I have before said that Don Felipe was our nearest neighbour; the grounds of his house, indeed, joined our own, and I might easily have gone there on foot. Perhaps it was a touch of pride which induced me to go on horseback, as I was a good rider, and young enough to feel a certain satisfaction in my appearance.
I had grown beyond the recollection of the gatekeeper, who admitted me to the courtyard with a show of deference, saying that both his master and young mistress were at home. Rosa's mother had been dead for some years.
Don Felipe had numerous servants, and to one of them I threw the reins, telling him to mind my horse. Then going to the door, I inquired for Don Felipe.
The major-domo was showing me to a small room, when a girl, merrily humming a popular Royalist song, came tripping along the corridor. Suddenly she stopped, looked hard at me, and then came forward again, saying, "Juan! Surely you are Juan Crawford?"
I have sometimes laughed since at my stupidity, yet there might be found some excuse for it. During my absence from Lima I had often thought of my little playmate, but it had never occurred to me that time would change her as well as myself. And now, instead of the merry child with whom I had romped and played, there appeared a beautiful girl at whom I gazed in wonder.
"Are you not Juan Crawford?" she asked again, speaking softly.
"Yes," said I, "I am Juan; but you, señorita?"
Her face rippled with merry laughter; but pouting her lips, she said,—
"What a poor compliment to your old friend, Juan! Surely you have not forgotten Rosa!"
"Nay, that have I not; I have forgotten nothing. But you are so changed, Rosa—so different!"
"So are you; but I knew you at once. When did you come home? Have you come to see me?"
"Yes, and your father as well. I have some business with him."
"Oh!" cried she, tossing her head and frowning, "of course you and he are on the same side. My father is a Patriot now, and cries, 'Down with the king!' I suppose your meddlesome general has sent you with a message."
I did not undeceive her; and while the servant carried my name to his master, we entered one of the rooms and continued our conversation. I saw she was troubled; yet with great skill and grace she put me at ease, and led me to talk of what had happened during the last two years.
"What a fire-eater you are, Juan!" she cried banteringly. "I am quite afraid of you. But what a fine sword you have! Ah, if I were only a boy! Can you guess what I would do?"
"No," I replied, with a shake of the head. "No one can guess what a girl will do."
"But I said a boy."
"Ah! that would be altogether different."
"I will tell you then," she said, standing up and speaking very earnestly. "I would get a sword and pistols and join the king's friends. I would be a loyal Spanish cavalier, Juan, if I were the only one in Peru!"
"Then it is lucky you are a girl, Rosa, or you would soon be killed. I would not harm the king, even if he were here instead of being in Spain, thousands of miles away; but I have no love for those who rule in his name."
"No," said she, casting down her eyes, and I thought her voice sounded sad; "you have suffered at their hands. But it is not the king's fault, Juan; he would have seen you righted."
"It is a long way from Peru to Spain," said I, trying to speak carelessly, "and it seems as if in these days one must right one's own wrongs."
After that we sat speaking very little, each afraid lest the talk should drift into an awkward channel, for I felt sure that she knew how her father had robbed us of our estates.
On the return of the servant she whispered earnestly, "My father has changed greatly. I am sure he is unhappy. If he should appear cross and irritable, you will bear with him, won't you, Juan?"
"I will do my best, Rosa. But why should he be angry with me? I am only going to ask him a question."
Don Felipe was truly much altered. His dark hair was plentifully sprinkled with silver; there were deep lines in his forehead and around his lips; his eyes had become shifty, and there was a look of cunning in them. He gave me just one swift, searching glance, and then looked away. It was an awkward meeting, and I hardly knew what to say. Fortunately Don Felipe took the lead.
"You have grown almost out of knowledge, my young friend; and I notice you have obtained military rank," said he, with a covert sneer.
"I have the honour to be a lieutenant in the army to which we both belong, señor," I replied.
He winced at that, and his eyes glowed angrily.
"If you have brought me a message from your general," said he, "will you at once deliver it? I am very busy just now."
"I will not take up more than five minutes of your valuable time, señor. My errand is an important one, thoughat presentit has nothing to do with General San Martin."
Again he glanced at me sharply, and I thought he seemed slightly nervous.
"I must ask you to be quick with it," he said coldly.
"I only desire to ask you about the death of my father. I am sure you will give me all the information in your power, as he died for the independence of Peru, which to-day both you and I are trying to secure."
At that he started up, his eyes blazing, his hand on his sword.
"Do you think I killed your father?" he roared furiously. "He died through his own fault. I warned him again and again that the time was not ripe, but he paid no heed to me."
"Are you not mistaken?" I asked. "According to the Indians' account, he was slain while trying to prevent them from rising."
"Then the government was deceived. No good can be done by digging up the dead past, but you shall hear all that I know of the story. At that time there were three parties in the country. One section, led by your father, resolved upon armed insurrection; another, composed of Royalists, determined that nothing should be changed; the third, to which I belonged, endeavoured to obtain reform by moderate means. I need not say that your father was a marked man. One day the viceroy received word that he had started for the mountains in order to rouse the Indians to revolt, and, to prevent mischief, it was arranged that he should be placed in prison. As you may know, he refused to submit quietly, and, unfortunately, was shot in the fight which ensued."
"Was his body brought back to Lima?"
"I never heard so. Most probably it was left on the mountains. I was sorry for him; but he was a headstrong man, and would not listen to reason."
"That was foolish of him," I remarked quietly. "Had he waited till the proper time to declare his real opinions, he would not have lost his life, nor my mother her property. It is possible, indeed, that our estates would have been largely added to."
