Chapter Thirteen.A battlefield at night—Our experiences of a Peruvian prison.I am not fond of dwelling on horrors; but I should fail to give a true picture of warfare and its effects, were I to neglect to describe those scenes which are its never-failing accompaniments. I tried to sleep; but at first the blaze of the fire, the voices of those around me, and the din of the camp, kept me awake; and when that had ceased, all the soldiers except the sentries, and even the Indian prisoners, having dropped off asleep, there came up from the depths of the mountain gorge a sound which, as I suspected its cause, effectually banished repose. Though rendered faint by distance, it came through the quiet night air with a distinctness which was truly terrible. I listened with painful attention. There were the shrieks and groans of human beings in their mortal agony, and the suppressed roar and hissing snarl of the fierce puma and the sanguinary ounce, as they disputed over their prey. Many Indians, I guessed too surely, had crawled, desperately wounded, into the crevices of the rocks, where they lay concealed as the Spanish troops passed by, and escaped instant death to suffer a lingering and more terrible fate at the last. All night long those melancholy sounds continued, and though they might have been heard by my companions, they did not appear to disturb their repose. I scarcely knew whether to envy or commiserate their apathy.The night at last passed away. The soldiers started to their feet at the sound of the bugle’s call, a hasty meal was taken, baggage mules were laden, the men fell into their ranks, and the order to march was given. Pedro and I mounted our faithful little beasts, and rode by the side of Don Eduardo, who, after he had got the troops into order, called us to him.We descended the side of the hill, and took a direction towards the west, very much to my satisfaction, for I was afraid that we should have again to pass through the gorge; and my heart sickened at the thought of the sad spectacle we should there have to witness. There was no road, and the ground was very uneven; but the men and animals seemed accustomed to it, and managed to scramble along at the rate of about two miles-an-hour. We marched for about five hours, when we reached the bank of a river, where a halt was called, and the men were ordered to pile arms and cook their dinners, scouts being sent out to give notice of the approach of any Indians. The river ran through a broad valley, having on either side high cliffs, and below them grassy land sprinkled with trees. On the top of the cliffs was a wide belt of forest, beyond which, stretched out to the south, a vast extent of sandy desert. As we passed over it, I observed the remains of numerous small canals, which Pedro informed me served in the days of the Incas to irrigate it, when what was now a barren plain was covered with fertile fields.The spot where we had approached the river was at the mouth of a narrow stream, which wound its way down from the mountains, its course marked by a line of trees, which it served to nourish. While the troops were resting, the colonel summoned Pedro and me into his presence, to make more inquiries about us. I mentioned that he was a very different sort of person to Don Eduardo. He was a stern, morose man, none of the kindlier sympathies of human nature finding a place in his bosom. He was sitting on a rock, under the shade of a tree, with his secretary, with paper and a pen in his hand, kneeling by his side, and making a table of the rock, ready to take notes of what we might say. He questioned us narrowly, and all we said was put down. I gave him the same account that I had to Don Eduardo.“And so you have been living among the Indians, and encouraging them in their rebellion against their rightful sovereign, I doubt not,” he observed, fixing his piercing eyes on us. “Young man, your name is not unfamiliar to me.”I felt no little alarm on hearing these words, which was increased when he desired his secretary to turn to some notes he had in his portfolio.“I thought so,” he exclaimed. “You are the son of an Englishman who is accused of conspiring with the Indians to overthrow the government of the country. Your father has met with his deserts, for I see that he and all his family were murdered by the wretched people he had encouraged to revolt; but you, let me assure you, will not escape the punishment which is your due. You have been treated with too much leniency by us; you and your companion are now prisoners. Guard lead them off, and take care that they do not escape.”The information so brutally given me, confirmatory of my worst fears, almost overcame me, and I believe that I should have sunk to the ground, had not the soldiers who were ordered to take charge of us supported me as they led me away. I was far too much absorbed by the dreadful news, the truth of which I could not doubt, to be able to contemplate the very dangerous position in which I was placed. I did not attempt to answer the colonel, nor to exculpate myself; indeed, any appeal to him would have been of no avail. Pedro and I were marched off, and placed by ourselves under the shade of a rock, where several men were stationed as sentries over us. The officers with whom we had before been associating on friendly terms seemed to regard us with looks of pity, but they dared not speak to us. When the troops again marched we were guarded by two soldiers, who rode by our sides with drawn swords, while we were not allowed to address each other. The time occupied by that journey was the most miserable portion of my life. Hope had almost deserted me. All those I loved best on earth were gone; and at the end of it I had nothing to expect but a long imprisonment in a loathsome dungeon, or perhaps death. The next evening, when the soldiers halted to bivouac for the night, as Pedro and I were sitting disconsolately on the ground at a short distance from each other, with our guards between us, I saw Don Eduardo approaching. He told the soldiers to withdraw, and sat down by my side. I saw by his manner that he had undertaken a task which was not altogether to his taste.“I have got permission from the colonel to speak to you,” he began. “He considers himself authorised not to act very rigorously with you if you will accede to his proposals.”“What are they, Don Eduardo?” I asked, at once guessing their tenor.“Why, he understands you have seen the army of the rebel chief, Tupac Amaru, and are acquainted with their intentions,” he answered.“I own that I have seen large numbers of Indians collected together, but I am entirely ignorant of what they were about to do,” I said. “But pray go on, Don Eduardo.”“The proposal is similar to what I made you when we first met,” he replied, the colour rising to his cheeks. “If you can conduct a Spanish force to where they are to be found, or can contrive to put some of their chiefs into our power, you and your friend shall forthwith be set at liberty.”“You, I am sure, Don Eduardo, can expect but one reply from me to such a question, and you know that it is the only one which, while I remain an honourable man, I can give.”“I am afraid so,” he answered, looking down much grieved. “I am to add, that if you refuse, as soon as we arrive at the town of San Pablo, you will be tried and shot as a rebel.”“Before I have been found guilty?” I asked.“I fear your guilt in our eyes has been too well established by your own confession,” he observed. “Let me advise you to think over the subject well. It is hard for a youth like you to die.”“Tell me, Don Eduardo, do you believe me guilty?” I asked.“You have been in communication with the Indians and you wish them well,” he said, avoiding an answer to my question.“I wish the Spaniards well, and have never instigated the Indians to rebel by word or deed,” said I. “But you have not told me if you think me guilty.”“I do not. From what I have seen of you I think you incapable of doing so wrong a thing,” he replied, kindly taking my hand. “I wish to save your life.”“I warmly thank you for what you say, Don Eduardo,” I exclaimed; “but I cannot do what is proposed. If I am not guilty it will be more easy to die; but I trust that, as an Englishman, the government will not venture to put me to death unless my guilt is clearly proved.”“In these times no respect is paid to persons,” he said. “You must not trust to such a hope; yet I would take a more satisfactory answer back to my colonel.”“I can send no other answer than what I have given,” I replied; “you would from your heart despise me if I did.”At this he looked very melancholy. “Well, I fear it must be so, yet I will do all I can for you,” he said, as again pressing my hand in token of his good-will, he rose to leave me.Having ordered the sentries to return to their posts, he went to where my companion in misfortune was sitting. He conversed with him for some time; and though I had great confidence in Pedro, I was afraid that he might ultimately be tempted or threatened into compliance with the colonel’s demands. I wronged him; for I afterwards learned that he remained firm to his honour. The night passed away without any adventure; and wearied out by bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, though the hard ground was my couch, I slept till daylight. My conscience was, at all events, clear of wrong, and I never recollect to have slept so soundly. I awoke more refreshed than I had been for some time, and with a lighter heart in my bosom. Even hope revived, though I had little enough to ground it on. The air was pure and bracing, my nerves felt well strung, and the face of nature itself wore to my eyes a more cheerful aspect than it had done for many days. The troops advanced more rapidly than they had before done, and towards evening the spires of several churches rising from the plain, the rays of the sun lighting them brilliantly up, came in sight. They were in the town of San Pablo, the houses in which soon after appeared. As we approached, a number of the Spanish inhabitants came out to hear the news, and seemed highly gratified at the result of the expedition. The unfortunate Indians who were brought in as prisoners, chiefly attracted their attention; and I was shocked to hear the abuse they heaped on them. The miserable beings walked on with sullen and downcast looks, without deigning to reply. They had no hope—they had lost the day, and they knew the fate which awaited them.As we marched through the unpaved, dirty streets, the inhabitants came out of their houses to look at us, and to offer the troops refreshments and congratulations. We found the town full of people of all colours, of whom a large number were Indians who had refused to join the revolt.In the centre of the town was the usual large plaza or square; and on one side of it was a building which we were told was the prison. Towards it we were at once conducted. One side of the square was without buildings, a broad stream running past it, beyond which were cultivated fields, and gardens divided by walls. In the centre was a fountain, continually throwing up a jet of crystal water—a refreshing sight in that climate. The prison fronted the river. On one side was a church, and on the other the residence of the governor of the town, or of some other civil functionary. On either side of the buildings I have mentioned, were long rows of houses of various heights, though mostly of one story, very similar to those I have already described. Three streets, running at right angles to each other, led into the square. I have not without reason been thus particular in my description.The soldiers who had us in charge, led us across the square, amid the shouts and jeers of the people. Even the blacks, the half-castes, and the Indians, came to stare at us with stupid wonder, calling us rebels, traitors, and robbers. The unfortunate Indians who had been made prisoners, went before us. The massive gates of the prison were thrown open, and they were forced within. We came last.My heart sunk within me as we entered those gloomy walls. The interior was already crowded with human beings, many of them Indians, found with arms in their hands, or suspected of an intention of joining the rebels. We advanced along a low, arched gallery, intersected by several gates; and having passed two of them, we turned to the left, along a narrower passage, at the end of which we reached a small door. The gaoler, who showed the way with a torch, opened it; and, to my dismay, I saw that a steep flight of steps led down from it to some chambers below the ground.“We are to be shut up in a dungeon, I fear,” I whispered to Pedro.“So that I am with you, I care not where I am,” he answered.Four of the soldiers followed us, to prevent our running away, I suppose; though we should have had but a poor chance of escaping even had we tried. The rest faced about, and marched back through the passage. I hesitated on the top of the steps, so narrow and broken and dark did they look.“Come along, Señores, come along!” said the gaoler; “but take care how you tread, for the steps are somewhat worn, and you may chance to break your necks some days before their time.”Though inclined to make merry at our expense, he held his torch so as to afford sufficient light for us to see our way. The soldiers laughed gruffly at his joke, bad as it was; and this made him attempt one or two others of a similar character.“The gentlemen have not perhaps been accustomed to live in a palace, but they will find one here, with plenty of servants to attend on them; so I must beg to congratulate them,” he said, chuckling as he spoke. “They will have plenty of playmates, though some of them will not remain very long, I suspect. They have a way here of making a speedy clearance at times.”We had now reached the bottom of the steps, and another small door, plated with iron and secured with two stout iron bars, appeared before us. The gaoler removed the bars, and taking a key from his girdle, opened the door.“Go in there, Señores,” he said. “It is somewhat dark at present, but you will get accustomed to it by-and-by.”Saying this, he forced us into the dungeon. I went in first, and stumbled down a couple of steps, nearly falling on my face. While I was holding out my hand to save Pedro from doing the same, the door was shut behind us, and barred and bolted as before. We found ourselves in almost total darkness, a small aperture near the ceiling alone affording a dim gleam of light, which served to show us the gloomy horrors of the place. Two massive pillars supported the low arched roof, which seemed covered with moisture. The size of the place we could not tell, as the darkness prevented our seeing the walls at either side. The floor was unpaved, and composed of damp earth strewed with filth. We stood for some minutes holding each other’s hands, without speaking, and without moving. We felt bewildered and stupified with the calamity which had befallen us. Pedro was the first to recover himself.“They cannot keep us here for ever,” he said, breaking the long silence. “Others have been in worse places, and have escaped. Let us hope, Señor, for the best.” He spoke in a cheerful tone, which had a reviving effect upon me.“We will hope for the best, Pedro,” I exclaimed. “Something may occur to deliver us. We must consider, however, what we have to do. I propose that we first make a tour of inspection round our dominions. It will give us some occupation, though idleness seems rather encouraged here.”