we will spare your lives!  You cannot escape!"
And José echoed my appeal.  He, too, dreaded the slaughter that must
ensue if our Indians got out of hand.  Perhaps the Spaniards guessed
our motive; at least they must have seen the futility of continuing the
contest.  One by one they flung their weapons sullenly to the ground,
and yielded themselves prisoners.

"Torches!" cried José quickly, "and let us examine our capture.  Where
is Colonel La Hera?"

No one spoke, but several Indians plucked blazing brands from the fire
and brought them to us.  By their light we saw one man lying dead near
the windlass, and three wounded.  Six others, disarmed, stood round,
for the most part black-browed and scowling.

José repeated his question.  "Where is Colonel La Hera?" he asked.

"Gone to get reinforcements to drive you into the sea," answered a calm
voice.

"Then he is not in this cave?" asked José bluntly, but with a certain
ring of admiration in his tone.

Now all this time I had been taking particular notice of this Spaniard.
His uniform showed him to be a major, though he was quite young.  His
face was frank and open; he had dark, expressive eyes, and a pleasant,
musical voice, which somehow seemed familiar to me.  Where had I met
this man before?  In a moment or two he himself supplied the answer.

"Who is in command here?" asked José.

"I have the honour, and, as it seems, the misfortune also, of
commanding these brave fellows.  I am Major Santiago Mariano, in the
service of His Spanish Majesty, whom may God preserve!"

"I wish him no harm," replied José; "only for the future he must not
reckon Peru among his dominions.  Now, how am I to know that La Hera is
not here?"

"Ask the man who betrayed us," said the major scornfully; and on
questioning the Indian, it appeared he had mistaken Santiago for the
famous colonel.

"Well," muttered José, "it's a disappointment; but it can't be helped.
What are we to do with the wounded?  They can't go down the rope."

"Let me stay with them," I suggested, "and you can send a doctor back."

"Meanwhile," interrupted the major, "I have some little skill in
surgery, and, with your permission, I will remain also.  You need not
fear that I shall run away.  I will give my parole to come to Moquegua.
After that, matters must shape their own course."

"Very well," exclaimed José; "the plan has its advantages.  I'll hurry
along the first doctor I come across, Jack.  But you are hurt!"

"It's only a scratch; nothing serious at all."

José sent half a dozen of his men down the rope; then the dead Spaniard
was lowered, the prisoners followed, and José himself descended with
the remainder of the troopers.

"Haul up the rope, Jack," he cried in farewell, "and make sure of your
visitors before dropping it again."




CHAPTER IX.

A GLEAM OF HOPE.

As soon as the party had disappeared, I turned to the major and said
with a smile,--

"Now, my dear Santiago, let us attend to the needs of these poor
fellows."

I was now standing full in the firelight, and he glanced at my face
with a puzzled expression.  Then a half gleam of recognition shone in
his eyes, and he exclaimed doubtfully--

"Surely you can't be the boy Crawford who vanished so mysteriously from
the fort?"

"I am, though!" said I, laughing at his amazement.  "But we shall have
time for a talk presently; let us do what we can for these poor fellows
first.  Is there any water in the cave?"

"Yes; there is a spring at the far end.  I will fetch some.  Put some
more wood on the fire; it smokes if allowed to go down."

Of the three wounded men only one was seriously hurt, and he, I feared,
was beyond the aid of the most skilled surgeon.  However, we did our
best for all the sufferers, gave them water to drink, arranged them
comfortably on beds of straw, and bathed and bandaged their wounds.
Then I washed the cut in my cheek, and Santiago smeared it with a
native ointment, which he said possessed wonderful healing properties.

"Now," said he, "I judge you are ready for late supper or early
breakfast, whichever you may prefer to call it.  The provisions are
homely, and I am an indifferent cook, but I can at least give you
enough to eat.  Those brigands of yours have stored sufficient food
here for an army."

Carrying a torch, I accompanied him round the cavern, gazing in wonder
at the piles of Indian corn, the heaps of potatoes, and the strings of
charqui, the last suspended from the walls.

"Come," said I, "there is no need to starve in the midst of plenty.
What shall we have?  Roast potatoes and jerked beef?  The potatoes will
require the least attention."

"And they are not bad if you are downright hungry, as I was when we
crept in here after the affair at Mirabe.  There's a smart soldier
leading your men, Crawford."

"Yes; he is an Englishman named Miller, and a very fine fellow.  But
how come you to be here?"

"We'll talk over these things presently.  Meanwhile, let us cook the
potatoes.  Bring another handful; I daresay two of the men will be able
to eat a little breakfast."

"If it is breakfast!"

"It must be for us, because we had our supper before you paid us so
unceremonious a visit.  Of course we were betrayed."

"Well, as to that," I replied, "you must ask the colonel; I only acted
under orders."

"Just so.  Well, I am very pleased to see you, though I dislike the way
in which you introduced yourself.  Cut this piece of beef up finely
while I fetch some salt."

"Have you any?" I asked, in some surprise.

"Oh yes.  Your amiable brigands know how to stock a larder."

Two of the wounded men were able to eat, and they were very grateful
for the food we took them.  Then we returned to the fire, piled up some
sacks to serve as seats, and began our meal.

It was all most strange to me and very delightful; it might have been a
chapter lifted bodily from one of my favourite story-books.  There
seemed to be a piratical flavour about the whole business.

"Perhaps it is as well that I gave my parole," exclaimed the major
thoughtfully, taking off another potato.

"Why?" I asked.

"I might have felt tempted to escape," he replied, looking at the coil
of rope.

"You forget your jailer carries a pistol," I remarked, laughing.

"An empty one," he suggested, shrugging his shoulders.  "No, no, my
boy; my parole is your only safeguard."

"It is a sufficient one, at any rate."

"Yes," said he, rather dreamily, I thought.  "The honour of a Mariano
is sacred; my father taught me that.  And yet--and yet, do you know,
Crawford," he added, in a sharper tone, "I doubt if a parole given to
brigands should be held to."