"The estates were confiscated, it is true," said Don Felipe slowly, "but they fell into friendly hands." Then, in quite a kindly tone, he added, "You feel bitter against me, Juan—I see it in your face. Perhaps it is natural; yet you really have no reason to do so. I must not say more now, but all will come right in the end."
"So I intend," said I stoutly, yet feeling rather mystified.
The man's sudden change of manner puzzled me. After all, I was only a boy, with little ability and no training to seek for things lying beneath the surface. And Montilla seeing the state of my mind, played upon it with consummate skill.
I cannot truthfully say that he made any definite promise, but this was the impression I received:—Knowing that all my father's property was forfeit to the law, he had exerted his influence to secure it. At that time he thought the trouble would be settled without fighting, and intended in a year or two to restore the estates. When the war broke out, he endeavoured to bring the viceroy over to the cause of reform, but finding that impossible, was compelled reluctantly to join the Patriots. Of course, in the matter of the estates, nothing could be done now till the war was over.
"Thus," said he cheerfully, "the future is safe. If the Patriots win, we can have the confiscation revoked; while, on the other hand, I count so many friends among the moderate Royalists that the viceroy would hardly care to thwart me."
"In any case," said I bluntly, though with no wish to vex him, "the Indians will see that I am not wronged!"
"Trust me," he answered, his voice sounding now like the purring of a cat; "Felipe Montilla never makes mistakes."
I had a stinging reply on my lips, but refraining from giving it utterance, I bade him farewell.
"Come again, Juan," said he, "if the general can spare you!" And though not overburdened with wits, I had a sense of being laughed at.
I was joined in the corridor by Rosa, who wanted to know why I was going so soon.
"I really must," I answered, smiling. "I have spent no time with my mother yet, and I may be sent for at any moment."
"But this will not begood-bye?"
"On the contrary, I hope to see you often. Your father has given me the kindest of invitations."
At this she opened her eyes wide; but quickly recovering herself, she smiled pleasantly, and accompanied me to the hall. As I rode by, she was standing at a window waving her hand.
I had much to think of during the short ride home, but I got little satisfaction from my thoughts. Nothing had been gained by my visit to Montilla, and his story only went to confirm the truth of the reports of my father's death. As to my faith in his startling promises, it grew weaker with every step my horse took.
I said nothing to my mother; but José, to whom I related all that had passed, laughed loudly.
"The cunning old fox!" cried he; "he hasn't his equal for craft in Peru! You will see that, whoever sinks, Don Felipe Montilla will swim."
"Not at my expense," I exclaimed, "while I have strength to raise an arm."
The rest of that day I spent with my mother, forcing myself to forget that any trouble existed in the world. It was only a brief spell of happiness, but we enjoyed every second of it, and by nightfall my mother's face had lost some of its sadness, and her eyes shone brightly as in the olden days.
Early next morning an order was brought to me to rejoin Colonel Miller, as it was arranged that, for a time at least, José should remain behind to look after the affairs of the hacienda. The servants assembled in the courtyard to see me off, and my mother came to the hall door. There she embraced me, and stood smiling bravely as I mounted. Whatever sorrow she felt was locked up tightly in her own breast.
Accompanied by the man who had brought the order, I rode briskly to Mirones, the headquarters of the Patriot army, and about a mile from Callao.
The colonel was with San Martin and a group of officers, watching the enemy's movements; but he turned to me at once, saying, "General, this is Lieutenant Crawford, of whom I spoke."
San Martin, the Protector of Peru, was a tall man with black hair, bushy whiskers, and a deep olive complexion. He had black, piercing eyes, fringed by long lashes and overhung by heavy brows and a high, straight forehead. He was strong and muscular, with an erect, military carriage. He looked every inch a soldier, and one, moreover, with an iron will that nothing could bend. His voice was harsh and unmusical, but he spoke in a kindly, simple, and unaffected manner.
"Colonel Miller has told me many things of you, lieutenant," said he, "and all to your credit. I am glad to know that the son of Don Eduardo Crawford is following so well in his father's steps."
"Thank you, general," I replied, bowing low.
"I understand," he continued, "that Colonel Miller wishes to keep you with him. It is certainly an honourable post; but I fancy you are likely to get many hard knocks," he concluded, with a laugh.
"He has had a strong taste of the service, general," observed Miller, with a merry smile.—"Are you willing to stay with me, Crawford?"
"Yes, certainly, sir, with the general's permission."
"Very well," said San Martin. "And, by the way, colonel, let him have on hour's sleep now and again,"—a little joke at which the group of officers, knowing the Englishman's habits, laughed heartily.
The general presently rode off to his quarters, the officers went to their several duties, and I accompanied Colonel Miller to that part of the field in which his men were stationed. He had been appointed to the command of a column seven hundred strong, which was held in readiness to move at any moment. The officers were unknown to me, but they seemed pleasant, genial fellows, and in a short time I felt quite at home with them. The younger ones were grumbling because San Martin did not at once attack the enemy, saying that Canterac would slip away to the mountains in the night.
"Then his army will break up of its own accord," remarked a grizzled major. "He can't take his guns, and his troops are starving. Hundreds will throw down their weapons on finding us close at their heels."
"Better have a straight fight and have done with it," grumbled a youngster. "There's no fun playing at hide-and-seek in the hills."
"Should you live to be a man," said the major reprovingly, "you won't talk in such a light-hearted way of a battle." And the boy's face flushed at the laugh which greeted the remark.
"Don't be too sarcastic, Gamarra," cried another. "The youngster's right in the main. If Canterac escapes, the war may drag on for months, and will cost thousands of lives. The mountains will kill more than a pitched battle would."
"Canterac can't escape if we follow him up properly," said the major, "and Colonel Miller seems the man to do that."
"That is so; but he can't move without orders; and there's more than one man in high places who will prefer Lima to a pursuit."