“I would rather find the way out of our dominions, as you call them, than become better acquainted with them,” said Pedro. “However, I am ready to set out whenever you please.”“We may possibly find the way out during our inspection,” I remarked, as we began slowly and cautiously to move round the walls of the cell.It was narrow but long, and extended, as I concluded, along part of one side of the inner court. We found two other pillars towards the further end, and we felt several rings secured in the walls, with heavy chains attached to them. Of their use there could be no doubt; and we congratulated ourselves that we were still allowed to have our limbs at liberty. In our walk we stumbled over an iron bar, and our feet knocked against some other rings attached to stones sunk in the floor.“So some of the inmates of the mansion have been chained down like maniacs to the ground,” Pedro observed. “We are indeed fortunate in escaping such treatment.”Though we searched most minutely, we could discover nothing which might suggest any means of escaping. We had just concluded an examination, and had returned to our seats, when the door of the dungeon was opened, and the gaoler appeared, bringing a jar of water and two loaves of brown bread.Pedro examined his countenance. “Stop,” he exclaimed, as the man was going away; “Sancho Lopez, I do believe you are an old friend of mine.”“In truth yes, and you saved my life,” answered the gaoler. “But I must not stop—but I must not stop. Be at rest, I do not forget the matter.”Pedro afterwards told me how he had saved the Spanish gaoler’s life in a snow-storm in the mountains, and we agreed that it was a great thing to have him as our friend.We had been in the dungeon about a fortnight, and though it was damp and unwholesome in the extreme, we did not appear to have suffered in health.One morning Sancho entered our cell with a cheerful countenance.“I bring you good news, Señores,” he said. “I have just received a visit from a young officer, who has, it appears, been making interest in your favour; and he has gained permission for your removal to a more airy abode. He seemed very anxious about you, and said he pitied you very much, though he was unable to obtain your liberty, which he wished to do. I hurried here to tell you this, as I thought it would give you pleasure. I must now go back to get the chambers ready for you, and will return with two of the under gaolers to conduct you to it. One caution I have to give you. Do not mind what I say to you before others, and never answer any of my remarks.”Without waiting for our reply and thanks, Sancho closed the prison door, and left us to ourselves.“We have to thank Don Eduardo for this. I am sure he is the officer Sancho spoke of,” I remarked.“I think so also,” answered Pedro. “I am glad that he has not asked us to pass our word not to escape.”“So am I,” I observed. “While we were on our road here, I often contemplated the possibility of getting out of prison; but then I did not expect to be put into a dungeon like this.”For some time we could talk of nothing else but the prospect of making our escape.Two hours or more had passed away, and Sancho had not returned. We knew that he would not willingly have deceived us, but we began to be afraid that the governor had rescinded his permission for our occupying a room open to the air, and that we might be doomed to remain in our dungeon for weeks or months longer. At last we heard footsteps approaching the cell; the door was opened, and Sancho and his two assistants appeared.“You are to accompany me, Señores,” he said, in the gruff tone he had used at our entrance. “You are fortunate in coming out of that place alive; though some I have known would rather have had to remain there than be obliged to march out into the square yonder.”The assistants laughed as he said this, and we soon had too great a reason to know to what he alluded. Sancho led the way with a torch in his hand; and his assistants followed, holding us tightly by the arms, as if we would have tried to escape from them. I certainly could not have done so had I tried, for when I came to mount the steps, I found my knees trembling under me from weakness, arising from being shut up so long in the damp dungeon, though I had till then thought myself as strong as ever. We traversed a number of passages, and mounted a second flight of steps, when we reached a small door plated with iron. Sancho opened it, and exhibited a room about six feet broad and eight feet long, with a window strongly barred at the further end. There were two chairs and a bedstead, with a straw mattress on it.“Put the youngsters in there,” he said gruffly to his assistants. “It is a room fit for an hidalgo of the first order. They may see and be seen if they choose to put their noses through the gratings.”On this the gaolers very unceremoniously thrust us in, and Sancho, without saying a word more, closed the door upon us. It appeared such an age since we had beheld the blue sky and the smiling face of nature, that we eagerly rushed to the window to discover what view could be obtained from it. We found, to our no small satisfaction, that it was not more than twelve or fifteen feet from the ground, and that it looked out on the great square I have before described. I have never forgotten the sensations of delight with which I inhaled the fresh air as it came through the open bars, and gazed once more on the bright sky, and the clear water of the river, the fields, and the trees beyond, and the human beings who were thronging the open space below us. They all appeared so full of life and activity, and the murmur of their voices seemed like music to my ears, so long accustomed to the silence of the dungeon. The bars of the window were very strong, and placed very close together, so that, as Sancho had observed, we could only just get our noses through them. We were, however, glad to get them out as far as we could, and every moment I found the breeze restoring to my limbs their accustomed strength. My first impulse was to shake the bars to try and find whether any of them could be moved; but I restrained myself, lest some one from below should observe us and suspect that we were thinking of escaping. As we stood there, we heard several voices in piteous tones asking for alms; and by pressing our faces close to the bars, we discovered that some of the prisoners in the neighbouring rooms were letting down hats and baskets by lines at the ends of poles, like fishing rods, to collect food and money from the passers-by. We were still eagerly watching the scene, when I felt a hand laid on my shoulder. I started back, and saw Sancho. We had been so interested that we had not heard him enter. He placed his finger on his lips to impose silence.“I have been so occupied that I could not come before,” he whispered. “I have brought you some white bread, and some meat, and fruit, and fresh water, and a little brandy to mix with it, which have been ordered by the friend who has obtained for you the indulgence of this room. Here are the provisions.” He put down in the chair a basket covered with a cloth. “I cannot remain, for a fresh set of prisoners have lately arrived, and I am employed in looking after them.”“Who are they?” I asked. “More Indians, I fear.”“Yes, Señor; there are a hundred of them. Poor fellows, I pity them, for they will certainly be shot in the great square out there before many days are over. There is a young chief among them. I grieve for him most, for he is a very fine fellow. He walked along as he came to prison like a prince, and heeded not the shouts and revilings of the mob who followed him and his companions. Their misery will soon be over, for they are to be tried to-morrow, and they have not a chance of escape.”“Can you tell me his name!” I asked anxiously; for I instantly thought of Manco.“No, I cannot,” he answered. “I only know that he was taken a few clays ago in a skirmish with the enemy, who are not many leagues off. It is feared even that they may attack the town, though we have too many soldiers here to give them much chance of success.”“I trust they will not,” I exclaimed, thinking of the dreadful scenes which had before occurred. “But can you learn the name of this young chief? I fear he is a friend of ours.”“Oh, do not acknowledge him, then,” said the gaoler, “as you value your lives. You cannot benefit him, and may run the risk of sharing his fate.”I saw the mistake I had committed; but still I pressed Sancho to learn who he was, and he undertook to comply with my wish, provided I followed his advice. I again asked him to inform us who was the friend who had interested himself in our favour; but he replied that he was not at liberty to say, and he then hurried from the room.The news he had brought made us very sad, for we could not help contemplating the scene of bloodshed which was about to occur, which was of itself sufficiently horrible, even should my suspicions that Manco was a prisoner not prove correct. We were doomed not to have our anxiety relieved, for Sancho did not again make his appearance during the day. He was probably afraid of being observed if he visited us too frequently. We ate the food Sancho had brought us most thankfully, and it much contributed to restore our strength; but we had lost all pleasure in looking out of the window on the square, which was so soon to be the scene of the slaughter of so many of our fellow-creatures. We found a bundle of blankets and some clean linen hid away under the bedding; for the latter, which to us was a great luxury, we had no doubt we were indebted to Don Eduardo. At night we threw ourselves on the bed, and tried to sleep; but my rest was very disturbed, and I constantly dreamed that I heard firing, and saw the unhappy Indians being shot down before the windows. Towards morning, however, I fell into a deep slumber; and, probably owing to the change of air and the improvement in our food, we both slept to a much later hour than usual. We were awakened by the confused sound of the voices of a concourse of people, and jumping up, we hurried to the window. From thence we saw a large crowd collected in the square, who seemed to be eagerly watching the doors of the prison. We could distinguish the tones of those nearest to us; and from the words which reached us, we learned that a sort of trial had taken place the previous evening of the prisoners lately captured, as well as of those in Tupac Catari’s army, and that they were all condemned to be shot. No one seemed to pity them; but, on the contrary, all appeared to exult at the prospect of the slaughter which was about to commence.“The pretended Inca, Tupac Amaru, has been taken,” said one man.“No; that is a mistake,” was the answer. “But another chief has, though he fought like a lion, it is said.”“Who is he?” asked another.“A relation of the Inca’s: one of the viper’s brood,” replied the first.“They say two strangers were made prisoners leading on the rebels,” observed a third. “They are to be shot also, I hope.”“No doubt of it; but the viceroy has thought it necessary to send to explain the matter to the English consul at Lima; and his answer has not arrived,” remarked a fourth.“It is known that it cannot arrive for three or four more days; and care will be taken to shoot them before that time,” said the former speaker.“Can they allude to us?” I asked of Pedro, feeling my heart sink within me.“There is no doubt about it,” he replied. “We must be prepared for the worst; but I do not think they will dare to kill one of your great nation. They will shoot me though, as I have no friends to help me.”“Nor have I, Pedro; but I would rather say, Let us hope for the best,” I answered. “They would gain nothing by killing either of us, and it would be very unjust to kill you and let me escape.”“It would be very unjust to kill either of us; but they care little for justice, and they wish to strike terror into the hearts of their enemies,” he remarked calmly.“Such cruelty as they are about to perpetrate will only exasperate the Indians the more,” said I. “If they were to treat them well, and let them go, they would be more likely to put down the rebellion.”The crowd was every moment increasing, as people were coming in from all directions. Among them were a large number of Indians, mestizos, and other half-castes, who seemed to look on with the same unconcern as the Spaniards. My eye had been attracted by a man whose florid complexion and dress showed that he was a seaman of some northern nation, and I hoped an Englishman. He shouldered his way through the crowd with a confident, independent air, as if he felt himself superior to any about him. At length he came close under our window, and caught my eye watching him. He stared at me fixedly for some time, and I thought recognised me to be a countryman by my light hair and fair complexion. Once he put his hand up to his mouth, as if he was going to hail me, as he would a man at the masthead; but he again let it drop, having apparently changed his mind, and, returning his hands to his trousers pockets, he rolled away with the unmistakeable air of a British seaman. I longed to call after him to tell who I was; but, afraid of being heard by others, I restrained myself.“Is that man a friend of yours?” asked Pedro.“I never saw him that I know of before,” I answered.“Well, I thought that he recognised you,” he observed. “I marked the expression of his eye, and I should say that he knew you, or mistook you for some one else.”I eagerly watched the sailor, afraid that he would go away, and that we should see him no more. I observed, however, that though he dodged about among the crowd with a careless air, he never got to any great distance from our window. This circumstance kept alive my hope that he had come for the purpose of bringing us information, or of helping us to escape. The crowd had now begun to grow as impatient at the non-appearance of the prisoners as they would at a bull-fight, had there been a delay in turning the bull into the circus, when three bodies of troops were seen marching up from the several streets leading into the square. They formed on either side of it, making a lane from the prison gates to the river; while the crowd fell back behind them. I had observed a number of Indians collecting on the opposite bank of the river, who now came down close to its edge, watching anxiously the proceedings of the soldiers. They appeared, however, not to be remarked by the people in the town. As they were partly concealed by the trees and the walls dividing the fields, their numbers might not have been perceived by the people in the square. The bell of the nearest church began to toll; the crowd looked eagerly towards the prison; the massive gates were thrown open, and we saw issuing forth a posse of priests and monks, bearing crucifixes and lighted tapers, who were followed by the unhappy Indians intended for execution, chained two and two, and each couple guarded by a soldier with his musket presented at their heads.I watched them file out with aching eyes, for every moment I expected to see Manco led forth. I had a painful presentiment that he was among the victims. The last of the Indians had passed on, and I began to breathe more freely; but still the crowd began to look towards the gates of the prison. Alas! I was not mistaken. The mob raised a shout of exultation, and I saw a man I could too clearly recognise, between two soldiers, with a priest advancing before him, and reciting the prayers for the dead. It was the kind, the brave Manco himself. He walked on with a proud and dignified air, undaunted by the revengeful shouts of his enemies, thirsting for his blood. His step was firm, and his brow was unclouded, and his lips were firmly set; but I observed that his bright dark eyes were every now and then ranging anxiously among the crowd, as if in search of a friendly glance. His fellow-beings who formed the mob, looked at him with eager and savage curiosity; but no one appeared to offer him any sign of recognition. He was closely followed by a company of soldiers, with arms presented. They formed, I discovered, the fatal firing party. As they advanced, the other soldiers formed in the rear, and the mob followed close behind. The sailor, I observed, went with the rest for a short distance, but when he found that their attention was entirely occupied with the prisoners, he disengaged himself from among them, and rolled back with his unconcerned air towards our window.