I did not at all like this turn in the conversation, the more
especially as my pistol was really empty.  I had not dreamed of taking
any precautions, trusting wholly in the Spanish officer's honour.

I looked up at him, and felt reassured; there could be no treachery
hidden behind that frank, open countenance.

"It seems to me you are talking nonsense, Santiago," I said cheerfully.
"A man's word is his bond in any case--that is, if he be a man."

He took no notice of my remark, but sat musing, leaving half his food
untouched.  As for me, I helped myself to some more beef, though I must
confess the major's wild talk nearly destroyed my appetite.  His manner
had changed so suddenly and abruptly that I knew not what to make of
it.  I might perhaps have reloaded my pistol without his knowledge, but
this would be a confession that I had lost faith in him.

"Come," said I jocularly, pointing to his food, "you pay your cooking a
poor compliment."

To this he made no reply, but looking up after a time exclaimed,--

"I have news for you.  I had almost forgotten, but I must tell you
before going."

"Going?" I cried; "we cannot go before the doctor arrives."

"You cannot, but I can, and must.  My mind is made up.  Do not try to
thwart me; I should be sorry if you got hurt.  Sit still, my boy; don't
stir a finger, or I will kill you!"

I looked at him in amazement.  His face was flushed, his eyes shone
wildly; he spoke with a rapid and angry vehemence.

"By St. Philip," he cried, "I should be a cur to place honour before
loyalty!  My duty is to my king, do you hear?  Shall I help a parcel of
bandits to set the king at naught?  Shall I bring disgrace on a family
that has stood by the throne for untold centuries?  My father died on
the battlefield with the king's banner above his head, as did his
father before him.  And I am to stay in a cage when the door is open!
I am to let these upstarts trample on the king's rights!"

The words swept from his lips in a sweeping, tempestuous torrent, and
when they were done he leaped to his feet with an angry cry.  I sat in
my place looking at him steadily, but making no movement.

"I tell you it is monstrous!" he continued.  "I care nothing for
myself, but I cannot desert the king!"

"His Majesty must be greatly in need of friends," I remarked dryly, "to
accept the aid of a perjured soldier."

It was strong language.  I knew it would hurt him cruelly; but a
desperate disease requires a desperate remedy.  I thought at first he
would kill me.  His eyes blazed fiercely, and he sprang forward with
uplifted hands.  Suddenly he paused, and returned abruptly to his seat.

Thinking it best not to disturb him, I rose and made the round of the
wounded men.  I felt awfully sorry for the young major, and almost
wished he had not passed his word to José.  Having done so, he must, of
course, abide by it, unless he cared to live with tarnished honour.

Presently, returning to the fire, I threw some more fuel on, and sat
down again on my heap of sacks.  Santiago had covered his face with his
hands, and was rocking himself gently to and fro, like a child in pain.
Evidently the wild fit had passed, and he had overcome the temptation
which had tried him so sorely.

For nearly an hour we sat there, speaking no word, then looking me
straight in the face, he said suddenly,--

"Crawford, I have acted like a madman, but there is nothing to be
feared now."

"Nor before," I answered cheerfully.  "You would not have gone a
hundred yards.  Come, let us now dismiss the subject.  After all, it
was no more than a bad dream."

"By St. Philip," he exclaimed, "it was a very ugly one.  However, I am
in my right mind now, and as soon as we arrive at Moquegua I will
withdraw my parole.  Then if a chance to escape comes, I can avail
myself of it with an easy conscience.  You have not reloaded your
pistol?"

"No.  Why should I? there is no need of it."

"Not now," he said.  "I am master of myself now," and he actually
smiled.

"You were going to tell me some news," I observed, after a pause.  "Now
that you have roused my curiosity, I hope you will satisfy it."

I spoke half jestingly, and more for the sake of keeping up the
conversation than in the expectation of hearing any particular
information.  It was unlikely, I considered, that Santiago could tell
me anything of real interest.  In this I was much mistaken, as you will
find.

"I don't know," said he thoughtfully, "that it will be doing you any
real kindness, yet it is only right that you should know.  Of course,
you will understand that your escape occasioned some little stir among
the garrison of the fort."

"I am quite ready to believe it," I replied, chuckling at the
remembrance.  "I have often laughed to think of your astonishment in
the morning."

"It was no laughing matter to us, I can assure you.  The commandant was
furious, and went about vowing vengeance against everybody.
Search-parties scoured the neighbourhood in all directions, but with no
result, and we at last concluded that by some means you had been taken
off by ship."

"Quite a wrong conclusion," I interposed.

"We could think of no other.  However, to get on with the story.  In
the midst of the confusion Barejo turned up on his way back to Lima.
He was simply furious, and threatened to put us all in irons, the
commandant included; which, by the way, was absurd."

"It was paying me a very high compliment."

"Don't be puffed up, or imagine the general was afraid of you," laughed
Santiago.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, affecting to feel disappointed, "that alters the
case.  But why should he be angry at my escape?"

"Because he really wished to keep you out of mischief."

"Then I have sadly misjudged him."

"I think you have.  Of course, I don't profess to understand the
matter, but it seems to be something in this way.  When we have crushed
this rebellion, the estates of those who have borne arms against the
king will be confiscated."

"Spoils to the victors!" I laughed; "an old-fashioned principle."

"And, of course," continued Santiago, not heeding the interruption,
"your father's estates will be among them.  Now, as far as I can
gather, Barejo thought that by preventing you from joining the rebels
something might be saved from the wreck."

"That was very kind of the general," I remarked.  "I had no idea that
he took any interest in my affairs.  But isn't it possible, major, that
you are going a trifle too fast?  Suppose, for instance, that the
rebels, as you call us, should win?"

The major tossed his head scornfully.

"That is utterly impossible!" he answered, with a short, quick snap.

"But let us suppose it, just for argument," I urged.

"Well in that case," said he, "of which there is no possible
likelihood, your father will keep his property."