Thus they talked during the afternoon, and early in the evening Colonel Miller ordered that every one not on duty should turn in at once; which we took to be a sign that something was going to happen shortly.
At ten o'clock the column was roused. The men assembled silently, and a whisper went round that Canterac had begun his retreat. For more than an hour we awaited fresh orders, the colonel on horseback fuming impatiently, until at last the word came to march.
"An hour thrown away," muttered the colonel angrily. "Canterac will laugh in our faces."
To our disgust, we found that the column was attached to the main army, and that we had to move step by step to the will of the chief. I knew very little about military tactics, but it was a strange kind of pursuit, and made me think of a tortoise chasing a hare.
"I wonder what Captain Plaza would think of this performance?" said the colonel, rather bitterly, as we jogged along. "This isn't the way he took you after Santalla, eh?"
"Indeed no, colonel!" I replied, laughing. "The captain would have had us on the other side of Lima by now."
"It's like a funeral procession," he muttered impatiently; "and if they don't mind, 'twill be a funeral procession in reality. We shall be burying the independence of Peru."
The ridiculous part of it was that our column had been formed of all the light companies on purpose to swoop down on the foe. As far as I could judge, the swoop was much like that of a hawk whose wings had been carefully tied to its body.
However, we tramped along throughout the night, halting at daybreak without getting a glimpse of the exulting Canterac.
"Never mind," exclaimed the colonel, who hated to look on the dark side of things; "we may catch them during the day."
In this he was disappointed, as we proceeded in the same leisurely manner, just as if we were out for a quiet stroll on a summer's day. Several times Miller rode off to the staff, but on each occasion he returned looking more dissatisfied than before.
The men wondered, and at each halt the officers talked pretty freely among themselves, giving their opinions with refreshing vigour.
"Canterac has the start of us now," said one, "and we shall never overtake him. We had the game in our hands, and have simply thrown it away."
The grizzled major remained optimistic, saying, "You may depend that San Martin has some scheme in his head." But the rest of us were doubtful.
"If I had an enemy in a trap, my scheme would be to keep him there and not to let him walk out through an open door," laughed a young captain. "The war might have been finished to-day; now it's likely to go on for another twelvemonth."
"Well," remarked one of his comrades, "it's a comfort to think we shan't kill ourselves through over-exertion."
By degrees we pushed on to a place about nine leagues east of Lima, where it seemed as if the lumbering machine had broken down altogether. It was evening when we arrived and halted; the men ate the last morsel of their scanty rations; the chief officers, though no one could imagine what they found to discuss, held a conference, and presently it leaked out that the pursuit had been abandoned.
"I don't profess to understand it," exclaimed Major Gamarra, "but you will find that there's some grand scheme in the air."
"Ah!" interrupted another officer, in a sarcastic tone, "and no doubt it will stay there; most of these precious schemes do. What I should like to see would be a little common sense."
"Would you recognize it if you saw it?" put in the major quick as lightning; and all the others laughed.
"Perhaps not. I've had little opportunity of renewing my acquaintance with it since San Martin came to Peru."
This was a dangerous remark, as we were a very mixed crowd. Some had come from Buenos Ayres with San Martin; others were Chilians who had fought with him throughout the Chilian War; several, like myself, were natives of Peru; while two or three were Englishmen.
Fortunately, before the dispute had had time to become hot, the colonel returned from the conference, and joined us at the fire.
"I don't know, gentlemen, that anything is likely to happen," said he; "but we may as well enjoy a night's rest while we can," and wrapping his cloak around him, he lay down, setting an example which most of us followed.
When I awoke at six o'clock in the morning, most of the officers and men were still sleeping, but the colonel had disappeared. There was nothing to be done beyond feeding and grooming my horse, which I always made a point of doing myself. As to my own breakfast, my haversack was empty, and I think there was hardly a pound of meat to be found among the whole column.
After a short time the men were roused, and just after seven o'clock we saw the colonel come tearing along on horseback, as if pursued by a cavalry division. Evidently he was in a great hurry, and his face was wreathed in smiles.
"Good-morning, gentlemen," he cried. "You will be glad to hear my news: we move in an hour's time. The general has only a scanty stock of provisions, but there is sufficient to provide your men with breakfast.—Crawford, hunt up Lieutenant-Colonel O'Brien, and ask him to come to me at once."
O'Brien was a famous Irishman who had served with San Martin all through the Chilian War. He was a fine fellow, standing six feet six inches high, and well proportioned. Every one loved him for his winning ways, his ready smile, his perfect honesty, and his absolute fearlessness.
"Colonel Miller?" said he, on hearing my message. "Faith, I'll come instantly." And we rode back together.
"You're prompt, O'Brien," exclaimed the colonel, laughing; "Have you had enough of this slow-time business?"
"More than enough, colonel. What are your fellows looking so pleased about?"
"First, the prospect of a breakfast; and then—"
"You've badgered the general into giving you a free hand!"
"Not quite that; but I have permission to push on. I fear it's too late. Canterac is a fine soldier, and will be ready for us now; but I am going to see if he has left any weak places. Would you care to come with me?"
"You're just a jewel, colonel," exclaimed the big Irishman enthusiastically, "and I'm eternally devoted to you. When do we start?"
"Directly after breakfast. Will you take some with me?"
"That will I, colonel, and I'm as charmed with the second invitation as the first. I dined with the general the day we left Mirones, and haven't had a decent meal since."
The colonel laughed, saying, "I'm afraid I can't say much for the quality of our food."
"Never mind the quality, colonel; I think more of quantity just at present."
"Well, that's on a par with the quality."
