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 theSan 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 Martinahoy!" 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 theSan Martinexclaimed, "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."
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.
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 ofride 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."