“Shipmate, ahoy,” he exclaimed in a suppressed tone as he passed.“Who are you?” I asked eagerly.“A friend in need,” he answered, in the same low tone. “Keep a stout heart in your body, and if you can manage to rig a line of some sort, let it down out of your window soon after dark. If it’s just strong enough to haul up another it will do. I’ll bring a stout one with me.”“We’ll do as you say, friend, and many thanks,” I answered.“That’s all right then,” said the seaman. “When you hear a cat mew under your window, let down the line. I shan’t be far off. I must now go along with the crowd to see what’s going on. I wish that I could lend a helping hand to some of those poor fellows; but it won’t do, I must look after you, you know. A countryman in distress has the first right to my services.”I longed to learn who he was; but before I could ask him, he had sauntered away among the crowd. Meantime the soldiers had formed three sides of a hollow square, the river forming the fourth. Close to the bank there stood a large group of human beings—the victims destined for execution. Their arms and legs were secured with cords, so that they could not escape. They uttered no cries or lamentations, but appeared ready to meet their fate with stoical indifference. The priests, with their crucifixes and candles, collected round them, exhorting them to repentance, and uttering prayers which none of them could understand. I looked anxiously for Manco, but he was not among them, and at last I discovered him standing apart, under charge of a file of soldiers. With a refinement of cruelty, it was intended that he should witness the execution of his friends and countrymen, before he himself was led forth to be shot. A priest stood by his side, endeavouring to make him listen to the words of exhortation he was pouring into his ears; but, I judged, with no effect. His arms were folded, and his eyes were turned towards the group in the centre. Several officers were riding about the square. At a signal from one of them (the colonel who had sent us to prison), the priests retired; and the firing party, consisting of a hundred men, fell back to the distance of about twenty paces. There was a death-like silence; even the savage crowd were awed. I could scarcely breathe, and a mist came before my eyes.There was a pause of a minute. Perhaps, I thought, the commanding officer himself hesitates to give the word which must send so many of his fellow-creatures to eternity. I was mistaken. “Fire,” he shouted, in a sharp loud voice. A rapid discharge of musketry was heard, and as the smoke cleared off, a number of the prisoners were seen struggling and writhing in agony on the ground. Some of them lay still enough, for they, more fortunate, were shot dead; while the wounded uttered the most fearful shrieks and cries for mercy. More than two-thirds stood erect, unharmed by the bullets. The soldiers, loaded as fast as they could, and again sent forth a deadly fire from their muskets. The number of prisoners was fearfully thinned. The soldiers fired again and again, and each time fewer remained alive. At last but two Indians continued standing side by side, unscathed by the fire. I was in hopes that they might have been pardoned; but no, the soldiers advancing, presented their pieces at their breasts and shot them dead, while those who lay wounded on the ground were likewise put out of their misery.All eyes were now turned towards the chief Manco. I know not on what account his limbs were allowed to remain unfettered. Perhaps they thought that among such a crowd a single man could do no one an injury. He walked along towards the spot where his murdered countrymen lay in heaps, with his head erect, and a firm, unfaltering step. The priest followed him; but he waved him off, as if his services were of no further avail. Even the officers seemed to feel some respect for him; and I saw one of them give him a handkerchief, with which to give the signal for the soldiers to fire. He stood boldly facing them, with his eye firmly fixed on his executioners, a little way on one side of the heap of dead men. My heart felt ready to burst; yet painful as it was, I could not withdraw my sight from him. I anxiously watched for the fatal moment. He gave a leap upwards it appeared, and threw the handkerchief in the air. The soldiers fired; but when the smoke cleared we could not distinguish his body on the ground. The head and shoulders of a man were, however, seen in the waters of the river, and he was striking out with powerful strokes towards the opposite shore, where at the same instant a number of Indians were observed plunging in to meet him.“See, Pedro, he has escaped—he has escaped!” I exclaimed. “It is Manco I am certain; how bravely he swims. They will not be so cruel as to kill him now. He will reach the opposite shore. Ah! alas, he sinks. No, he has only dived; see, he comes up some way down the stream.”The firing party advanced to the banks; but they had expended all their cartridges, I suppose, for they stood watching him in stupid astonishment; and no one, for a minute or more, thought of ordering any of the other soldiers to advance and fire. This gave the swimmer a great advantage; and as the current was strong, he had soon glided some way down below the square. At last some hundred men advanced to the edge of the river, and opened a rapid fire on him; but still he continued his course undaunted. The Indians on the banks set up loud shouts, as did those who had swam out to meet him. He was quickly among them, when it became impossible to distinguish him from the rest. Many, I suspected, lost their lives in their attempt to save their chief. A number of soldiers jumped into the canoes on the banks of the river, and attempted to pursue the fugitive; but long before they could have reached him, the swimmers had landed, and were seen rushing up among the trees. Whether or not he was among them I could not tell; for the bodies of those who were killed floated down the stream out of sight. A rapid fire was kept up at the opposite bank, which the Indians, as they landed, had to pass through; but they were soon sheltered from its effects by the trees, and in a few moments not one of them was to be seen. Carts came to convey the dead away; sand was strewed over the spot; the crowd, murmuring at the escape of the principal victim, dispersed; and the square in a short time resumed its usual appearance.
I am not fond of dwelling on horrors; but I should fail to give a true picture of warfare and its effects, were I to neglect to describe those scenes which are its never-failing accompaniments. I tried to sleep; but at first the blaze of the fire, the voices of those around me, and the din of the camp, kept me awake; and when that had ceased, all the soldiers except the sentries, and even the Indian prisoners, having dropped off asleep, there came up from the depths of the mountain gorge a sound which, as I suspected its cause, effectually banished repose. Though rendered faint by distance, it came through the quiet night air with a distinctness which was truly terrible. I listened with painful attention. There were the shrieks and groans of human beings in their mortal agony, and the suppressed roar and hissing snarl of the fierce puma and the sanguinary ounce, as they disputed over their prey. Many Indians, I guessed too surely, had crawled, desperately wounded, into the crevices of the rocks, where they lay concealed as the Spanish troops passed by, and escaped instant death to suffer a lingering and more terrible fate at the last. All night long those melancholy sounds continued, and though they might have been heard by my companions, they did not appear to disturb their repose. I scarcely knew whether to envy or commiserate their apathy.
The night at last passed away. The soldiers started to their feet at the sound of the bugle’s call, a hasty meal was taken, baggage mules were laden, the men fell into their ranks, and the order to march was given. Pedro and I mounted our faithful little beasts, and rode by the side of Don Eduardo, who, after he had got the troops into order, called us to him.
We descended the side of the hill, and took a direction towards the west, very much to my satisfaction, for I was afraid that we should have again to pass through the gorge; and my heart sickened at the thought of the sad spectacle we should there have to witness. There was no road, and the ground was very uneven; but the men and animals seemed accustomed to it, and managed to scramble along at the rate of about two miles-an-hour. We marched for about five hours, when we reached the bank of a river, where a halt was called, and the men were ordered to pile arms and cook their dinners, scouts being sent out to give notice of the approach of any Indians. The river ran through a broad valley, having on either side high cliffs, and below them grassy land sprinkled with trees. On the top of the cliffs was a wide belt of forest, beyond which, stretched out to the south, a vast extent of sandy desert. As we passed over it, I observed the remains of numerous small canals, which Pedro informed me served in the days of the Incas to irrigate it, when what was now a barren plain was covered with fertile fields.
The spot where we had approached the river was at the mouth of a narrow stream, which wound its way down from the mountains, its course marked by a line of trees, which it served to nourish. While the troops were resting, the colonel summoned Pedro and me into his presence, to make more inquiries about us. I mentioned that he was a very different sort of person to Don Eduardo. He was a stern, morose man, none of the kindlier sympathies of human nature finding a place in his bosom. He was sitting on a rock, under the shade of a tree, with his secretary, with paper and a pen in his hand, kneeling by his side, and making a table of the rock, ready to take notes of what we might say. He questioned us narrowly, and all we said was put down. I gave him the same account that I had to Don Eduardo.
“And so you have been living among the Indians, and encouraging them in their rebellion against their rightful sovereign, I doubt not,” he observed, fixing his piercing eyes on us. “Young man, your name is not unfamiliar to me.”
I felt no little alarm on hearing these words, which was increased when he desired his secretary to turn to some notes he had in his portfolio.
“I thought so,” he exclaimed. “You are the son of an Englishman who is accused of conspiring with the Indians to overthrow the government of the country. Your father has met with his deserts, for I see that he and all his family were murdered by the wretched people he had encouraged to revolt; but you, let me assure you, will not escape the punishment which is your due. You have been treated with too much leniency by us; you and your companion are now prisoners. Guard lead them off, and take care that they do not escape.”
The information so brutally given me, confirmatory of my worst fears, almost overcame me, and I believe that I should have sunk to the ground, had not the soldiers who were ordered to take charge of us supported me as they led me away. I was far too much absorbed by the dreadful news, the truth of which I could not doubt, to be able to contemplate the very dangerous position in which I was placed. I did not attempt to answer the colonel, nor to exculpate myself; indeed, any appeal to him would have been of no avail. Pedro and I were marched off, and placed by ourselves under the shade of a rock, where several men were stationed as sentries over us. The officers with whom we had before been associating on friendly terms seemed to regard us with looks of pity, but they dared not speak to us. When the troops again marched we were guarded by two soldiers, who rode by our sides with drawn swords, while we were not allowed to address each other. The time occupied by that journey was the most miserable portion of my life. Hope had almost deserted me. All those I loved best on earth were gone; and at the end of it I had nothing to expect but a long imprisonment in a loathsome dungeon, or perhaps death. The next evening, when the soldiers halted to bivouac for the night, as Pedro and I were sitting disconsolately on the ground at a short distance from each other, with our guards between us, I saw Don Eduardo approaching. He told the soldiers to withdraw, and sat down by my side. I saw by his manner that he had undertaken a task which was not altogether to his taste.
“I have got permission from the colonel to speak to you,” he began. “He considers himself authorised not to act very rigorously with you if you will accede to his proposals.”
“What are they, Don Eduardo?” I asked, at once guessing their tenor.
“Why, he understands you have seen the army of the rebel chief, Tupac Amaru, and are acquainted with their intentions,” he answered.
“I own that I have seen large numbers of Indians collected together, but I am entirely ignorant of what they were about to do,” I said. “But pray go on, Don Eduardo.”
“The proposal is similar to what I made you when we first met,” he replied, the colour rising to his cheeks. “If you can conduct a Spanish force to where they are to be found, or can contrive to put some of their chiefs into our power, you and your friend shall forthwith be set at liberty.”
“You, I am sure, Don Eduardo, can expect but one reply from me to such a question, and you know that it is the only one which, while I remain an honourable man, I can give.”
“I am afraid so,” he answered, looking down much grieved. “I am to add, that if you refuse, as soon as we arrive at the town of San Pablo, you will be tried and shot as a rebel.”
“Before I have been found guilty?” I asked.
“I fear your guilt in our eyes has been too well established by your own confession,” he observed. “Let me advise you to think over the subject well. It is hard for a youth like you to die.”
“Tell me, Don Eduardo, do you believe me guilty?” I asked.
“You have been in communication with the Indians and you wish them well,” he said, avoiding an answer to my question.
“I wish the Spaniards well, and have never instigated the Indians to rebel by word or deed,” said I. “But you have not told me if you think me guilty.”
“I do not. From what I have seen of you I think you incapable of doing so wrong a thing,” he replied, kindly taking my hand. “I wish to save your life.”
“I warmly thank you for what you say, Don Eduardo,” I exclaimed; “but I cannot do what is proposed. If I am not guilty it will be more easy to die; but I trust that, as an Englishman, the government will not venture to put me to death unless my guilt is clearly proved.”