This did not sound very promising; but we managed to satisfy our hunger, and the men, having eaten their scanty rations, were drawn up ready for the start. At nine o'clock we left the camp, and a rapid march brought us to the village of Macas, which the enemy had just abandoned. Here, to our great delight, we discovered a number of sheep dressed and ready for cooking; so, for once in a way, we enjoyed a really good meal, while cracking many jokes at the Spaniards' expense. Then having rested, we pushed on to the foot of the mountains, where the men bivouacked, being too tired to drag themselves any further.
I was just preparing to off-saddle when the colonel said, "Crawford, if you aren't too tired, you can come with me. I am going just a little way up the mountain."
"Very good, sir," I answered, climbing into the saddle again, but wishing that he had taken it into his head to sleep instead.
"I should like to find out where Canterac is. He is quite clever enough to set a very ugly trap for us."
It was dark now, and the road was difficult; but we rode cautiously, listening for sounds, and keeping our eyes well open. At the end of perhaps half a mile the colonel suddenly stopped, and said in a whisper, "Some one is coming towards us."
The position was very awkward. We were on a narrow road with no hiding-place at hand, and must either retreat rapidly or plump ourselves right into the arms of the strangers. In another minute we had no choice at all, as several dusky figures loomed up before us. Fortunately Colonel Miller favoured the practice of taking the bull by the horns, and levelling his pistol, he cried in a stern voice, "Halt! Who are you?"
Taken by surprise, the men stopped, and we heard one of them say, "No, no; he's no Spaniard. I can tell by his speech."
"Quite right," cried the colonel. "I'm an English officer in the Patriot army. Who are you? Make haste; we don't want to stay here all night."
"We're deserters from General Canterac's army," replied one boldly, "and want to give ourselves up."
"Then you're just right. We will return with you to the camp, or the sentries might shoot you.—Crawford, turn your horse round so that they can pass between us.—Now, my good fellows, march, and I hope for your own sakes that you've given a true account of yourselves."
Thus we journeyed back to the camp, where, beside a good fire, Colonel Miller examined the prisoners. From them we learned that General Canterac had halted in a strong position halfway up the mountain; upon which I could see, by his restlessness, that the colonel was eager to resume the pursuit at once. A glance at his wearied men, however, showed him the folly of such an enterprise.
"No," said he at last; "they couldn't stand it." Which was quite true.
Having given the strangers into the charge of the guard, we unsaddled our horses, wrapped ourselves up, and lay down near the fire. Two seconds later we were fast asleep. At daybreak we were moving again, and I fancy the colonel felt glad he had not attempted to lead his men up the mountains in the darkness of night. The road was simply horrible, and the pass might have been defended by a score of resolute men against an army. Halfway up we received a check. O'Brien, going forward with a handful of men, got in touch with the enemy, who immediately turned about and threatened to overwhelm us by a sudden attack.
Under some leaders we should most certainly have come to grief; but the colonel's cheery, smiling face kept the men at their posts. Drawing them up in a strong position, he awaited the attack calmly.
"If you try to run away, my lads," he said pleasantly, "the Spaniards will make mincemeat of you; so it is wisest to stand firm."
We watched three battalions come down from the height and halt just beyond musket-range.
"I don't believe they're going to attack, after all!" exclaimed O'Brien excitedly.
"Not until we move," answered the colonel, "and then they'll fall on us tooth and nail. I expect they are just gaining time while the main body gets away. It's aggravating, too, because they have the whip hand of us. We aren't strong enough to turn them out."
O'Brien shook his head, saying, "If the provisions would last, we might stand here staring at each other till doomsday."
Darkness found the position unchanged, while numerous watch-fires gleamed fitfully through the gloom.
"I wonder," said the colonel thoughtfully, "if Canterac intends keeping his men there all night? Those fires may be just a blind; he's quite equal to a dodge of that sort."
"Let me find out," said O'Brien.—"Crawford, do you feel in trim for a stroll?"
"Oh, thanks! it's very kind of you to think of me."
"Don't mention it, my dear fellow! It's a weakness of mine to remember my friends.—We'll be back in an hour, colonel.—Take off your sword, Crawford; we must trust to our pistols. Are you ready? Come along, then."
Passing our outposts, we began to climb warily, keeping a keen lookout, and taking care to make no unnecessary noise. It was possible—indeed I thought probable—that we should meet the enemy stealing down to surprise our camp by a night attack. However, we kept steadily on our way, and had nearly reached the outer ring of fires, when, clutching O'Brien by the arm, I dragged him bodily to the ground.
"What's the matter?" he asked quietly.
"A sentry! Listen! He's talking to some one."
We lay quite still, trying to hear what was said; but in this we were disappointed, and presently the two men separated, each walking slowly in opposite directions.
"Now's our chance!" whispered O'Brien; and crawling on hands and knees, we passed quietly between the two. Several yards away was a big fire, and a number of men had gathered round it, where they could easily be seen.
"Then they haven't bolted, after all!" said O'Brien, in surprise.
"It doesn't look like it; but don't let us be too sure. You stay in this hollow while I investigate. You are not a good performer on all-fours."
"No," said he, chuckling, and I was afraid that, in spite of our danger, he would laugh aloud; "this is a sort of circus trick not taught at our school. Can you judge where to find me again?"
"Easily, if they don't let the fires out;" and I crawled further into the camp, and in the direction of a second fire. It looked very comfortable, but no one was there to take advantage of it, and the third and fourth I visited were equally deserted.
The trick was plain enough now. After lighting the fires, the three battalions had marched off, leaving just sufficient men to tend them, and to act as sentries. The sight of a soldier crossing the camp to throw fresh fuel on one of the fires changed suspicion into certainty, and I hastened back to O'Brien with my information.