At first I thought he had forgotten, but something in his face held my
attention, and brought the blood to my head with a rush.

"Do you mean--  What is it?  Tell me quickly!  Is my father--"

"Alive!  That is my news; but you must not build on it too greatly.  I
can only tell you he was not slain that day in the mountains.  He was
dangerously wounded, but was still living when the soldiers carried him
away."

"Where did they take him?"

"That I do not know; neither, I think, does Barejo.  Perhaps, and in my
opinion most likely, to the forts at Callao."

The major's news, as you may imagine, filled me with the liveliest
astonishment and excitement.  My father alive!  I could hardly credit
the statement.  What would my mother say?  How would she receive the
startling information?  I rose from my seat and walked about the
cavern, trying to think it over coolly.

Then it dawned upon me why Santiago had said he would not be doing me
any real kindness in talking of the discovery.  After all, his
information only reopened the old wounds.  More than two years had
passed since my father's disappearance, and many things had happened in
that time.  Not every one who entered the casemates of Callao came out
alive.

"But," said I aloud, "some one must know the truth.  A man can't be
shut up without authority, even in Peru."

"I wish I could help you," replied the major.  "As soon as I escape
from Moquegua I will make inquiries."

"Thank you; but I fear it will be a long time to wait," I answered
gloomily.

"Not at all!  La Hera will return in a week or two, and your Miller
will be too busy running away to look after prisoners.  Imitate me, my
boy, and make Hope your best friend."

In trying to cheer me he forgot his own distress.  The light returned
to his eyes, the smile to his face, and he seemed to have banished all
memory of his recent despair.

"Come," said he cheerfully, "put your doubts and fears aside for the
present.  Our wounded want attention; we must not neglect them."

I tried hard to act upon his advice, but all the time continued to
wonder whether my father was alive or dead.  That was the one question
that racked my brain, and to it I could give no answer.

We had just made our patients comfortable, with the exception of one
who was dying fast, when a shrill whistle sounded outside.

"The surgeon!" I exclaimed, running to the entrance.  "Yes, there he is
with the guide and two soldiers."

"Two bandits!" said Santiago banteringly.  "Give the men their proper
name."

"Soldiers or bandits, they know how to fight.  Help me to uncoil the
rope, will you?"

"That's almost as bad as asking a man to make the noose he is to hang
in.  You forget that on leaving here I shall go straight to prison."

"I had forgotten, major, and sorry enough I am to remember it.  Still,
as La Hera returns so soon, it will be only a temporary inconvenience,
and I'm sure Colonel Miller will treat you well."

Santiago laughed.

"You will make me fancy soon that imprisonment is a privilege worth
paying for," he exclaimed.

"Hardly that," I replied; "but, as Barejo said, it keeps one out of
mischief."

We lowered the rope, the guide attached the surgeon's instruments, and
at a signal we hauled up.  Then the rope went down again, the two
soldiers climbed to the cave, and the doctor followed unsteadily.  It
was evident that this novel method of visiting patients found no favour
in his eyes; he was obviously nervous, and twice during the ascent I
quite expected to see him go headlong.

He was a citizen of Moquegua, very young, and utterly unsuited for his
present errand.  So great was his agitation that when he had planted
his feet firmly on the floor of the cave his hands still clung like
grim death to the rope.

"You're all right now," I said, leading him away from the mouth of the
cave.  "Rather a queer way of getting into a house, isn't it?"

"The saints preserve me!" he exclaimed, while his teeth chattered like
castanets, "this is horrible.  A dozen times, coming up that rope, I
wished I'd never been born.  But it's the last time I'll practise
doctoring outside Moquegua."

"You did very creditably, I assure you, doctor," observed Santiago,
whose eyes gleamed with fun; "such grace, such agility, is given to
few.  I should have thought your life had been spent in scaling
mountains."

The doctor looked from Santiago to me, hardly knowing what to make of
such flattery.

"Faith," exclaimed he at last, "I hope there is an easier way of
getting down than of coming up."

"There is," said the major, "and much more expeditious.  You have but
to step outside the cave, and there you are.  Most people, however,
prefer to go down by the rope."

The doctor groaned.

"I shall never do it," said he, "never!  I shall be shut up in this
place for the rest of my life."

"There will be one advantage in that," remarked Santiago pleasantly:
"your patients will always be able to find you.  Now I fear we must
tear ourselves from your side."

"Do your best with these poor fellows," I said.  "The one in the corner
yonder will not trouble you long; the others are getting on nicely.
You will find this cavern quite a comfortable dwelling-place.  There is
plenty of food, a spring of clear water, and enough fuel to keep a fire
going for weeks."

"Meanwhile," observed Santiago, "we will ask the good folks of Moquegua
to make a nice long ladder, so that you can get down without trouble."

It was really very laughable to watch the doctor's face as the major
prepared to descend.

"He will be killed," said he dolefully.  "It is a clear case of
suicide.  Look, he has missed his foothold, and will be dashed to
pieces!"

"Nonsense," I said, with a laugh; "there is no danger if you don't
think about it.  See, it is nothing but going down a flight of steps
backwards."  But he covered his face with his hands and shuddered.

When the major had reached the ground, I grasped the rope, saying,--

"Farewell, doctor; I hope you will have a comfortable time.  And don't
worry about coming down; you'll find it an easy matter enough."

"Good-bye," answered he gloomily; "I shall never see you or any one
else again.  I shall die up here for certain."

The fellow was so genuinely frightened that I assured him we would
devise some plan to rescue him; on which he brightened up considerably,
and I began the descent.  I asked the guide where he had left the
horses.

"At the village, señor," he replied, "on the other side of the
mountain."

In answer to a further question, he told us that the doctor would not
cross the narrow track, and that they had, in consequence, been
compelled to travel many miles out of their way.

"I think he was right," exclaimed Santiago, when we reached the spot.
"This is a far worse venture than climbing to the cavern by the rope."