“In these times no respect is paid to persons,” he said. “You must not trust to such a hope; yet I would take a more satisfactory answer back to my colonel.”
“I can send no other answer than what I have given,” I replied; “you would from your heart despise me if I did.”
At this he looked very melancholy. “Well, I fear it must be so, yet I will do all I can for you,” he said, as again pressing my hand in token of his good-will, he rose to leave me.
Having ordered the sentries to return to their posts, he went to where my companion in misfortune was sitting. He conversed with him for some time; and though I had great confidence in Pedro, I was afraid that he might ultimately be tempted or threatened into compliance with the colonel’s demands. I wronged him; for I afterwards learned that he remained firm to his honour. The night passed away without any adventure; and wearied out by bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, though the hard ground was my couch, I slept till daylight. My conscience was, at all events, clear of wrong, and I never recollect to have slept so soundly. I awoke more refreshed than I had been for some time, and with a lighter heart in my bosom. Even hope revived, though I had little enough to ground it on. The air was pure and bracing, my nerves felt well strung, and the face of nature itself wore to my eyes a more cheerful aspect than it had done for many days. The troops advanced more rapidly than they had before done, and towards evening the spires of several churches rising from the plain, the rays of the sun lighting them brilliantly up, came in sight. They were in the town of San Pablo, the houses in which soon after appeared. As we approached, a number of the Spanish inhabitants came out to hear the news, and seemed highly gratified at the result of the expedition. The unfortunate Indians who were brought in as prisoners, chiefly attracted their attention; and I was shocked to hear the abuse they heaped on them. The miserable beings walked on with sullen and downcast looks, without deigning to reply. They had no hope—they had lost the day, and they knew the fate which awaited them.
As we marched through the unpaved, dirty streets, the inhabitants came out of their houses to look at us, and to offer the troops refreshments and congratulations. We found the town full of people of all colours, of whom a large number were Indians who had refused to join the revolt.
In the centre of the town was the usual large plaza or square; and on one side of it was a building which we were told was the prison. Towards it we were at once conducted. One side of the square was without buildings, a broad stream running past it, beyond which were cultivated fields, and gardens divided by walls. In the centre was a fountain, continually throwing up a jet of crystal water—a refreshing sight in that climate. The prison fronted the river. On one side was a church, and on the other the residence of the governor of the town, or of some other civil functionary. On either side of the buildings I have mentioned, were long rows of houses of various heights, though mostly of one story, very similar to those I have already described. Three streets, running at right angles to each other, led into the square. I have not without reason been thus particular in my description.
The soldiers who had us in charge, led us across the square, amid the shouts and jeers of the people. Even the blacks, the half-castes, and the Indians, came to stare at us with stupid wonder, calling us rebels, traitors, and robbers. The unfortunate Indians who had been made prisoners, went before us. The massive gates of the prison were thrown open, and they were forced within. We came last.
My heart sunk within me as we entered those gloomy walls. The interior was already crowded with human beings, many of them Indians, found with arms in their hands, or suspected of an intention of joining the rebels. We advanced along a low, arched gallery, intersected by several gates; and having passed two of them, we turned to the left, along a narrower passage, at the end of which we reached a small door. The gaoler, who showed the way with a torch, opened it; and, to my dismay, I saw that a steep flight of steps led down from it to some chambers below the ground.
“We are to be shut up in a dungeon, I fear,” I whispered to Pedro.
“So that I am with you, I care not where I am,” he answered.
Four of the soldiers followed us, to prevent our running away, I suppose; though we should have had but a poor chance of escaping even had we tried. The rest faced about, and marched back through the passage. I hesitated on the top of the steps, so narrow and broken and dark did they look.
“Come along, Señores, come along!” said the gaoler; “but take care how you tread, for the steps are somewhat worn, and you may chance to break your necks some days before their time.”
Though inclined to make merry at our expense, he held his torch so as to afford sufficient light for us to see our way. The soldiers laughed gruffly at his joke, bad as it was; and this made him attempt one or two others of a similar character.
“The gentlemen have not perhaps been accustomed to live in a palace, but they will find one here, with plenty of servants to attend on them; so I must beg to congratulate them,” he said, chuckling as he spoke. “They will have plenty of playmates, though some of them will not remain very long, I suspect. They have a way here of making a speedy clearance at times.”
We had now reached the bottom of the steps, and another small door, plated with iron and secured with two stout iron bars, appeared before us. The gaoler removed the bars, and taking a key from his girdle, opened the door.
“Go in there, Señores,” he said. “It is somewhat dark at present, but you will get accustomed to it by-and-by.”
Saying this, he forced us into the dungeon. I went in first, and stumbled down a couple of steps, nearly falling on my face. While I was holding out my hand to save Pedro from doing the same, the door was shut behind us, and barred and bolted as before. We found ourselves in almost total darkness, a small aperture near the ceiling alone affording a dim gleam of light, which served to show us the gloomy horrors of the place. Two massive pillars supported the low arched roof, which seemed covered with moisture. The size of the place we could not tell, as the darkness prevented our seeing the walls at either side. The floor was unpaved, and composed of damp earth strewed with filth. We stood for some minutes holding each other’s hands, without speaking, and without moving. We felt bewildered and stupified with the calamity which had befallen us. Pedro was the first to recover himself.
“They cannot keep us here for ever,” he said, breaking the long silence. “Others have been in worse places, and have escaped. Let us hope, Señor, for the best.” He spoke in a cheerful tone, which had a reviving effect upon me.
“We will hope for the best, Pedro,” I exclaimed. “Something may occur to deliver us. We must consider, however, what we have to do. I propose that we first make a tour of inspection round our dominions. It will give us some occupation, though idleness seems rather encouraged here.”
“I would rather find the way out of our dominions, as you call them, than become better acquainted with them,” said Pedro. “However, I am ready to set out whenever you please.”
“We may possibly find the way out during our inspection,” I remarked, as we began slowly and cautiously to move round the walls of the cell.
It was narrow but long, and extended, as I concluded, along part of one side of the inner court. We found two other pillars towards the further end, and we felt several rings secured in the walls, with heavy chains attached to them. Of their use there could be no doubt; and we congratulated ourselves that we were still allowed to have our limbs at liberty. In our walk we stumbled over an iron bar, and our feet knocked against some other rings attached to stones sunk in the floor.
“So some of the inmates of the mansion have been chained down like maniacs to the ground,” Pedro observed. “We are indeed fortunate in escaping such treatment.”
Though we searched most minutely, we could discover nothing which might suggest any means of escaping. We had just concluded an examination, and had returned to our seats, when the door of the dungeon was opened, and the gaoler appeared, bringing a jar of water and two loaves of brown bread.
Pedro examined his countenance. “Stop,” he exclaimed, as the man was going away; “Sancho Lopez, I do believe you are an old friend of mine.”
“In truth yes, and you saved my life,” answered the gaoler. “But I must not stop—but I must not stop. Be at rest, I do not forget the matter.”
Pedro afterwards told me how he had saved the Spanish gaoler’s life in a snow-storm in the mountains, and we agreed that it was a great thing to have him as our friend.
We had been in the dungeon about a fortnight, and though it was damp and unwholesome in the extreme, we did not appear to have suffered in health.
One morning Sancho entered our cell with a cheerful countenance.
“I bring you good news, Señores,” he said. “I have just received a visit from a young officer, who has, it appears, been making interest in your favour; and he has gained permission for your removal to a more airy abode. He seemed very anxious about you, and said he pitied you very much, though he was unable to obtain your liberty, which he wished to do. I hurried here to tell you this, as I thought it would give you pleasure. I must now go back to get the chambers ready for you, and will return with two of the under gaolers to conduct you to it. One caution I have to give you. Do not mind what I say to you before others, and never answer any of my remarks.”
Without waiting for our reply and thanks, Sancho closed the prison door, and left us to ourselves.
“We have to thank Don Eduardo for this. I am sure he is the officer Sancho spoke of,” I remarked.
“I think so also,” answered Pedro. “I am glad that he has not asked us to pass our word not to escape.”
“So am I,” I observed. “While we were on our road here, I often contemplated the possibility of getting out of prison; but then I did not expect to be put into a dungeon like this.”
For some time we could talk of nothing else but the prospect of making our escape.
Two hours or more had passed away, and Sancho had not returned. We knew that he would not willingly have deceived us, but we began to be afraid that the governor had rescinded his permission for our occupying a room open to the air, and that we might be doomed to remain in our dungeon for weeks or months longer. At last we heard footsteps approaching the cell; the door was opened, and Sancho and his two assistants appeared.
“You are to accompany me, Señores,” he said, in the gruff tone he had used at our entrance. “You are fortunate in coming out of that place alive; though some I have known would rather have had to remain there than be obliged to march out into the square yonder.”
The assistants laughed as he said this, and we soon had too great a reason to know to what he alluded. Sancho led the way with a torch in his hand; and his assistants followed, holding us tightly by the arms, as if we would have tried to escape from them. I certainly could not have done so had I tried, for when I came to mount the steps, I found my knees trembling under me from weakness, arising from being shut up so long in the damp dungeon, though I had till then thought myself as strong as ever. We traversed a number of passages, and mounted a second flight of steps, when we reached a small door plated with iron. Sancho opened it, and exhibited a room about six feet broad and eight feet long, with a window strongly barred at the further end. There were two chairs and a bedstead, with a straw mattress on it.
“Put the youngsters in there,” he said gruffly to his assistants. “It is a room fit for an hidalgo of the first order. They may see and be seen if they choose to put their noses through the gratings.”
On this the gaolers very unceremoniously thrust us in, and Sancho, without saying a word more, closed the door upon us. It appeared such an age since we had beheld the blue sky and the smiling face of nature, that we eagerly rushed to the window to discover what view could be obtained from it. We found, to our no small satisfaction, that it was not more than twelve or fifteen feet from the ground, and that it looked out on the great square I have before described. I have never forgotten the sensations of delight with which I inhaled the fresh air as it came through the open bars, and gazed once more on the bright sky, and the clear water of the river, the fields, and the trees beyond, and the human beings who were thronging the open space below us. They all appeared so full of life and activity, and the murmur of their voices seemed like music to my ears, so long accustomed to the silence of the dungeon. The bars of the window were very strong, and placed very close together, so that, as Sancho had observed, we could only just get our noses through them. We were, however, glad to get them out as far as we could, and every moment I found the breeze restoring to my limbs their accustomed strength. My first impulse was to shake the bars to try and find whether any of them could be moved; but I restrained myself, lest some one from below should observe us and suspect that we were thinking of escaping. As we stood there, we heard several voices in piteous tones asking for alms; and by pressing our faces close to the bars, we discovered that some of the prisoners in the neighbouring rooms were letting down hats and baskets by lines at the ends of poles, like fishing rods, to collect food and money from the passers-by. We were still eagerly watching the scene, when I felt a hand laid on my shoulder. I started back, and saw Sancho. We had been so interested that we had not heard him enter. He placed his finger on his lips to impose silence.
“I have been so occupied that I could not come before,” he whispered. “I have brought you some white bread, and some meat, and fruit, and fresh water, and a little brandy to mix with it, which have been ordered by the friend who has obtained for you the indulgence of this room. Here are the provisions.” He put down in the chair a basket covered with a cloth. “I cannot remain, for a fresh set of prisoners have lately arrived, and I am employed in looking after them.”
“Who are they?” I asked. “More Indians, I fear.”
“Yes, Señor; there are a hundred of them. Poor fellows, I pity them, for they will certainly be shot in the great square out there before many days are over. There is a young chief among them. I grieve for him most, for he is a very fine fellow. He walked along as he came to prison like a prince, and heeded not the shouts and revilings of the mob who followed him and his companions. Their misery will soon be over, for they are to be tried to-morrow, and they have not a chance of escape.”
“Can you tell me his name!” I asked anxiously; for I instantly thought of Manco.
“No, I cannot,” he answered. “I only know that he was taken a few clays ago in a skirmish with the enemy, who are not many leagues off. It is feared even that they may attack the town, though we have too many soldiers here to give them much chance of success.”
“I trust they will not,” I exclaimed, thinking of the dreadful scenes which had before occurred. “But can you learn the name of this young chief? I fear he is a friend of ours.”
“Oh, do not acknowledge him, then,” said the gaoler, “as you value your lives. You cannot benefit him, and may run the risk of sharing his fate.”