"That's an old dodge," said he, "but a good one. It almost always pays in this part of the world. Now let us get back and tell the colonel."
Cautiously we crawled back, waited nearly an hour for a favourable chance to dodge the sentries, and then hurried down the pass.
"Thanks," exclaimed the colonel, on hearing our report. "We can afford now to let the men have a couple of hours' sleep; they need it."
"And I daresay some of the officers will lie down, if you press them," laughed O'Brien.—"What do you say, Crawford?"
"Well, the colonel need not press me much," I replied.
"Good boy! I'm pleased you're so willing to do as you're told."
"Well, he has certainly earned a rest," observed Miller. "But we are moving sharp at daybreak, remember."
"There's nothing strange in that," said I sleepily; "the wonder would be if we didn't." At which the colonel and O'Brien laughed heartily.
Next day we marched into the village of Puruchuco, on the eastern side of the mountain, and about six miles distant from the small town of Huamantanga, where the Royalists had halted. Owing to the difficulty of obtaining food, Colonel Miller now sent most of our infantry back to Macas; the Indians were thrown forward to act as a screen in front; while the rest of us bivouacked in some meadows near the village. The next day the colonel and I rode to within five hundred yards of Huamantanga, where we saw the enemy formed up in marching order.
"What restless fellows they are!" I exclaimed laughingly; "they're on the move again!"
"Yes; but this time, unless I'm much mistaken, they are moving backwards. Ride round to the right, warn the Indians to be ready for an attack, and rejoin me at Puruchuco."
I had barely reached the village when the colonel's suspicions were verified. Two thousand of the enemy, all picked men, as we afterwards discovered, rapidly descended the heights, drove the Indians back by sheer strength of numbers, and at last sent them flying pell-mell to seek safety in some of the numerous ravines. We had barely three hundred regular soldiers, many of whom were young boys, and scarcely one had ever smelt powder in a real fight. But Miller was a host in himself, and though the odds were so desperate, I did not despair of victory.
O'Brien, with a picked detachment of infantry, occupied a strong position, and began firing as soon as the assailants came within range. The cavalry and the remainder of the infantry were posted lower down the mountain side.
"Aim low, lads," said the colonel, "and don't waste your ammunition. If they reach you, give them a taste of the steel."
The flight of the Indians left us a great deal exposed, and in danger of being surrounded; but O'Brien had placed his men on a rocky platform, from which they kept one detachment in check. Meanwhile, in our own quarter the fight raged furiously. A large body of Spaniards, slipping past O'Brien, came on again and again. We beat them back, but they gave us no rest. Our men began to fall, and once I saw a shade of anxiety flit across the colonel's face. It was gone in less than a second, but it confirmed my opinion that we could not hold our ground.
For the most part, we contented ourselves with repelling the enemy's attacks; but twice our leader flung himself against their dragoons at the head of his cavalry. We broke them easily, but could not pursue, and the experiment cost us a dozen in killed and wounded.
"This won't do," said he. "They will eat us up.—Crawford, tell O'Brien to retire on us slowly. I intend to retreat.—Captain Prieto, get your men posted in that ravine to the left, and hold it until you are told to withdraw."
I did not hear the captain's reply, being on my way to deliver the colonel's order. I had left my horse behind, but even so, the journey was distinctly unpleasant, as my body was a prominent target for dozens of muskets.
"Warm work, Crawford!" exclaimed O'Brien. "I think the colonel is right. We've caught a tartar this time, and no mistake.—Steady, my lads! we'll make them fight for every yard."
I stayed with the detachment, helping to carry a wounded man. The cheering Spaniards pressed us closely; if they could break through our cordon, Miller's men were doomed. But we returned shot for shot, and stopped their occasional rushes by steel. Every moment of delay gave our brave fellows further down the pass a better chance of escape.
"Well done, O'Brien!" cried the colonel, as we joined him where he stood with a few horsemen.—"Steady, my lads! Captain Prieto holds the pass. Don't lose your heads, and we shall come out all right."
At the ravine the horsemen halted, while the infantry continued the retreat; first O'Brien's men, and afterwards those who had held the pass under Captain Prieto. This was the fiercest part of the struggle. The fighting was at hand-grips now, and I wondered we were not swept away headlong.
"Stand firm, my lads, stand firm; it's your only chance!" sang out Miller cheerfully, and his eyes brightened with the passing minutes, as he knew that the bulk of his command was rapidly getting out of danger.
For half an hour we held the narrow way with sword and pistol, and then a body of Spaniards, who unseen by us had worked round to the right, appeared lower down the pass.
"We must cut our way through, and at once!" cried our leader. "About face, lads, and into them. Ride hard, and strike hard."
We were in a trap now, and the only way to get out was by smashing the door. The colonel led, the troopers followed as best they could, while O'Brien and I remained in the rear to help to check the rush of the enemy's main body. There was a flash of swords, the sound of pistol-shots, an outburst of mocking laughter from the enemy, a "Viva!" from our own men, a vigorous "Hurrah!" from the colonel, and then we were through!
"Go on, my lads!" cried the colonel, dropping to the rear. "Your comrades are at the foot of the mountain.—A narrow shave, O'Brien!"
"Yes! and we aren't clear yet," replied the Irishman, turning in his saddle to glance behind. "There would be more chance for us if we could bring down that tall fellow who is leading."
Whiz! whiz! The bullets were buzzing about our ears now, too close to be comfortable, and but for our horses, we must soon have been killed or captured. At any other time I would not have ridden down that mountain side at a foot pace. It was a succession of steep descents, which made one dizzy to look at; and how my animal managed to keep its feet I could not understand.
"Push on!" cried the colonel suddenly, "and tell Prieto to line the mouth of the pass, in case these fellows chase us all the way."
