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.
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."
"Totry," 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.
"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.