I saw the mistake I had committed; but still I pressed Sancho to learn who he was, and he undertook to comply with my wish, provided I followed his advice. I again asked him to inform us who was the friend who had interested himself in our favour; but he replied that he was not at liberty to say, and he then hurried from the room.
The news he had brought made us very sad, for we could not help contemplating the scene of bloodshed which was about to occur, which was of itself sufficiently horrible, even should my suspicions that Manco was a prisoner not prove correct. We were doomed not to have our anxiety relieved, for Sancho did not again make his appearance during the day. He was probably afraid of being observed if he visited us too frequently. We ate the food Sancho had brought us most thankfully, and it much contributed to restore our strength; but we had lost all pleasure in looking out of the window on the square, which was so soon to be the scene of the slaughter of so many of our fellow-creatures. We found a bundle of blankets and some clean linen hid away under the bedding; for the latter, which to us was a great luxury, we had no doubt we were indebted to Don Eduardo. At night we threw ourselves on the bed, and tried to sleep; but my rest was very disturbed, and I constantly dreamed that I heard firing, and saw the unhappy Indians being shot down before the windows. Towards morning, however, I fell into a deep slumber; and, probably owing to the change of air and the improvement in our food, we both slept to a much later hour than usual. We were awakened by the confused sound of the voices of a concourse of people, and jumping up, we hurried to the window. From thence we saw a large crowd collected in the square, who seemed to be eagerly watching the doors of the prison. We could distinguish the tones of those nearest to us; and from the words which reached us, we learned that a sort of trial had taken place the previous evening of the prisoners lately captured, as well as of those in Tupac Catari’s army, and that they were all condemned to be shot. No one seemed to pity them; but, on the contrary, all appeared to exult at the prospect of the slaughter which was about to commence.
“The pretended Inca, Tupac Amaru, has been taken,” said one man.
“No; that is a mistake,” was the answer. “But another chief has, though he fought like a lion, it is said.”
“Who is he?” asked another.
“A relation of the Inca’s: one of the viper’s brood,” replied the first.
“They say two strangers were made prisoners leading on the rebels,” observed a third. “They are to be shot also, I hope.”
“No doubt of it; but the viceroy has thought it necessary to send to explain the matter to the English consul at Lima; and his answer has not arrived,” remarked a fourth.
“It is known that it cannot arrive for three or four more days; and care will be taken to shoot them before that time,” said the former speaker.
“Can they allude to us?” I asked of Pedro, feeling my heart sink within me.
“There is no doubt about it,” he replied. “We must be prepared for the worst; but I do not think they will dare to kill one of your great nation. They will shoot me though, as I have no friends to help me.”
“Nor have I, Pedro; but I would rather say, Let us hope for the best,” I answered. “They would gain nothing by killing either of us, and it would be very unjust to kill you and let me escape.”
“It would be very unjust to kill either of us; but they care little for justice, and they wish to strike terror into the hearts of their enemies,” he remarked calmly.
“Such cruelty as they are about to perpetrate will only exasperate the Indians the more,” said I. “If they were to treat them well, and let them go, they would be more likely to put down the rebellion.”
The crowd was every moment increasing, as people were coming in from all directions. Among them were a large number of Indians, mestizos, and other half-castes, who seemed to look on with the same unconcern as the Spaniards. My eye had been attracted by a man whose florid complexion and dress showed that he was a seaman of some northern nation, and I hoped an Englishman. He shouldered his way through the crowd with a confident, independent air, as if he felt himself superior to any about him. At length he came close under our window, and caught my eye watching him. He stared at me fixedly for some time, and I thought recognised me to be a countryman by my light hair and fair complexion. Once he put his hand up to his mouth, as if he was going to hail me, as he would a man at the masthead; but he again let it drop, having apparently changed his mind, and, returning his hands to his trousers pockets, he rolled away with the unmistakeable air of a British seaman. I longed to call after him to tell who I was; but, afraid of being heard by others, I restrained myself.
“Is that man a friend of yours?” asked Pedro.
“I never saw him that I know of before,” I answered.
“Well, I thought that he recognised you,” he observed. “I marked the expression of his eye, and I should say that he knew you, or mistook you for some one else.”
I eagerly watched the sailor, afraid that he would go away, and that we should see him no more. I observed, however, that though he dodged about among the crowd with a careless air, he never got to any great distance from our window. This circumstance kept alive my hope that he had come for the purpose of bringing us information, or of helping us to escape. The crowd had now begun to grow as impatient at the non-appearance of the prisoners as they would at a bull-fight, had there been a delay in turning the bull into the circus, when three bodies of troops were seen marching up from the several streets leading into the square. They formed on either side of it, making a lane from the prison gates to the river; while the crowd fell back behind them. I had observed a number of Indians collecting on the opposite bank of the river, who now came down close to its edge, watching anxiously the proceedings of the soldiers. They appeared, however, not to be remarked by the people in the town. As they were partly concealed by the trees and the walls dividing the fields, their numbers might not have been perceived by the people in the square. The bell of the nearest church began to toll; the crowd looked eagerly towards the prison; the massive gates were thrown open, and we saw issuing forth a posse of priests and monks, bearing crucifixes and lighted tapers, who were followed by the unhappy Indians intended for execution, chained two and two, and each couple guarded by a soldier with his musket presented at their heads.
I watched them file out with aching eyes, for every moment I expected to see Manco led forth. I had a painful presentiment that he was among the victims. The last of the Indians had passed on, and I began to breathe more freely; but still the crowd began to look towards the gates of the prison. Alas! I was not mistaken. The mob raised a shout of exultation, and I saw a man I could too clearly recognise, between two soldiers, with a priest advancing before him, and reciting the prayers for the dead. It was the kind, the brave Manco himself. He walked on with a proud and dignified air, undaunted by the revengeful shouts of his enemies, thirsting for his blood. His step was firm, and his brow was unclouded, and his lips were firmly set; but I observed that his bright dark eyes were every now and then ranging anxiously among the crowd, as if in search of a friendly glance. His fellow-beings who formed the mob, looked at him with eager and savage curiosity; but no one appeared to offer him any sign of recognition. He was closely followed by a company of soldiers, with arms presented. They formed, I discovered, the fatal firing party. As they advanced, the other soldiers formed in the rear, and the mob followed close behind. The sailor, I observed, went with the rest for a short distance, but when he found that their attention was entirely occupied with the prisoners, he disengaged himself from among them, and rolled back with his unconcerned air towards our window.
“Shipmate, ahoy,” he exclaimed in a suppressed tone as he passed.
“Who are you?” I asked eagerly.
“A friend in need,” he answered, in the same low tone. “Keep a stout heart in your body, and if you can manage to rig a line of some sort, let it down out of your window soon after dark. If it’s just strong enough to haul up another it will do. I’ll bring a stout one with me.”
“We’ll do as you say, friend, and many thanks,” I answered.
“That’s all right then,” said the seaman. “When you hear a cat mew under your window, let down the line. I shan’t be far off. I must now go along with the crowd to see what’s going on. I wish that I could lend a helping hand to some of those poor fellows; but it won’t do, I must look after you, you know. A countryman in distress has the first right to my services.”
I longed to learn who he was; but before I could ask him, he had sauntered away among the crowd. Meantime the soldiers had formed three sides of a hollow square, the river forming the fourth. Close to the bank there stood a large group of human beings—the victims destined for execution. Their arms and legs were secured with cords, so that they could not escape. They uttered no cries or lamentations, but appeared ready to meet their fate with stoical indifference. The priests, with their crucifixes and candles, collected round them, exhorting them to repentance, and uttering prayers which none of them could understand. I looked anxiously for Manco, but he was not among them, and at last I discovered him standing apart, under charge of a file of soldiers. With a refinement of cruelty, it was intended that he should witness the execution of his friends and countrymen, before he himself was led forth to be shot. A priest stood by his side, endeavouring to make him listen to the words of exhortation he was pouring into his ears; but, I judged, with no effect. His arms were folded, and his eyes were turned towards the group in the centre. Several officers were riding about the square. At a signal from one of them (the colonel who had sent us to prison), the priests retired; and the firing party, consisting of a hundred men, fell back to the distance of about twenty paces. There was a death-like silence; even the savage crowd were awed. I could scarcely breathe, and a mist came before my eyes.
There was a pause of a minute. Perhaps, I thought, the commanding officer himself hesitates to give the word which must send so many of his fellow-creatures to eternity. I was mistaken. “Fire,” he shouted, in a sharp loud voice. A rapid discharge of musketry was heard, and as the smoke cleared off, a number of the prisoners were seen struggling and writhing in agony on the ground. Some of them lay still enough, for they, more fortunate, were shot dead; while the wounded uttered the most fearful shrieks and cries for mercy. More than two-thirds stood erect, unharmed by the bullets. The soldiers, loaded as fast as they could, and again sent forth a deadly fire from their muskets. The number of prisoners was fearfully thinned. The soldiers fired again and again, and each time fewer remained alive. At last but two Indians continued standing side by side, unscathed by the fire. I was in hopes that they might have been pardoned; but no, the soldiers advancing, presented their pieces at their breasts and shot them dead, while those who lay wounded on the ground were likewise put out of their misery.
All eyes were now turned towards the chief Manco. I know not on what account his limbs were allowed to remain unfettered. Perhaps they thought that among such a crowd a single man could do no one an injury. He walked along towards the spot where his murdered countrymen lay in heaps, with his head erect, and a firm, unfaltering step. The priest followed him; but he waved him off, as if his services were of no further avail. Even the officers seemed to feel some respect for him; and I saw one of them give him a handkerchief, with which to give the signal for the soldiers to fire. He stood boldly facing them, with his eye firmly fixed on his executioners, a little way on one side of the heap of dead men. My heart felt ready to burst; yet painful as it was, I could not withdraw my sight from him. I anxiously watched for the fatal moment. He gave a leap upwards it appeared, and threw the handkerchief in the air. The soldiers fired; but when the smoke cleared we could not distinguish his body on the ground. The head and shoulders of a man were, however, seen in the waters of the river, and he was striking out with powerful strokes towards the opposite shore, where at the same instant a number of Indians were observed plunging in to meet him.
“See, Pedro, he has escaped—he has escaped!” I exclaimed. “It is Manco I am certain; how bravely he swims. They will not be so cruel as to kill him now. He will reach the opposite shore. Ah! alas, he sinks. No, he has only dived; see, he comes up some way down the stream.”
The firing party advanced to the banks; but they had expended all their cartridges, I suppose, for they stood watching him in stupid astonishment; and no one, for a minute or more, thought of ordering any of the other soldiers to advance and fire. This gave the swimmer a great advantage; and as the current was strong, he had soon glided some way down below the square. At last some hundred men advanced to the edge of the river, and opened a rapid fire on him; but still he continued his course undaunted. The Indians on the banks set up loud shouts, as did those who had swam out to meet him. He was quickly among them, when it became impossible to distinguish him from the rest. Many, I suspected, lost their lives in their attempt to save their chief. A number of soldiers jumped into the canoes on the banks of the river, and attempted to pursue the fugitive; but long before they could have reached him, the swimmers had landed, and were seen rushing up among the trees. Whether or not he was among them I could not tell; for the bodies of those who were killed floated down the stream out of sight. A rapid fire was kept up at the opposite bank, which the Indians, as they landed, had to pass through; but they were soon sheltered from its effects by the trees, and in a few moments not one of them was to be seen. Carts came to convey the dead away; sand was strewed over the spot; the crowd, murmuring at the escape of the principal victim, dispersed; and the square in a short time resumed its usual appearance.