He and O'Brien had stopped, intending to try the effect of a shot or two, and in another minute I was out of sight. Fifty yards further down the road forked, and fancying the branch to the right looked the easier, I turned into it.
"It may take a little longer to reach the bottom," I thought, "but it's a far less dangerous way. I wonder if the others will think to turn down here."
It often happens that we come to grief when feeling most secure, and it was so with me now. I was riding at a swift gallop, and perhaps with less care than was necessary, when all at once my horse stumbled, failed to recover itself, and fell heavily. Fortunately it lay still, and I was able to drag myself free, feeling dazed and bewildered. Here was a pretty pickle! What could I do? In any case the colonel would reach the bottom first, and the retreat would be continued without me.
Getting up, I tried to help the animal to its feet; but the poor thing either could not or would not move. It was clear that I must leave it, and though hating to do so, I walked a few paces down the narrow path. The fall had shaken me considerably. My head ached, and I had much ado to grope my way along. Three several times in the course of a short distance I stumbled, and the third time fell heavily to the ground, twisting my left foot underneath me. I tried to rise, but could not. Now, what should I do? I dared not call for help, lest the Spaniards should hear me. For two hours I lay thus, wondering what would become of me. The noise of the shouting and firing had now died away; the enemy had probably returned to their stronghold. Not a sound broke the stillness, and the gloom of evening began to envelop the path.
It was now only that I realized fully my frightful danger. Unless some one passed that way by accident, I should die of hunger and exposure! The idea nerved me to a fresh effort. Rising painfully, and steadying myself here and there by the rocks, I limped a short distance, though every step wrung from me a cry of agony. Several times I stopped to rest, and to wipe the sweat from my brow; twice in less than five minutes I was obliged to sit down, and at last the pain in my foot became so excruciating that I could struggle no further.
"It's no good!" I exclaimed; "I must stay here till the morning, at least." And finding a kind of recess in the rocks, I crept in. Then it occurred to me to take off my boot; so opening my knife, I hacked at the leather till I succeeded in getting my foot free.
This, after the first sudden rush of pain, was a great comfort. I felt easier and brighter, and lay down to sleep in a happier frame of mind, intending to make a fresh start as soon as daylight appeared.
Many times during the night the pain and the cold wakened me; but I contrived to get some sleep, for which I fell much better in the morning. To my dismay, however, I found it impossible to walk; my ankle had swollen considerably, and the pain of putting my foot to the ground made me cry out in anguish.
Yet, unless I wished to starve, something I must do. Unbuckling my sword, and hiding it in the recess, I began to crawl along, trailing my injured foot carefully. It was slow work, and I felt faint and dizzy, not only from my hurts, but also from want of food.
Feeling sure that the Spaniards had by this time retired, I ventured to call for help, though little expecting to obtain it. I cried aloud, both in Spanish and in the native patois, but received no answer. Again I crawled on, but now even move slowly than at first; and when I again tried to shout, my voice seemed weak and quavering. My strength was nearly exhausted, when suddenly, and rather to my astonishment, I caught sight of a man peering at me curiously from behind a rock. He was evidently a Spaniard, and an ugly customer. He wore a long beard, a half-healed scar disfigured one side of his face, and on his head was jauntily set a small cap decked with gay-coloured ribbons. On his coming forward I saw that he was dressed in the most grotesque manner, and heavily armed.
"By St. Philip," I muttered softly, "I should have done better to give myself up to the soldiers! Surely this fellow is the prince of ruffians."
He stood a moment, leaning on his gun and regarding me with curiosity.
"I don't know who you are," said I irritably, "but if you have a spark of human sympathy, you will give me what help you can."
"Are you hurt?" he asked; and the cool tone in which he spoke made me angry beyond measure.
Then he drew a step nearer, saying, "Perhaps the señor will give me his pistols; the mountain air makes one suspicious."
"Take them," I cried, "and anything else you desire; but get me some food and drink, and I will pay you well."
"Ah," exclaimed the fellow, with renewed interest, "the señor has money on him! I had better mind that also. There are lawless people in the mountains," and he grinned knowingly at me.
"I have no money here," I answered, "but I will pay you well to get me carried to Lima."
"That is a long way," he observed cautiously. "No doubt the señor has rings or some articles of jewellery?"
"I don't possess a single valuable except this," said I, producing the silver key, "and that I must not part with."
On seeing the key the fellow's manner changed instantly.
"How did you get that?" he asked. "Are you one of us?"
The question could hardly be considered a compliment, but it assured me both of safety and of good treatment.
"If you belong to the Order of the Silver Key," I remarked, "and recognize the authority of Raymon Sorillo, all is well. He is my friend, and will give me shelter."
"The chief is in the mountains, señor, and not far off. I will get help, and take you to him. Meanwhile, eat a little coca; it will keep up your strength. I shall not be long gone."
"Thanks," said I, taking some of the coca, and chuckling to myself at this unexpected stroke of good fortune.
The fellow was as good as his word. He returned shortly with three Indians, armed like himself, and dressed in the same grotesque way. They were all sturdy fellows, and two of them, raising me gently from the ground, carried me in their arms with the greatest ease.
Every step took me farther from the main track, and into a wilder part of the mountains, till at last my bearers stopped in a romantic ravine. There were several huts dotted about in an irregular ring, but most of the men were in the open, seated round a blazing fire.
Three-fourths of the band were pure Indians, some were mulattoes, while a few were Spaniards of the lowest type. They looked what they were, bandits and outlaws, and I must say that my acquaintance of the morning was not the most villainous of them. They formed a striking company, quite in keeping with the gloomy grandeur of their home, shut in on every side by overhanging rocks and towering mountains.