And indeed, seen in broad daylight, with every rock standing out
pitilessly clear, and every chasm yawning wide, the place was enough to
daunt the spirit of the bravest.

Familiarity had rendered the guide indifferent to the danger, but I
felt as nervous as when crossing the previous evening.  However, I
could not make a parade of my anxiety, so I set foot on the narrow path
with a jaunty air but quaking heart.  Santiago smiled too, but I fancy
he was by no means sorry when we gained the farther side without
accident.  Then we jested about the past danger, talking lightly and as
if it were an affair of no moment.  Nevertheless, I was thankful the
heat of the sun provided an excuse for the perspiration that streamed
down my face.




CHAPTER X.

A STORMY INTERVIEW.

On our march to the town, Santiago assumed a light-hearted carelessness
that was far from his real feelings.  He laughed merrily, made joking
remarks, and behaved generally as if the prospect of a spell of prison
life was most agreeable.  This was, of course, mere outside show.  He
was too proud to let his captors see his real distress; but his acting
did not deceive me.

We had reached the market-place, and I was wondering at the absence of
the soldiers, when José suddenly appeared, coming from the governor's
house.  On seeing us, he approached, saying, "You have been a long
time.  I began to think you had missed your way."

"The guide was late in the first place, as the doctor would not take
the nearest way, and we did not hurry.  But where are the troops?"

"Off again!" said he, his eyes twinkling: "the colonel has gone for a
little jaunt of ninety miles or so to intercept a Spanish column.
Thank goodness, we have missed that!--How did you leave your men,
major?"

"One is dying, I fear," replied Santiago; "but the others will soon be
all right, unless your doctor kills them!"

"I was sorry to send him," said José, "but I had no choice.  He was the
only one in the place available.  He didn't offer his services, I can
assure you."

"I can well believe it," laughed the major.  "The poor fellow was half
dead with fright when he reached us, and vows he will never risk the
danger of getting down again."

"We must have him tied to the rope, and lowered like a sack of
potatoes.  Meanwhile, what is to be done with you?"

"The only suggestion I can make is that you set me free!"

"Perhaps I had better report to the governor," observed José
thoughtfully.  "He is Colonel Miller's representative.  I daresay he
will parole you till the chief comes."

"No, no!" cried the major hastily; "I've done with paroles!  From this
moment I consider myself free to escape."

"To _try_," corrected José.  "Well, the effort will fill up your time,
and keep you from being idle.  Of course," he added, "it will change
the position a little.  We can still remain on friendly terms, only I
must not forget to load my pistol.  And now let us interview the
governor."

A sentry stood at the outside gate, and several soldiers were in the
courtyard; but passing through, we entered the house, and found
ourselves in the governor's presence.  He was a military-looking man,
though holding no rank in the army--a Spaniard who had recently come
over from the enemy.  Two or three officers were in the room, and a
young man sat at a table, writing.

José told his story briefly, concluding with a proposal that the
prisoner should be left in his charge until Colonel Miller's return.

"There is a more agreeable way still," observed the governor, with a
bland smile.--"Major Mariano, I am not unaware either of your name or
your services.  I know you for a dashing and brilliant officer, far and
away superior to those nominally above you.  I am not without the power
to make you an offer.  The Spanish cause is lost; in a few months your
armies will be crushed; Peru will be independent.  Until that time you
will languish miserably in prison.  Afterwards I cannot pretend to
prophesy your fate; but I offer you an opportunity to escape from the
wreck.  Join the Patriot army, and I pledge my word that San Martin
shall give you the rank of colonel at once.  In a year it will be your
own fault if you are not a general.  Come, what do you say?"

Only a few hours previously I had seen an outburst of temper on
Santiago's part; now I beheld another, which by comparison made the
first appear mild.  His eyes literally blazed with anger; his face was
red; he actually quivered with passion.  Twice he endeavoured to speak,
and the words choked in his throat.  José laid a hand restrainingly on
his shoulder; he flung it off passionately.

"Dog of a traitor!" cried he at last, "do you think the blood of
Santiago Mariano is as base as yours?  Do you imagine I am a rat like
you to leave a sinking ship?  What! lend my sword to a parcel of
beggarly cutthroats and vagabonds?  I would rather eat out my heart in
the blackest dungeon of Peru!"

Once a flush of shame overspread the governor's face, but he recovered
himself promptly, and listened with a bitter smile till the end.

"You shall eat your words if not your heart," he exclaimed brutally;
and turning to an officer, he added, "Rincona, bring in your men and
the heaviest irons that can be found in the prison."

Santiago smiled scornfully; but José, pushing forward, said quietly,
"You cannot do that, señor.  This man is my prisoner, for whom I am
responsible to Colonel Miller alone.  Until the return of the colonel,
therefore, I cannot let him go from my keeping."

For a moment Rincona hesitated, but at the governor's second command he
left the room, while the other officers clustered round their chief.

José produced a pistol and cocked it, saying coolly, "The man who lays
hands on my prisoner dies."

Santiago turned to him with a pleasant smile.  "Thanks, my friend," he
said, "but I cannot let you suffer on my behalf.  Besides, there is
Crawford to be considered.  The consequences may be fatal to him, as he
is sure to stand by you."

"Don't hesitate on my account, José," said I.  But the major's words
had made an impression, and a shadow of annoyance flitted across my
companion's brow.

However, there was little time for thinking.  We heard the tramp, tramp
of marching feet, and presently Rincona entered, followed by about a
dozen soldiers.

"The irons!" roared the governor, beside himself with passion; "where
are the irons?"

"I have sent for them, sir," replied Rincona.

"You might have spared yourself the trouble," remarked José; "they
shall not be put on."

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed Santiago; "what does it matter?  Better so than
that you two should lose your lives."

I looked at José.  His lips were set like a vice, and I knew that no
power on earth could move him now.  The situation was decidedly
unpleasant, and unfortunately there seemed to be no way out.  True, he
might kill the governor, but that would only still further complicate
matters.