Chapter Fourteen.A friend in need—Our escape.Pedro and I turned from the window, and sitting down, with our hands before our faces, endeavoured to shut out the dreadful sights we had witnessed. It was satisfactory, however, to believe that Manco had escaped; and I trusted that he would not fall again into the power of his enemies. When Sancho entered with a supply of provisions, he found us so employed.I do not know whether he suspected that we had some hopes of making our escape, and wished to warn us of the danger. His manner, I remarked, was more cordial than usual; and perhaps he did not expect to see us again. As soon as he had left us, we consulted how we should form a line to let down out of the window, as our sailor friend had advised. We hunted about, but could not find even the smallest piece of rope. At last I suggested that we might tear up one of our shirts, and by twisting the bits and tying them together, we might make a line long enough to reach the ground, and strong enough to haul up a thick rope. We forthwith, therefore, set to work; and having tried each bit as we fastened it on, we were satisfied that our line would answer our purpose.It was nearly dusk by the time we had finished it; and lest some one should by chance come in and see what we had been about, we hid it away under the mattress. It was fortunate that we took this precaution, for just as we had done so the door opened, and a gaoler, accompanied by our kind friend, Don Eduardo, and another person, entered the room. Don Eduardo bowed to us, and as he took a seat which Sancho offered him, he looked at us rather sternly, as much as to signify that we must not appear on familiar terms.“I have brought this gentleman to prepare your defence for you, Señores, as I hear that you are to be tried to-morrow,” he said, in a kind tone. “I am sorry to tell you that it will go hard with you if you cannot establish your innocence.”“I have to thank you very much, Don Eduardo,” I answered; “but all we can do is to protest our innocence—we have no witnesses. The Indians, who might have proved that we were ourselves taken prisoners by their chief, have this morning been shot.”“It is indeed a difficult case,” remarked the advocate. “I will do my best, Don Eduardo; and we must hope that something will appear in their favour.”I need not repeat all that took place. The advocate asked us a variety of questions, and made a number of notes; and then rising, followed Don Eduardo, who stiffly bowed to us as before, out of the room. Sancho, who went last, turned his head over his shoulder, and shook his head, with a grave expression on his face, which showed us that he thought our case was desperate. This circumstance made us more anxious than ever to effect our escape; and we waited anxiously for the signal the English sailor had promised us. By degrees the noises inside and outside the prison died away. People, fatigued with the excitement of the morning, had retired earlier than usual to their homes, and the square was totally deserted. It was very dark, for there was no moon, and a thick mist rising from the river, hung over the town; and what was of more use to us, there was a strong wind, which howled and moaned among the buildings, and rattled about the tiles. The time seemed to pass very slowly; and we began to fancy that the seaman might have been prevented from fulfilling his intention.“Perhaps he was watched speaking to us, and has been taken up by the officers of justice,” I remarked.“Perhaps he was found coming here with a rope in his possession,” said Pedro; “or perhaps he was deceiving us.”“No, I will not believe that,” I answered indignantly. “I am sure he is honest. He is an Englishman and a sailor, there is no mistaking that; and he did not look or speak like a rogue. Let us hope for the best.”Just as I made this observation, we heard what sounded like the mew of a kitten, just under the window. We instantly jumped up, and I let down our line. I felt it gently tugged.“Haul up,” said a voice; and as we got to the end, we found a rope sufficiently strong to bear a man’s weight attached to the end.“Fasten that to a strong bar; and look out not to make a lubber’s knot,” added the voice.We did as we were bid; and soon after a strong tug had been given to the rope, a man’s head and shoulders appeared at the window. He looked in to discover who was in the room.“All friends here?” he asked.“Yes, to a friend in need,” I replied.“All right then,” he said; and, apparently satisfied, he climbed up farther, and sat himself down securely on the window-ledge. “Now my lads, you’d like to get out of this, I suppose,” he said, in a careless tone, which showed that he was in no way agitated by the risk he was running. “Well, there isn’t a moment to be lost; and so I’ve brought three files, that we may all work away at the bars together.”Pedro and I took the files he offered us, and waited till he had examined the bars.“Here are two together, which seem loosened in their sockets,” he observed. “Now it seems to me, mates, if we were to file away at the upper part, just below the lowest cross bar, and could wrench out those two bars, as you are not very stout, there would be room for you two to slip through.”“I feel sure that we could easily get through,” I answered; “but what are we to do, friend, when we are outside?”“Never you trouble your head about that, youngster,” he replied. “I’ve planned it all, and it can’t fail; so do you just take the file and work away.”Thus admonished, Pedro and I began to file away at one bar, while the sailor attacked the other.“Don’t stop,” he whispered; “the noise is much less likely to be noticed if you go on regularly with it, than it breaks off every now and then.”We filed away accordingly with all our might; but I could not help trembling at times with alarm lest we should be heard; for though the wind howled and whistled in a most satisfactory manner, yet there is something so peculiar in the sound of filing, that I was afraid the sharp ears of the gaoler or guards might hear it. Pedro and I had got through more than two-thirds of our bar, and we agreed that we might easily wrench it out of its place, when our arms began to ache, and as we rested for a minute, we heard a footstep approaching the room. In great alarm, we told the sailor.“Never mind,” he answered, quite calmly. “Stow the files away, and lie down on the bed, and pretend to be fast asleep. I’ve got a lump of pitch in my pocket, and I’ll just fill up the grooves we’ve made in the bars, so that they’ll not be observed. There, that will do. Now I’ll just wait down below till your visitor has gone.”We threw ourselves on the bed, as he advised, and listened with intense anxiety. The footsteps passed by, and we heard doors opening near us. All was again silent for some time; and we had just sprung up, and were about to call the sailor, when we heard the footsteps returning. We threw ourselves down once more on the bed. Just as we had done so, the door opened, and Sancho, holding a lantern in his hand, put his head into the room. His two assistants appeared behind him. As the light flashed on my eyes, I closed them fast.“All right here, the lads are fast asleep,” he said, turning to the men. “Hillo! Señores, wake up, will you. The governor has received notice that some stranger was seen this morning, wandering about outside the prison; and he has sent us round to see that all our inmates were safe. Just remember, then, that we paid you a visit, that’s all. Now go to sleep again, for you won’t have many more nights to rest here. Ha! ha! ha!”The men laughed as he said this, as if they thought it a very good joke; and Pedro and I sat up and rubbed our eyes.“Buenos noches, good night, Señores,” he repeated; and to our infinite satisfaction, without approaching the window, he and his assistants retired, and closed the door behind them.We listened till their footsteps had died away in the distance; and then jumping up, we went to the window, where I gave a low mew, which was answered by the sailor, who quickly climbed back again to his former post. I told him in hurried accents what had occurred.“Never mind,” he answered coolly. “More reason for haste. Another half-hour’s work will set you free. Bear a hand about it, then.”His calmness reassured us; and having carefully cleared away the pitch, we went on filing at the bar as fast as we could. My heart certainly did beat more rapidly than it had ever done before; for I expected every moment to be interrupted by the entrance of the gaolers. Fortunately the wind blew, and the tiles rattled more loudly than ever. At last, to our great satisfaction, both the bars were almost filed through. The sailor seized the one he had been working at, and with a powerful wrench, tore it from the stone window-frame.“There,” he said, giving me the piece of bar. “Put it carefully down. We will leave it as a legacy behind us.”Pedro and I grasped the other, and with all our strength tore it away.“Hurra! all right now, mates,” said the the sailor, scarcely refraining from giving a cheer. “Bear a hand, and squeeze through. I’ll help you.”“You go first,” said Pedro. “I’ll follow you.”I could just manage to squeeze my head and shoulders between the bars; and with the assistance of the sailor, who hauled away by my collar, I found myself standing outside them on the window-ledge.“There won’t be room for all of us outside, so do you, mate, just get hold of the rope and slide down to the ground,” observed the sailor.“Where is it?” I asked, for I could neither see nor feel it.“Get hold of the bars with your hands, and lower yourself till you get your feet round the rope. Don’t let go with one hand till you’ve a firm hold with the other. I’ll guide you.”Following his instructions, I lowered my body over the window-sill till I could grasp the rope with my hands, when without much difficulty I slid down to the ground. For an instant my satisfaction at being once more outside the prison walls made me forget the risk we ran of being recaptured, and the difficulties we had still to undergo. I stood anxiously watching for the appearance of my companions; for it was so dark that I could not distinguish them even at the short distance between the ground and the window. In moments such as those, each one appears an age, and I trembled for our safety. At last I saw a figure gliding down the rope. It was Pedro. Scarcely had he reached the ground when the sailor was by my side.“Now, mates,” he whispered, “let’s hold on to each other, and put our best legs foremost. I’ve a canoe ready on the banks of the river, and we may be far away before our flight is discovered.”We lost no time in words, but taking each other’s hands that we might not be separated, we ran as fast as we could across the square, guided by the sailor, who had taken the bearings of some lights he told us to steer by. Owing to the stormy weather and the late hour, no one was crossing the square; indeed, even the most callous were probably inclined to avoid the spot where the Indians had been executed in the morning. We must have passed close to it. At last we reached the side of the river, but had not hit the place where the sailor had left the canoe. Here was another difficulty. Could any one have removed it? We groped about for some time in vain.“Can you both swim?” asked the sailor.“Yes; but it’s a long way across, and there are perhaps crocodiles in the water,” I answered.“Better be drowned or swallowed up by a crocodile, my lads, than retaken by those land-sharks,” he observed. “It must come to that if we cannot find the canoe.”Pedro and I agreed to this; and, though we had not our full strength, we prepared to take the swim, trusting to the brave fellow’s assistance.“Well, I see there’s some risk, so we’ll have another hunt for the canoe first,” he observed. “Stay, I think it’s lower down the stream.”He was right. Directly afterwards, to our great satisfaction, we stumbled upon the canoe. To launch it was the work of a moment; but though we hunted in every direction, we could only find one paddle.“One must do,” said the sailor. “I can manage. No time to be lost, though.”Saying this, he stepped in first, and seated himself in the stern, with the paddle in his hand. He then turned the head of the canoe to the bank, and told Pedro and me to creep in carefully over the bow. We did so, and placed ourselves by his direction along the bottom. A stroke of his paddle then turned the canoe round, and we floated rapidly down the stream. I listened for any sound to indicate that we were followed, but nothing could be heard above the howling of the wind in the trees. Neither of us uttered a word, not that there was much chance of being heard by any one on shore. The water bubbled and hissed round us, and the wind threw it in sheets of spray over our heads. At times it came rippling over the sides of the canoe, and there seemed a prospect of its being filled; but the seaman held on his course without hesitation. We had shot quickly by the few lights which here and there twinkled from the houses, and were beginning to breathe more freely, thinking that we had altogether got clear of the town, when I fancied I heard the splash of oars behind us. I could not tell if the sailor had heard the sound, but he seemed to ply his paddle with even greater vigour than before. Once or twice he turned his head for an instant, which confirmed me in the idea that we were followed; but even his practised eye could not pierce the darkness which shrouded us. At last I saw that he had relaxed in his efforts, and that he kept his paddle moving sufficiently only to guide the canoe as it dropped down with the current. We had been a couple of hours in the canoe, or perhaps not quite so long, though the anxiety we felt made the time pass slowly.“Well, I believe it was only a cayman or an alligator, or one of those sort of brutes, after all,” he exclaimed, drawing a deep breath, like a man relieved from a heavy care.“I have not been able yet to thank you, friend, for what you have already done for us; but I should like to know what you propose doing next,” said I, as soon as I found we might venture to speak.“Well, that’s just what I was thinking of, mate, myself,” he answered. “But you needn’t thank me, for to my mind, I haven’t done much for you yet. All I have had time for was to get you out of limbo, and afloat on this here river. We must now hold a council of war, to know what’s to be done.”As he said this, he made the canoe glide in towards the nearest bank. We quickly found ourselves in a quiet bay, overhung with trees, into which we had by chance entered. The sailor held on by the bough of a tree, which served to keep the canoe from floating out again. The wind had much abated, and the sky had become much clearer, so that there was sufficient light to enable us to steer free of any dangers in the middle of the stream; though where we now were we should have been completely concealed from the sight of persons on board any boat which might have been passing, or even of one sent in search of us.“Well,” said the sailor, “what do you propose, mate?”“I must first ask you whereabouts we are,” I answered. “I promised an Indian who preserved my life, to return to him before I left the country, but I cannot tell where he is now to be found. Our wisest plan would be to try and reach the sea, so as to get on board some English ship. I do not think we shall be safe till then.”“What has your friend, then, to say to the matter?” said the sailor.“He does not understand English, but I will ask him.”Pedro replied that he thought we should be guided by the sailor, who had already helped us so much.The sailor seemed pleased with the answer.