"Who is that?" suddenly roared a deep voice, and I saw the gigantic leader stride from the ring of men. Approaching us, he looked me full in the face.
"A stranger?" cried he. "Why have you brought him here?"
"I must have changed much since we last met," I interposed. "But if you don't remember me, you will doubtless remember the present you gave me," and I showed him the silver key.
He looked at me again, and this time with a gleam of recognition.
"I know you now!" he cried.—"Make way there. Room for an honoured guest—room for the son of Don Eduardo!"
The name carried no meaning to the Spanish brigands; but the Indians received it with a great shout, for they knew how greatly my father had suffered in his efforts to make their lives easier. They would have pressed round me to touch my hand, but the chief waved them back, saying I wanted food and rest. They made a space beside the fire, and Sorillo himself attended to my injuries.
"No bones broken," said he, after making an examination with as much skill as a surgeon. "We have only to reduce this swelling of the ankle. You can make yourself comfortable for a fortnight, at least. Now you must have some food, and then we'll talk."
Now, I have no wish to give you a false impression of Raymon Sorillo. He was a wild, lawless man, who had passed his life in fighting against the Spanish government. He had extraordinary courage and ability, and no man of his band was ever known to question an order issued by him. He had himself founded the Order of the Silver Key, and it was always my father's opinion that, but for the coming of San Martin, he would in time have transformed Peru into an Indian kingdom. I am at least certain that his ambition tended in that direction.
When the war broke out, numerous desperadoes flocked to him, and he was held responsible for many acts of cruelty. Whether he was deserving of blame I cannot say. José held him to be cruel, and he generally had that reputation. Perhaps it was only a case of giving a dog a bad name. However that may be, it is certain he had a high opinion of my father, and for his sake was exceedingly kind to me. But for him I might have lain long enough in the Spanish fortress, or perished in the sandy coast deserts. Another service he did, which we only heard of afterwards, and then by accident, was the guarding of my mother. From the time of my escape till the withdrawal of the Royalists from Lima, several of his men, unknown to her, kept ward over the hacienda. They had received strict orders to protect its mistress against every danger, even at the risk of their lives. In case of anything occurring, one was to rouse the natives belonging to the order in Lima, while another rode post-haste to the chief.
Remembering these things, and others not here set down, I can hardly judge this remarkable man without bias; but even his most bitter enemies could not truly say he was wholly bad. And it may be stated here that during my stay in the ravine I was treated like a prince. The best of everything was set before me, my slightest wish was law, and even the fiercest of the white men, forming a small minority of the band, were compelled to behave peaceably in my presence.
After I had eaten and slept for a time, I told the chief the story I had heard from the young Spanish officer, Santiago Mariano, concerning my father, and asked his opinion.
"I would build no hopes on that," said he, shaking his head thoughtfully. "If your father is alive, we shall find him at Callao; but I doubt it."
"The governor was expected to capitulate when I left Lima last," I remarked.
"Yes; his provisions must be gone by now. Your San Martin is an old woman. Why did he allow Canterac to escape? My men and I have been marched about from place to place just where we could do no good. I shall not trouble to obey orders any more. We are not children to be treated thus."
Sorillo was very sore on the subject, and returned to it over and over again. In the evening one of the band arrived with the information that Colonel Miller had sent out search-parties to look for me, and that three men were waiting at the entrance to the ravine.
"Tell them," said the chief, "that Don Juan Crawford is with me. He has sprained his ankle very badly, and cannot move for several days; otherwise he is unhurt. As soon as he is well enough we will take him home."
"I wish the colonel would let my mother know," said I; "she would be less anxious."
"That is a poor compliment to me," observed Sorillo, smiling. "My messenger is already on his way to the hacienda with the news. I have told him to say you are in absolutely no danger, so that your mother will not be alarmed."
"Then I am more than ever in your debt," said I gratefully, for the chief's action showed a thoughtful consideration quite unexpected.
"We shall never pay all that is owing to the son of Don Eduardo Crawford," he answered gravely. "And now let me carry you to my hut. A bed has been prepared there for you; it is a simple affair, but you will be comfortable."
I slept well that night. The pain had considerably decreased, and I had no cause for fear or anxiety. Sorillo slept in another corner of the hut, going out so quietly in the morning that he did not disturb me. Indeed the sun was high in the heavens when I wakened.
The chief's messenger had not returned, and another day passed before he appeared; then, to my delight, he brought José with him.
"Well, Jack," exclaimed my old friend, on finding that I was really not much hurt, "you gave Miller a fine fright. He thought you were either dead or carried off. His troops are back in Lima. It seems Canterac was too good for you."
"He flung half his army at us," I responded rather sulkily, for one does not like being reminded of a beating. "It must have been a matter of ten to one. But never mind that. What news do you bring from Lima? How is my mother? and how are events moving there?"
"Your mother is well, and sends her love to you, and events are shaping just as we could wish them to. We are masters of Callao."
"Then the forts have fallen? O José, tell me quickly—I am burning with excitement—was my father there?"
"Keep cool!" said he, smiling; "I don't want you to throw yourself into a fever. Yes, we found your father there."
"Thank God for that!" I murmured reverently. "You can tell me the rest at your leisure."
"There isn't much to tell," he replied. "It seems that your father was suddenly surrounded in the mountains by a body of regulars, and ordered to submit. Taken by surprise, there was nothing else to do; but while he stood hesitating, some one—not the captain in charge—shot him down, and he remembers nothing more till he found himself in Callao. The governor, La Mar, happens to be a kind-hearted fellow; so he had your father's wound dressed, gave him the most comfortable cell, and altogether treated him so well that, in spite of a long illness, he is entirely recovered."
"This is better and better, José! I hope we shall have a chance of doing La Mar a good turn."