The soldiers, as usual, stood with impassive faces; the affair was none
of theirs, save so far as obeying orders went.  The officers were
restless and uneasy, and one of them kept up a whispered conversation
with the governor, who listened impatiently, and from time to time
shook his head.

At last two other men arrived, bearing a set of heavy irons, and once
again Santiago turned appealingly, but without effect, to José.

One might have heard a pin drop when the governor, sheltering behind
his officers, cried in a loud voice, "Put that man in irons!"

"Stand still!" said José, raising his pistol, and speaking in the
Indian dialect.

How the dispute would have ended I cannot tell, but at that moment a
happy inspiration flashed into my mind.  The soldiers were all Indians,
and judging by their appearance, Indians of the mountains.  Was it
possible that any of them acknowledged the authority of the Silver Key?
If so, we were safe.  It was a poor chance, but there seemed to be no
other.

Trembling with impatience, I opened my shirt at the neck, and drew
forth the brigand chief's gift.  At first no one took any notice; but
when I held the key to view, the Indians raised a shout of mingled joy
and surprise.  Then I looked at Santiago and laughed, saying, "We are
safe!"

The Indians jabbered away in their own language, talking with one
another, and pointing to the emblem of authority which hung from my
neck.  The governor stood like a man in a dream; the officers gazed
alternately at me and the native soldiers, as if doubting the evidence
of their senses.

"How many of you are followers of the Silver Key, and of Raymon
Sorillo?" I asked.

"All, all, master!" they cried.

"And those outside?"

"All, all!" they again shouted.

"I can trust you to help me?"

"To the death, master!" they cried with one voice.

At that I turned to the governor, saying with a smile, "The position is
changed, señor.  I have but to raise my hand, and you will feel the
weight of your own irons.  But there is no need to quarrel.  Colonel
Miller will be here in a few days, and he shall decide between us.
Meanwhile we will guard the prisoner."

The governor nearly choked with anger, and threatened violently that as
soon as the colonel returned he would have us all shot.  However, as it
was evident that the soldiers would obey my orders, he raised no
further objection to our taking Santiago away.

"By St. Philip," exclaimed the major, "the room was hot!  Are you a
magician, Crawford?"

"Upon my word I begin to think so.  At any rate, I possess a magical
key."

"Which has saved our lives," observed José grimly.

"And I suspect," laughed Santiago, "that once upon a time it unlocked
the door of a prison cell!  But won't those natives suffer for this?"

"I don't think so.  They are too strong, and their chief has more power
in Peru than the viceroy and San Martin combined."

"You know him, then?"

"Yes, and so does José.  He has done me good service, for which I am
grateful, though I could never like the man.  But here we are at the
house.  The good folk will wonder at our bringing an uninvited guest."

Fortunately a room had been set apart for us, so we could talk at our
ease.  I was burning to tell José about my father, but first of all we
had to come to an understanding with Santiago.  This time he made no
demur at giving his parole.  "In fact," said he gaily, "you have forced
my hand, and I have no choice."

"So much the better," remarked José; "we may as well be comfortable
together till the colonel arrives."

"And after that we may be hanged comfortably together!" laughed the
major.  "How do you like the prospect?"

"I can trust Miller.  He is an honourable man, and will do what is
right.  It is Crawford who will suffer for inciting the troops to
mutiny."

"José," said I presently, "I haven't told you that Major Mariano is an
old friend of mine."

"And at one time his jailer," interrupted Santiago.  "That ought to
make him feel grateful."

"Oh," exclaimed José, "you are the captain Jack has often talked about!
Well, I'm glad we have been able to do a little for you."

"This morning while we were waiting for your precious doctor," I
continued, "he told me a very startling piece of news."

"Yes?" said José.

"About my father."

José sprang to his feet, demanding fiercely, "What do you know of Señor
Crawford, major?  Don Eduardo came to his end by foul means: he was not
slain by the government, but by some one who hoped to profit by his
death."

"According to the major's information, he was not slain at all," I
said, and proceeded to relate the story.

José listened attentively to every word, and then asked Santiago
innumerable questions.  Like myself, he displayed great excitement, but
I judged from his expression that he entertained little hope of my
father being still alive.

"The truth is," said he, "Don Eduardo had made numerous powerful
enemies both in public and private life; and as we all know, any stick
is good enough to beat a dog with.  Besides, he owned vast estates,
and--"

"Go on!" laughed Santiago as José hesitated; "the king's party put him
to death in order to seize them!"

"No, no," said José hotly; "I don't tar all Spaniards with the same
brush.  Still, they aren't all saints either, and I say some of them
killed him under cloak of the government.  And some day," he added, "I
will prove it.  As to his being alive, I think there is small chance of
it.--And Jack, my boy, I would not mention the matter to your mother."

"But," said I, clinging to my shred of hope, "he was not killed in the
mountains, and we have heard nothing since."

José let me talk, and listened kindly to my arguments, but I noticed
that none of them made any impression.  At the best, he said, my father
had been thrown into prison seriously hurt, and it was not likely that
he had survived the confinement.

"Have you ever seen the casemates at Callao, major?" he asked.

"Yes," said Santiago, "and very unhealthy places they are.  But there
are more prisons than those in Peru."

It would be wearisome to repeat our conversation, for, after all, we
were arguing in the dark, having only the major's imperfect story to go
by.  Besides, as José said, many events had happened during the last
two years, and my father was by no means the only noted man in Peru to
disappear.  So our talk travelled in a circle, leaving off at the
starting-point, and for sole effect it extinguished the gleam of hope
which the major's story had kindled.

In the evening, at José's suggestion, I went into the streets to pick
up any information concerning the governor's doings.  Everything seemed
quiet; the sentries were at their posts as usual, while the soldiers
off duty wandered about the town.

They greeted me respectfully, raising their hands in salute and
standing at attention, as if I had been an officer of high degree.
Recognizing a sergeant who had been in the governor's room, I stopped
to ask a few questions.  Greatly to my relief, I learned that, with the
exception of a few Spanish officers, the troops in the town were all
Indians from the mountains.