“Why, then, I’ll try and do my best for you, mates,” he said. “You see we are about ten miles away from your prison, and somewhere close upon two hundred miles from the nearest port where we are likely to fall in with any English ship. The Spaniards don’t encourage them to come openly into their ports with the high duties they clap on, though there’s a good deal of smuggling on the coast; and more than half the British manufactures used in the country are landed without paying a farthing of duty. I would rather stick to the river as long as we could; but then, you see, it’s the very place the Spaniards are likely to send to look for us. So I propose that we pull down some five or six miles further, where there are some rapids which we cannot pass, and then we will land on the south bank, and make our way over towards the country they call Chili, though it’s hot enough, to my mind, at times. We might manage, to be sure, to get across the mountains, and launch a canoe upon one of the streams which run into the river of the Amazons. It’s a long way, to be sure, but others have gone down the river; and I don’t see, if we can keep stout hearts in our bodies, why we shouldn’t. When one man has done a thing, I always think another may, if he set the right way about it.”“A voyage down the river of the Amazons!” I exclaimed. “The very thing I should be delighted to accomplish. I do not care for the dangers or hardships we shall have to encounter. I say, let us try it by all means. I am sure Pedro will agree. We must first try and find my friend Manco, the Indian chief, if he should have escaped from his enemies.”I then explained to the sailor who Manco was.“That’s the spirit I like to see,” he answered. “We shall do, depend upon it. I’ve no great fancy for being caught by the Spaniards and clapped into prison; and they are certain to be looking for us all along the western coast. We shall have to go rather a roundabout way, but that can’t be helped. Now, from what I hear, the Indians have pretty well cleared the country of the white men to the south of this, so we shall have little to fear from the Spaniards; and as you say the Indians are your friends, if we fall in with them, it is to be hoped they will treat us well. We can’t expect, you know, to get through the world without running through a little danger now and then.”I told the sailor I agreed with him.“And now, my friend,” I said, “I have some more questions to ask you. I do not know your name, and I cannot guess how you came to find us out.”“What does that matter, mate? I do not know yours; and to say the truth, I never heard of you till a few days ago, when I heard the people talking—for I know something of their lingo—of a young Englishman who was to be shot for siding with the Indians. Now, thinks I to myself, that is a very bad thing for the lad, and if I can lend him a hand, we’ll disappoint the Dons. It’s my belief, a seaman—as far as that matters, anybody—ought always to help a countryman in distress, or he’s not worth his salt.”“Then I ought first to tell you who I am,” I replied; and I gave him a short account of myself, and my late adventures, and how I came to meet with Pedro.“That’s very strange,” he muttered; “very strange. I’m more than ever glad to be of use to you. Now for my name. It’s not a long one. I’m called Ned Gale. I was born at sea and bred at sea; and it isn’t often I set foot on shore, so that what good there is in me I picked up afloat.”“Then how comes it, Ned Gale, that you got so far inland as this?” I asked.“Why, you see the ship I sailed in was seized by the Spanish authorities, in the port of Callao, where we had been driven by stress of weather. It was alleged that we had been smuggling on the coast, which was neither here nor there, as there was no one to prove it. At last the master was advised to appeal to the viceroy, and so he set off to Lima to see him, taking me in his company. When we got to Lima, we found that the viceroy had gone up the country; so away we went after him. We travelled over mountains, and across sandy plains, and rivers and torrents, day after day, but he always kept ahead of us. You see that he had gone out to fight the Indians; and when at last we came up with him, we found him in a very bad humour, for his troops had been beaten in every direction. So he would not listen to a word my captain had to say. The fact was, the bribe Captain Hindson had been advised to offer him was not large enough. My poor captain had before been very ill, and as the ship was, his own property, and all he possessed in the world, his loss ruined him. From the day he got the viceroy’s answer, he never again lifted up his head; and in a week he died in my arms. It was of a broken heart, I suppose; for there was nothing the matter with him that I could see. Poor fellow, I have seen many a shipmate struck down by the shot of the enemy, or sinking under the foaming waves, when there was no help at hand; but I never mourned for one as I did for him, for he was a right honest and kind man. The Dons did not show much Christian charity towards him after he was dead either, for they said he was a heretic; so they would not bury him in the churchyard, but carried him away to a field, where they dug a hole and covered him up like a dog. I didn’t think that mattered at all, however; so I owed them no grudge for it. I never could see the use of praying for a man after he was dead. He did not mind where he lay, and God will know where to look for him at the last day, when he has to stand his trial like all of us. At first I felt a wish to die too; but I soon got over that, and taking the money and the few things the captain had given me (I’ve got his note about that matter—his will he called it), I started off for the coast to look out for another ship. As I have been often in the country, I have picked up some of their lingo, so got on well enough among the Dons; but I found I couldn’t very well travel alone, and often had to wait till I found some one going my road. It was in this way, while I was looking out for companions, that I happened to fall in with you. And now you know something of my history, are you willing to trust me?”“Had I known nothing about it, after the essential service you have rendered us, I would confidently have trusted you,” I answered.“Avast now then, mate,” exclaimed Ned Gale; “don’t give me any soft sawder; I’m not fond of it. I like the cut of your jib, and you like the cut of mine; so we shall sail very well in company. By-and-by we shall know more of each other. And the young Don there, I like his looks too, though I’m not over partial to the natives. Howsomdever, we’ve had talking enough, and as my arms are rested, and there don’t appear to be any enemy abroad looking for us, we may as well get under weigh again.”I agreed with him; and Pedro and I sinking down into our former position, we again glided out into the stream. The river was in places very shallow, and more than once we touched the bottom, and the water began to foam over the stern; but Gale lifted her clear with his paddle, without our being obliged to jump out, and away we went again as rapidly as before. Pedro was very silent—he felt confused and astonished at all that had occurred; neither did Ned Gale nor I exchange many words, for we could not tell at what moment we might come upon any of the villages which are to be found on the banks of the river. Now and then we heard a dog bark, and the crowing of some cocks in the distance gave signs of the approach of morning; but no habitations were visible, and no human voices gave us cause for alarm.Several of the villages on the south bank, Ned Gale had learned, had been destroyed by the Indians; but they had not attempted to cross to the north side. After about an hour’s paddling, we reached a spot similar to the one where we had before taken shelter. We paddled along the shore of the little bay for some way, trying to find a place hard enough to bear our feet, for the bank was generally soft and muddy fringed by a broad belt of reeds, which the alligators must have found convenient for tickling their snouts with.“Step out,” said Gale, “and learn if we are likely to make our way inland from this. I will wait for you and look after the canoe.”Doing as he desired, Pedro and I felt our way along with cautious steps, for under the trees it was so dark that we could scarcely see our hands held up before us. We found that the ground rose a little way beyond, and appeared quite hard. Satisfied with our discovery, after about a quarter of an hour’s absence, we commenced our return to the boat. We walked on slowly, every instant expecting to fall into some hole; and at last we agreed that we ought to have reached the canoe. We hunted about to the right and to the left, but we could not even see the river. We called out as loud as we dared, but Gale did not answer.“There is the river; I see it shining through the trees,” said Pedro.Very soon we got up to it; and Pedro, who was a little in advance, was very nearly falling in. I dragged him back, and we began to hunt for the canoe. It was nowhere to be seen. Again we shouted louder than before, but Ned Gale did not answer. Could he have deserted us? Such a thing seemed impossible, yet we began almost to despair.“Could an alligator have picked him off?” I asked Pedro, shuddering as I thought of our friend’s probable fate.We had kept along the bank of the river for some way. Just then Gale’s voice sounded close to us. We were soon up with him, and had told him of the result of our expedition, and of our alarm.“It was my fault, I suppose,” he answered, laughing. “I found a tree to which I could make the canoe fast, so I thought I might as well take a little sleep while you were away. I heard you call, and dreamed that I answered you. The honest truth is, I spent all last night looking about the prison to find you out, so I haven’t closed my eyes for many an hour. You’ll pardon me, mates, I hope; nature’s nature, and will have its way.”I assured him, now that we had found him, we did not mind the fright; and asked him what he proposed doing next.“Why, the first thing, you see, is to send the canoe out into the stream, so that our enemies may not discover where we have landed,” he answered. “It will float away over the falls; so they may be looking for us miles below them perhaps.”According to Ned Gale’s suggestion, we towed the canoe to the end of the point which formed one side of the bay, and he then throwing the paddle into it, we gave it a shove, which sent it out into the middle of the stream, down which we could distinguish it gliding rapidly away, till it was lost to sight.“We must lose no more time now, mates,” said Ned Gale, as we climbed up the bank. “We must get some way inland before daylight, and then stow ourselves away in a wood till we have time to look about us. We must keep clear of all cottages, for the white-brown fellows hereabouts would make no bones of selling us to the Dons, if they thought they could get anything for us. You see I’ve brought prog enough to last all hands for three days or more, on somewhat short commons; and mayhap we may snare some game to eke it out much longer.”This was good news, for, by taking proper precautions, I thought we might at all events avoid falling into the hands of the Spaniards; and of the Indians I had no fear. The ground over which we were passing, was very rough and uncultivated, and we could discover no beaten path. After some time we came to a mud wall; and on the other side we found a field full of maize, just fit for cutting. This gave us a very welcome supply of food, and we filled our pockets and caps, and a bag Ned Gale had brought with him, for that very purpose.It was necessary, however, to get away from the farm before daylight; so we skirted along the wall, and once more found ourselves on wild ground. The whole eastern sky was covered with a mass of flame, a sign that the sun himself was about to appear, when we caught sight of a forest spreading out before us. We pushed on much faster than we had been able to do during the darkness, and had just concealed ourselves among the trees, as the sun, rushing from among the mountains, cast a bright glow of light over the plains we had just passed. The first thing Ned Gale did, was to climb up one of the tallest trees on the outskirts of the forest, to take a look round and see what was in sight, as, he observed, a good seaman always does the first thing in the morning. When he came down, he reported that he had observed in the far distance some smoke, which he supposed arose from the farmhouse we had passed in the night; but that he had discovered no other human habitation while as far as the eye could discern there appeared to be only an uncultivated plain. Having eaten nothing since our last meal in the prison, Pedro and I were very glad when Ned Gale opened his wallet, and produced some dried meat and bread and cheese, and what was almost of greater value, a good supply of cocoa. He had a flint and steel with him, and a tin cup for boiling water; so we collected some sticks and lighted a small fire, sufficient to cook our cocoa and to parch some peas. On looking over our provisions, we found that we had already ample to last us a week, so that we might venture to push across the mountains towards Cuzco, where, Manco had told me, he expected about this time the Indians would be collected in great force. We had, however, more than a day’s journey before we could reach the foot of the mountains, which were upwards of thirty miles off.On hunting about, we discovered a spring of bright water bubbling up close to the roots of an enormous tree, which it evidently very much assisted to nourish. We ate a good meal, and then Gale insisted that Pedro and I should lie down and rest, while he watched. As we both of us very much required sleep, we were not sorry to follow his advice; and in about two hours we awoke much refreshed.I have not yet described Ned Gale. He was about five feet six in height, and very strongly built, with rather a large head, covered with a profusion of light hair. He wore a full bushy beard and large whiskers. His eyes were full and round, and of the brightest blue I have ever seen in those of a man. His month was large, and filled with strong white teeth, and his nose, though rather thick and prominent, was otherwise well cut. Indeed he came up fully to the description of a fine-looking fellow without being handsome. His dress was that of an ordinary seaman of those days. He wore a belt with a brace of pistols stuck in it, which were partly concealed by his loose cloth jacket. His head was covered by a small low-crowned straw hat; and the puzzle seemed to be how he could manage to keep it on. Altogether he presented a figure very seldom seen so far inland as we then were.“Come, mates,” he exclaimed, “it’s time to be making headway again.”We jumped up, and having divided our stores into three equal parts, and cut some thick walking-sticks, we shouldered our bundles, and recommenced our journey.
Pedro and I turned from the window, and sitting down, with our hands before our faces, endeavoured to shut out the dreadful sights we had witnessed. It was satisfactory, however, to believe that Manco had escaped; and I trusted that he would not fall again into the power of his enemies. When Sancho entered with a supply of provisions, he found us so employed.
I do not know whether he suspected that we had some hopes of making our escape, and wished to warn us of the danger. His manner, I remarked, was more cordial than usual; and perhaps he did not expect to see us again. As soon as he had left us, we consulted how we should form a line to let down out of the window, as our sailor friend had advised. We hunted about, but could not find even the smallest piece of rope. At last I suggested that we might tear up one of our shirts, and by twisting the bits and tying them together, we might make a line long enough to reach the ground, and strong enough to haul up a thick rope. We forthwith, therefore, set to work; and having tried each bit as we fastened it on, we were satisfied that our line would answer our purpose.