"Your father will be in a position to see to that, as San Martin has already made him a member of the government."
"That's all right then.—By-the-bye, have you seen Montilla?"
"Yes. The old fox plays the game well. He is delighted—so he says—to be able to hand over the estates, which he was keeping in trust for you, to the rightful owner."
"Do you think my father believes him?"
"I can't say. Your mother doesn't; neither do I."
"Nor I."
We remained silent for some minutes, when, Sorillo joining us, I told him the good news. At first he did not seem to comprehend. When he did, I thought he would take leave of his senses. Even José, who was not given to judging by outward show, was impressed by the man's genuine pleasure.
But the grand event took place some days later, when my father himself came to remove me to Lima. Sorillo marshalled his Indians at the mouth of the pass, and they escorted him up the ravine in a triumphal procession, amidst enthusiastic cries of "Long live Don Eduardo Crawford! long live the Indians' friend!"
There is not much to tell about our meeting. It was all very simple, though I suppose there were not at that moment two happier people in Peru. My father was exceptionally loving and kind-hearted, but he never made a fuss, while my English blood kept me from being too demonstrative.
"Well, Jack, my boy," he exclaimed, giving me a warm grip of the hand, "I reckon you never expected to see me again?"
"Well, father, I had heard it was possible you were alive, but I hardly dared hope so."
As José said, he was looking very well, considering the circumstances. His cheeks were thinner, and had lost their colour; his hair had turned gray; he seemed less robust than formerly; but his mind was brisk and alert, and his eyes retained their old fire.
Sorillo would have kept him awhile as an honoured guest; but he was anxious to return, and the carriage waited at the foot of the mountains. On one point, however, the guerilla chief would not be denied. Leaving the Spaniards and mulattoes in the ravine, he insisted on accompanying us, with his Indians, to Lima, and my father did not like to refuse him. From the ravine they carried me on a comfortable litter to the foot of the mountains, where José had stayed with the carriage. Then forming up in front, they marched along singing and cheering for Don Eduardo Crawford.
We slept that night in a deserted hacienda, and arrived at our home next day. José had ridden forward to inform my mother of her coming visitors, so that she might be able to provide them with food and drink.
It was a grand home-coming for me, and a great triumph for my father. Though not a vain man, the incident pleased him, because it showed that the people for whom he had suffered so much were grateful for his efforts to do them good.
As the journey had made me rather excited, I took no part in the rejoicings which were kept up through the night; but after breakfast the Indians took their departure, and the noise of their cheering might have been heard at the other end of the town.
"It's rather rough on you, Jack," laughed my father, coming into my room; "but now you will have a chance of a little quiet."
"I am not sure of that," observed my mother, who was looking from a window: "here are two cavaliers crossing the park. By the way they ride, I should say they are Englishmen."
"Is one a big, handsome man?" I asked.
"Well, yes, he is certainly big!"
"That is O'Brien, then; and the other most probably is the colonel."
I was not mistaken. In a short time Colonel Miller and his friend were in the room, and each in turn shook me heartily by the hand.
"We hardly expected to see you again so soon," said the colonel, laughing. "We thought Canterac had taken a fancy to your company. I hope there is no permanent injury to the foot?"
"Oh no, colonel; only I shan't be able to do any more mountain climbing yet awhile."
"There's none to do," broke in O'Brien; "we've taken to dancing instead."
"I shall not be able even to join in that for some time."
"No? What a pity! We are enjoying ourselves immensely, though it seems rather an odd way of carrying on a war."
"The general perhaps considers that his troops require rest," suggested my mother.
"Even so, staying here is a great mistake," said the colonel. "We are giving the Royalists time to recover their strength, and we shall suffer for it later on. Unfortunately the general appears to think that Lima is Peru."
"Not the general only," remarked my father; "many of his officers would be sorry to exchange Lima for the mountains."
"That is so," admitted O'Brien frankly. "The truth of the matter is, the citizens have treated us too well. They have made us so comfortable that we wish to stay here as long as possible."
"In that case," said my mother, smiling, "we must steel our hearts against you."
"And drive us into the wilderness again!" laughed O'Brien gaily. "Señora, you will not be so cruel?"
"I will not begin to-day," she replied merrily, "because I hope you will stay and dine with us. To-morrow—"
"Ah! let us think of to-morrow when it comes; to-day we will enjoy ourselves."
"A pleasant creed," remarked my father, "though more often than not it leads to ruin. I shall begin to think you are falling a victim to our South American vice."
"What is that?"
"Never to do to-day what can be put off till to-morrow."
"That is exactly what we are doing," remarked the colonel, "and I quite agree with you that it is not a paying game, especially in time of war. A chance once missed never presents itself again."
"An excellent reason for accepting Donna Maria's gracious invitation," laughed O'Brien. "Colonel, I congratulate you on your powers of argument."
Although talking in this bantering way, it must not be thought that he was really in favour of remaining idle; but he was a soldier, and had to obey orders, however much he disliked them.
My father, being a member of the government, was in a much worse position, as many held him responsible in a measure for the lazy way in which the war was being conducted. Really he had no power over the army at all, and could not on his own authority have moved a section of recruits.
O'Brien had spoken truly in saying that the officers had taken to dancing instead of climbing. All the chief families opened their doors to them, and our neighbour, Montilla, who had so suddenly been converted to our side, gave a ball more brilliant than even the oldest inhabitant could remember.
Thus the days passed into weeks; my ankle grew strong and well, I was able to resume my duties, and still there was no sign of moving. We held possession of Lima and Callao, but on the other side of the mountains the Royalists did as they pleased.
"I hope," remarked my father more than once, "that when we wish to move we shall be able to do so."