As the man seemed smart and intelligent, I told him how matters stood,
and that we depended entirely upon him and his comrades until the
coming of the English colonel.

"You can trust us, master," he replied, and indeed his talk made it
quite clear that the friend of Raymon Sorillo and the holder of the
Silver Key might rely on the Indians in Moquegua even against Miller
himself.

José, I think, felt rather relieved on hearing my news; while Santiago
laughed heartily, prophesying that, if the Spaniards were defeated, I
should in a few years be king, or at least president, of Peru.

"I had no idea," said he, "that you were so important a person.  No
wonder Barejo wished to keep you shut up!"

That night we took it in turns to watch; but the governor attempted
nothing against us, and the next day we walked openly in the street
without molestation.

Colonel Miller had vanished into space, and for nearly a week we heard
nothing of him; then one morning an Indian scout rode wearily into the
town with the news that the Englishman was close at hand.  Immediately
the people rushed out in hundreds to line the street, and to cheer the
returning warriors.

José stayed indoors with the major, but sent me out to get an early
word with our leader.  Bright, alert, and cheery as ever, he rode at
the head of his troops, smiling and bowing to the inhabitants as they
greeted him with rousing cheers.  Then came the soldiers--the cavalry
on dead-tired horses, the infantry on jaded mules--with a number of
prisoners in the midst.

The animals were tired enough; but the men!  I can hardly describe
their condition.  Their faces were haggard, their eyes heavy and
bloodshot; some were nearly asleep, others had scarcely strength to sit
upright.  Very little grass had grown under their feet.  As soon as
they were dismissed, the citizens pounced on them, taking them into the
houses, where food and drink were provided in abundance.

The governor had come out to meet the colonel, whom I expected to see
return with him; but at the last moment he turned aside, and with a
laughing exclamation went straight to his own quarters, whither I
followed him.

"Hullo, Crawford!" cried he.  "So you didn't get La Hera?"

"No, sir; but we captured a major, and I wish to speak to you about
him."

"Won't it wait?" he asked, with a comical expression.

"I am afraid not, sir.  The truth is, we've had a quarrel with the
governor, and--"

"You want to get in your version first!  A very good plan.  Well, fire
away, but don't make it long; I've a lot of things on hand."

By this time we had entered his room, and going straight to the heart
of the affair, I told my story in the fewest possible words.  The
colonel listened with rather a grave face, and when I had finished he
said, "It's an awkward mess, especially just now.  It's absolutely
necessary to keep friends with the governor, and I don't like this
tampering with the troops.  But, of course, I won't have the prisoner
put in irons or treated differently from the rest.  Bring him here now,
and I'll settle the matter at once."

"Yes, sir," said I, thankful to get off so lightly.

The colonel had already begun some fresh work when I returned with José
and the major, but he rose from his seat and saluted the Spaniard
courteously.

"I understand it is useless to ask for your parole, major," he said.
"Your mind is quite made up on the point?"

"Yes, sir," answered Santiago, smiling in his easy, graceful way.  "An
opportunity to escape may not arise but if it does, I shall certainly
seize it."

"Quite right!" exclaimed the colonel; "but I fear you will be
disappointed.  However, though guarding you rigidly, we shall put you
to as little inconvenience as possible.  You will find half a dozen
companions in misfortune in the prison.  Most of the captured rank and
file have joined the Patriots."

The major's lip curled scornfully, but he only said, "I am obliged to
you, colonel, for your kindness.  Some day perhaps I may be able to
return it."

"Not in the same way, I hope," laughed Colonel Miller.  "I have had a
taste of Spanish prison life already, major.  But when the war is over
I trust we may meet again."

Then he sent for an officer and a file of soldiers, and Santiago turned
to bid us a cheery farewell.

"Good-bye," said he brightly; "I have had a pleasant time with you.--If
I do succeed in escaping, Crawford, I will inquire further into your
father's story.--Ah, here is my escort!" and with a salute to the
colonel and a nod to us, he took his place in front of the men, while
the officer received his chief's instructions.

"He's a plucky fellow.  I should have liked to set him free," I said,
as we strolled back to our quarters.

"To do more mischief!" growled José.  "I'm sorry for him, in a way, but
it's better for us that he should be under lock and key.  And that
reminds me!  How did Colonel Miller take the Silver Key business?"

"Very badly; called it tampering with the troops."

"So it was, but it saved our lives, all the same.  I shall be rather
pleased when we leave this district; the governor won't regard either
of us too favourably."

"He can't hurt us now the colonel is here."

"No," replied José, with a curious smile "but we might meet with a
nasty accident.  Perhaps you remember my remark, made two years ago,
that accidents are common in Peru.  It's as true now as then."

As it chanced, José was shortly to have his wish; for although we did
not know it then, the colonel had decided to abandon Moquegua.  Many of
the troops were down with the ague, the place was a difficult one to
defend, unless against a weak attack, and La Hera was already on the
march with a force far superior to ours.  This, however, we did not
learn till two days later.




CHAPTER XI.

A NARROW ESCAPE.

"It is a great honour," exclaimed José, "and you should feel proud."

I had just returned from an interview with the colonel, who had asked
me to undertake for a short time the duties of his private secretary.
It seemed a simple task then, but afterwards I regarded it differently.
For the next three weeks I was attached to the colonel, who took me
with him everywhere.  A secretary is generally supposed to write, but
my work consisted in riding.  Day after day, from morning till night,
we were on horseback, now travelling over sandy deserts to the
seashore, again penetrating into the heart of the mountains--hungry,
thirsty, and tired, and always in danger of falling into the hands of
the enemy.

As a measure of precaution our little force retired to Tacna, where,
much to my satisfaction, the colonel received from Lima news of an
armistice.  This, of course, extended to all parts of the country; but
I was mistaken in thinking it would increase my leisure, as my time was
still kept fully occupied.

In one way this was a good thing, as it kept me from brooding over
Santiago's story, though even at the busiest times the thought of my
father's fate would creep into my mind.  I saw nothing of José, who had
been left behind with some Indians to hold a mountain pass, but
occasionally I paid a brief visit to the Spanish prisoners for a chat
with the friendly major.

We had been at Tacna a month, when one evening Colonel Miller said
abruptly: "Crawford, the armistice is at an end, and we must retreat.
Tell Videla to send the stores and the sick to Arica the first thing in
the morning; then carry this order to Ilo.  You will find three small
brigs there; they are to sail at once for Arica.  Take Castro the guide
with you, and rejoin me on the march to Arica."

"Very good, sir," I replied, though my words belied my feelings.
However, I went out, gave Videla the colonel's message, and hunted up
the guide.

Castro was an educated Indian, trained by one of the missionaries, and
a very decent fellow.  I found him sound asleep; but he rose at once,
looked to see if his bag of coca was full, loaded his pistols, and
saddled his horse.

"A pleasant night for a ride, lieutenant,"--the colonel had given me
that rank,--"and every yard will take us further from the Spaniards.  I
hear that La Hera is getting ready to swoop."

"He will find his pigeon a hawk if he comes too close," I answered,
laughing.  "Bring your horse, and wait for me at the hospital."

The night was still young, and many people, civilians and military,
were in the street, talking in excited whispers.  It was plain that
they had heard of La Hera's approach, and were discussing what they
knew of the colonel's plans.

Soon, however, the town was left behind, and we had fairly started on
our journey.  There was no danger in it, except that of getting lost,
which, with Castro for a guide, was not likely to happen.  He knew the
district as well as, perhaps better than, I knew the streets of Lima.

We jogged along quietly till midnight, not wishing to tire the animals,
and then stopped near the edge of a sandy desert for an hour's rest.
By this time I had begun to hate the very sight of sand; it seemed to
me more dreary and pitiless than the stoniest of barren ground.  Castro
did not mind in the least, but lay on his back looking at the starry
sky and placidly chewing his coca.

"Come, lieutenant," said he briskly at the end of an hour, "it is time
to mount;" and we were soon plodding on as patiently as before.

It was nine o'clock when we finally arrived at Ilo.  It may have been
owing to my own tired state, but I thought I had never seen such a
miserable and desolate spot in all my life.  The houses were wretched
mud-built hovels, and the few people in the place looked woebegone
beyond belief.

The three brigs were in keeping with the village, being old and
worm-eaten, and the craziest craft imaginable.  I would not have sailed
one across a pond.  However, I sought out the commander of this ragged
squadron, and gave him the colonel's order.

On reading it his face brightened, and he declared his intention of
running out to sea that very afternoon.

"He doesn't look much of a hero," observed Castro; "but," with an
expressive glance at the three floating coffins, "I imagine there are
few braver men in Peru."

"One need not be brave to seize any chance of getting away from this
depressing place," said I.  "I believe I could easily take the risk of
being drowned if there were no other way of escape."

"You will have the risk, lieutenant, if we are to go afloat in these
brigs; but my opinion is that the bottoms will drop out of them before
they reach Arica."

"In that case we must either beat La Hera or be annihilated."

"That's what it looks like," replied Castro coolly.

We stabled our horses in a tumble-down shed, fed and watered them, and,
as it was impossible to leave till they were rested, lay down to snatch
a brief sleep on the ground.  We were invited to use the floor of a
hovel for a couch, but after glancing at it, declined with great
politeness and many sonorous words of thanks.

When we awoke the brigs had disappeared, and a roaring wind was
sweeping down from the north.

"They'll never make headway against that," remarked Castro.  "We can
return to the colonel and tell him his brigs are at the bottom of the
sea.  There will be a pretty tune played presently, and La Hera will
provide the music."

To a sailor, perhaps, the danger would not have seemed formidable; but
standing on that desolate beach, listening to the hurricane rush of the
wind, I could not but think Castro was right.  And if indeed he had
prophesied truly, then was our little force in sad straits.  Burdened
with sick, hampered by fleeing patriots, encumbered by prisoners, with
half his troops weakened as usual by ague, the English colonel could
neither fight nor flee.  What, then, could he do?  By this time every
one knew him too well to dream he would surrender.

"Castro," said I, "we carry bad news, and bad news flies apace.  Let us
keep up the reputation of the old proverb.  Half an hour or so may make
all the difference in the world."

He made a grimace as if to say that a few minutes more or less would
matter little; but he saddled his horse promptly, nevertheless, and was
ready to start as soon as I.

"I reckon," he said, "that we may strike the road from Tacna to Arica
by midnight to-morrow, unless our animals founder by the way.  Can you
trust your horse?"

"The colonel selected him."

"That ought to be sufficient warrant.  The chief knows a horse, though
he will ride in the absurd English style."

There were few men in the country who would have cared to cut
themselves adrift as Castro did on this ride of ours to intercept the
marching Patriots.  His only guides were those he could interpret from
nature.  While daylight lasted, he steered by the sun; at night, by the
stars and the faint wind that fanned our faces.

For twenty-four hours, during which time we rested, of course, both for
our own sakes and for the sakes of our animals, not one human being
crossed our path, or even came within sight of us.  And during that
time, also, we saw neither bird nor beast, nor any manner of living
thing, save only ourselves and our animals.

And then, quite unexpectedly to me, we came upon an oasis in the dreary
desert--a little hamlet with mud-walled hovels, but better than those
at Ilo, and having patches of cultivated ground enclosed.  The natives
had reclaimed this piece of land by means of the waters of a
moderate-sized stream, and lived in almost as great isolation as if
they had been on Robinson Crusoe's island.

They were neither Patriots nor Royalists, and I doubt much whether they
knew of the struggle going forward; but they had kind hearts, and gave
us a warm welcome, pressing upon us gifts of fruits and vegetables to
the limits of their scanty stock.  They found ample forage, too, for
the weary animals, and we stayed there a matter of three hours to rest
Castro's horse, which had shown symptoms of breaking down.

I seized this opportunity to snatch an hour's sleep; but my guide was
kept chattering by the natives, who listened with amazement to his
news.  They knew no Spanish, and could not understand the native patois
I spoke; neither could I understand a word of what they said.  As for
Castro, I suppose no man in South America had the gift of so many
Indian dialects.

"After all, lieutenant," exclaimed he, as we took leave of this simple
community, "I doubt if these people have not the best of life.  They
eat, drink, and are at peace, caring no more for a president than for a
king."

"And doing nothing for either," I replied, laughing.  "How does the
horse seem now?"

"I think he will do this journey.  But if I'm to ride with the colonel,
he will have to provide me with another."

Throughout the evening we rode silently side by side, while all around
us was the awful stillness of a dead world.  The sun went down, and
presently the stars gleamed above us, throwing a ghostly light over the
sea of sand.

Midnight found us still riding, and another hour passed before Castro
drew rein at the broken track leading from Tacna to Arica.  Throwing
the reins over his horse's neck, and jumping down, he examined the
ground carefully, reading it as skilfully as the student reads a
printed book.

To and fro he went, casting off here and there like a hunting-dog, till
he was satisfied.  Then he returned to me, saying, "Carts have gone by
hours since, and the infantry quite recently, but I see no signs of
cavalry."

"They would remain till the last minute, so as to deceive La Hera."

"That is so; but the question is, has the colonel stayed with them?  It
is to him we want to give our information."

"The infantry can tell us."

"We shall waste time if he is in the rear, and time is precious."

"Let us separate.  You go forward; I will ride toward Tacna."

"It is dangerous, señor."

"You forget that I have been over this route."

"Well, as you will.  If the colonel has not passed, I shall return.
Keep to the track; do not wander from it either to right or to left."

"All right, Castro; I will take care."

He vaulted to the saddle, wished me a safe journey, and rode off, while
I turned my horse's head in the opposite direction.  Fortunately the
night was clear, while the dawn was not far off, so that I had a great
advantage in steering my way.  True, I rode at no great pace, being
both afraid and unwilling to spur my jaded beast.  Now and again I even
dismounted and walked at his head to give him some relief.

It was perhaps about three o'clock in the morning.  A heavy fog had
arisen, and I was riding with the greatest care, when suddenly I found
a musket pointed straight at me, and heard the demand, "Halt, or I
fire!"

The man spoke in Spanish, but his accent showed him to be an Indian,
and I hoped he was one of Miller's cavalry detachment.  Whistling
softly, he was at once joined by a second and a third man, the last of
whom sharply ordered me to dismount.

At the sound of his voice I laughed aloud, saying, "You post your men
well, José, but they have not made a great capture this time.  Is the
colonel here?"

"We are all here," said José, giving my hand a grip; "but I thought you
had gone to Arica.  Is anything wrong?"

"A good deal," I answered, speaking in English, so that the Indians
might not understand.  "I must see Colonel Miller at once."

"Jump down, then.  Leave your horse here, and I will take you to him.
Mind where you step; the men are all tucked in and sound asleep."

But for the fog, I could by this time have seen my way clearly; as it
was, I could only just distinguish the ponchos enveloping the men's
heads.  When the fog lifted, the light showed a more curious spectacle
than most of you have perhaps ever seen.  It was the custom, whenever
we halted in a sandy desert, for each man to scoop out for himself a
shallow grave.  In this he lay, scraping the loose sand over his body
for bed-clothes, and leaving his head, wrapped in his poncho, above
ground.  It was, indeed, a most comfortable and delicious bed, as in
those days, or rather nights, I often proved.

The colonel lay buried alive, as it were, like his men; but he slept
lightly, and pushing off his sandy bed-clothes at our approach, he
struggled to his feet.

[Illustration: Pushing off his sandy bed-clothes at our approach, he
struggled to his feet.]

"Who is it?" he asked.  "Crawford, where is your guide?"

"Gone another way to look for you, colonel."

"Have the brigs left Ilo?"

"Yes; but both Castro and I doubt if they will reach Arica.  They are
altogether crazy, and as soon as they left the harbour a strong gale
from the north, which will drive them out of their course, sprang up."

"You are rather a Job's comforter," laughed the colonel.  "I daresay
they will arrive all right.  Still," he continued, speaking more to
himself, "everything depends upon their safe arrival--everything!  Jump
in, Crawford, and have a nap; I may want you presently."

He went away with José, while I got into his bed, pulled the sand over
me, and was fast asleep before the two men had gone a dozen yards.

For two whole hours I lay like a log; then a soldier pulled the poncho
from my head, saying that the colonel waited for me at breakfast.  I
rose quickly, made my toilet--not an elaborate proceeding, you may be
sure--and waited on the colonel.

"Sit down," said he, laughing; "it's early in the day for banqueting,
but we must feast when we can.  I hope you are not blessed with too
good an appetite?"

"I don't think I should feel greatly tempted to indulge much at
present," I replied, with a grimace at the dried meat I was cutting.
"Indigestion would only too surely follow."

"Then," said he, and his eyes twinkled with merriment, "we will eat
sparingly.  I am going straight to Arica, and you will ride with me."

"I am afraid I shall have to get you to find me a fresh horse, as my
own has broken down, colonel."

Turning to one of the soldiers near, he said, "Ask Major Videla to send
me a good horse at once.--Take your time, Crawford; I am awaiting a
messenger from Tacna."

Nearly an hour passed before he was ready, during which time I saddled
my fresh mount, transferred my holsters, and had a chat with José.  He
told me they had been compelled to release their prisoners, Santiago
among them.

"I had no idea you were so hard pressed," I said.

"If La Hera doesn't blunder," answered José, "he can sweep us all into
his net.  The only thing that saves us now is Miller's skill and
reputation.  Every one 

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