It was nearly dusk by the time we had finished it; and lest some one should by chance come in and see what we had been about, we hid it away under the mattress. It was fortunate that we took this precaution, for just as we had done so the door opened, and a gaoler, accompanied by our kind friend, Don Eduardo, and another person, entered the room. Don Eduardo bowed to us, and as he took a seat which Sancho offered him, he looked at us rather sternly, as much as to signify that we must not appear on familiar terms.
“I have brought this gentleman to prepare your defence for you, Señores, as I hear that you are to be tried to-morrow,” he said, in a kind tone. “I am sorry to tell you that it will go hard with you if you cannot establish your innocence.”
“I have to thank you very much, Don Eduardo,” I answered; “but all we can do is to protest our innocence—we have no witnesses. The Indians, who might have proved that we were ourselves taken prisoners by their chief, have this morning been shot.”
“It is indeed a difficult case,” remarked the advocate. “I will do my best, Don Eduardo; and we must hope that something will appear in their favour.”
I need not repeat all that took place. The advocate asked us a variety of questions, and made a number of notes; and then rising, followed Don Eduardo, who stiffly bowed to us as before, out of the room. Sancho, who went last, turned his head over his shoulder, and shook his head, with a grave expression on his face, which showed us that he thought our case was desperate. This circumstance made us more anxious than ever to effect our escape; and we waited anxiously for the signal the English sailor had promised us. By degrees the noises inside and outside the prison died away. People, fatigued with the excitement of the morning, had retired earlier than usual to their homes, and the square was totally deserted. It was very dark, for there was no moon, and a thick mist rising from the river, hung over the town; and what was of more use to us, there was a strong wind, which howled and moaned among the buildings, and rattled about the tiles. The time seemed to pass very slowly; and we began to fancy that the seaman might have been prevented from fulfilling his intention.
“Perhaps he was watched speaking to us, and has been taken up by the officers of justice,” I remarked.
“Perhaps he was found coming here with a rope in his possession,” said Pedro; “or perhaps he was deceiving us.”
“No, I will not believe that,” I answered indignantly. “I am sure he is honest. He is an Englishman and a sailor, there is no mistaking that; and he did not look or speak like a rogue. Let us hope for the best.”
Just as I made this observation, we heard what sounded like the mew of a kitten, just under the window. We instantly jumped up, and I let down our line. I felt it gently tugged.
“Haul up,” said a voice; and as we got to the end, we found a rope sufficiently strong to bear a man’s weight attached to the end.
“Fasten that to a strong bar; and look out not to make a lubber’s knot,” added the voice.
We did as we were bid; and soon after a strong tug had been given to the rope, a man’s head and shoulders appeared at the window. He looked in to discover who was in the room.
“All friends here?” he asked.
“Yes, to a friend in need,” I replied.
“All right then,” he said; and, apparently satisfied, he climbed up farther, and sat himself down securely on the window-ledge. “Now my lads, you’d like to get out of this, I suppose,” he said, in a careless tone, which showed that he was in no way agitated by the risk he was running. “Well, there isn’t a moment to be lost; and so I’ve brought three files, that we may all work away at the bars together.”
Pedro and I took the files he offered us, and waited till he had examined the bars.
“Here are two together, which seem loosened in their sockets,” he observed. “Now it seems to me, mates, if we were to file away at the upper part, just below the lowest cross bar, and could wrench out those two bars, as you are not very stout, there would be room for you two to slip through.”
“I feel sure that we could easily get through,” I answered; “but what are we to do, friend, when we are outside?”
“Never you trouble your head about that, youngster,” he replied. “I’ve planned it all, and it can’t fail; so do you just take the file and work away.”
Thus admonished, Pedro and I began to file away at one bar, while the sailor attacked the other.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered; “the noise is much less likely to be noticed if you go on regularly with it, than it breaks off every now and then.”
We filed away accordingly with all our might; but I could not help trembling at times with alarm lest we should be heard; for though the wind howled and whistled in a most satisfactory manner, yet there is something so peculiar in the sound of filing, that I was afraid the sharp ears of the gaoler or guards might hear it. Pedro and I had got through more than two-thirds of our bar, and we agreed that we might easily wrench it out of its place, when our arms began to ache, and as we rested for a minute, we heard a footstep approaching the room. In great alarm, we told the sailor.
“Never mind,” he answered, quite calmly. “Stow the files away, and lie down on the bed, and pretend to be fast asleep. I’ve got a lump of pitch in my pocket, and I’ll just fill up the grooves we’ve made in the bars, so that they’ll not be observed. There, that will do. Now I’ll just wait down below till your visitor has gone.”
We threw ourselves on the bed, as he advised, and listened with intense anxiety. The footsteps passed by, and we heard doors opening near us. All was again silent for some time; and we had just sprung up, and were about to call the sailor, when we heard the footsteps returning. We threw ourselves down once more on the bed. Just as we had done so, the door opened, and Sancho, holding a lantern in his hand, put his head into the room. His two assistants appeared behind him. As the light flashed on my eyes, I closed them fast.
“All right here, the lads are fast asleep,” he said, turning to the men. “Hillo! Señores, wake up, will you. The governor has received notice that some stranger was seen this morning, wandering about outside the prison; and he has sent us round to see that all our inmates were safe. Just remember, then, that we paid you a visit, that’s all. Now go to sleep again, for you won’t have many more nights to rest here. Ha! ha! ha!”
The men laughed as he said this, as if they thought it a very good joke; and Pedro and I sat up and rubbed our eyes.
“Buenos noches, good night, Señores,” he repeated; and to our infinite satisfaction, without approaching the window, he and his assistants retired, and closed the door behind them.
We listened till their footsteps had died away in the distance; and then jumping up, we went to the window, where I gave a low mew, which was answered by the sailor, who quickly climbed back again to his former post. I told him in hurried accents what had occurred.
“Never mind,” he answered coolly. “More reason for haste. Another half-hour’s work will set you free. Bear a hand about it, then.”
His calmness reassured us; and having carefully cleared away the pitch, we went on filing at the bar as fast as we could. My heart certainly did beat more rapidly than it had ever done before; for I expected every moment to be interrupted by the entrance of the gaolers. Fortunately the wind blew, and the tiles rattled more loudly than ever. At last, to our great satisfaction, both the bars were almost filed through. The sailor seized the one he had been working at, and with a powerful wrench, tore it from the stone window-frame.
“There,” he said, giving me the piece of bar. “Put it carefully down. We will leave it as a legacy behind us.”
Pedro and I grasped the other, and with all our strength tore it away.
“Hurra! all right now, mates,” said the the sailor, scarcely refraining from giving a cheer. “Bear a hand, and squeeze through. I’ll help you.”
“You go first,” said Pedro. “I’ll follow you.”
I could just manage to squeeze my head and shoulders between the bars; and with the assistance of the sailor, who hauled away by my collar, I found myself standing outside them on the window-ledge.
“There won’t be room for all of us outside, so do you, mate, just get hold of the rope and slide down to the ground,” observed the sailor.
“Where is it?” I asked, for I could neither see nor feel it.
“Get hold of the bars with your hands, and lower yourself till you get your feet round the rope. Don’t let go with one hand till you’ve a firm hold with the other. I’ll guide you.”
Following his instructions, I lowered my body over the window-sill till I could grasp the rope with my hands, when without much difficulty I slid down to the ground. For an instant my satisfaction at being once more outside the prison walls made me forget the risk we ran of being recaptured, and the difficulties we had still to undergo. I stood anxiously watching for the appearance of my companions; for it was so dark that I could not distinguish them even at the short distance between the ground and the window. In moments such as those, each one appears an age, and I trembled for our safety. At last I saw a figure gliding down the rope. It was Pedro. Scarcely had he reached the ground when the sailor was by my side.
“Now, mates,” he whispered, “let’s hold on to each other, and put our best legs foremost. I’ve a canoe ready on the banks of the river, and we may be far away before our flight is discovered.”
We lost no time in words, but taking each other’s hands that we might not be separated, we ran as fast as we could across the square, guided by the sailor, who had taken the bearings of some lights he told us to steer by. Owing to the stormy weather and the late hour, no one was crossing the square; indeed, even the most callous were probably inclined to avoid the spot where the Indians had been executed in the morning. We must have passed close to it. At last we reached the side of the river, but had not hit the place where the sailor had left the canoe. Here was another difficulty. Could any one have removed it? We groped about for some time in vain.
“Can you both swim?” asked the sailor.
“Yes; but it’s a long way across, and there are perhaps crocodiles in the water,” I answered.
“Better be drowned or swallowed up by a crocodile, my lads, than retaken by those land-sharks,” he observed. “It must come to that if we cannot find the canoe.”
Pedro and I agreed to this; and, though we had not our full strength, we prepared to take the swim, trusting to the brave fellow’s assistance.
“Well, I see there’s some risk, so we’ll have another hunt for the canoe first,” he observed. “Stay, I think it’s lower down the stream.”
He was right. Directly afterwards, to our great satisfaction, we stumbled upon the canoe. To launch it was the work of a moment; but though we hunted in every direction, we could only find one paddle.
“One must do,” said the sailor. “I can manage. No time to be lost, though.”
Saying this, he stepped in first, and seated himself in the stern, with the paddle in his hand. He then turned the head of the canoe to the bank, and told Pedro and me to creep in carefully over the bow. We did so, and placed ourselves by his direction along the bottom. A stroke of his paddle then turned the canoe round, and we floated rapidly down the stream. I listened for any sound to indicate that we were followed, but nothing could be heard above the howling of the wind in the trees. Neither of us uttered a word, not that there was much chance of being heard by any one on shore. The water bubbled and hissed round us, and the wind threw it in sheets of spray over our heads. At times it came rippling over the sides of the canoe, and there seemed a prospect of its being filled; but the seaman held on his course without hesitation. We had shot quickly by the few lights which here and there twinkled from the houses, and were beginning to breathe more freely, thinking that we had altogether got clear of the town, when I fancied I heard the splash of oars behind us. I could not tell if the sailor had heard the sound, but he seemed to ply his paddle with even greater vigour than before. Once or twice he turned his head for an instant, which confirmed me in the idea that we were followed; but even his practised eye could not pierce the darkness which shrouded us. At last I saw that he had relaxed in his efforts, and that he kept his paddle moving sufficiently only to guide the canoe as it dropped down with the current. We had been a couple of hours in the canoe, or perhaps not quite so long, though the anxiety we felt made the time pass slowly.
“Well, I believe it was only a cayman or an alligator, or one of those sort of brutes, after all,” he exclaimed, drawing a deep breath, like a man relieved from a heavy care.
“I have not been able yet to thank you, friend, for what you have already done for us; but I should like to know what you propose doing next,” said I, as soon as I found we might venture to speak.
“Well, that’s just what I was thinking of, mate, myself,” he answered. “But you needn’t thank me, for to my mind, I haven’t done much for you yet. All I have had time for was to get you out of limbo, and afloat on this here river. We must now hold a council of war, to know what’s to be done.”
As he said this, he made the canoe glide in towards the nearest bank. We quickly found ourselves in a quiet bay, overhung with trees, into which we had by chance entered. The sailor held on by the bough of a tree, which served to keep the canoe from floating out again. The wind had much abated, and the sky had become much clearer, so that there was sufficient light to enable us to steer free of any dangers in the middle of the stream; though where we now were we should have been completely concealed from the sight of persons on board any boat which might have been passing, or even of one sent in search of us.
“Well,” said the sailor, “what do you propose, mate?”
“I must first ask you whereabouts we are,” I answered. “I promised an Indian who preserved my life, to return to him before I left the country, but I cannot tell where he is now to be found. Our wisest plan would be to try and reach the sea, so as to get on board some English ship. I do not think we shall be safe till then.”
“What has your friend, then, to say to the matter?” said the sailor.
“He does not understand English, but I will ask him.”
Pedro replied that he thought we should be guided by the sailor, who had already helped us so much.
The sailor seemed pleased with the answer.
“Why, then, I’ll try and do my best for you, mates,” he said. “You see we are about ten miles away from your prison, and somewhere close upon two hundred miles from the nearest port where we are likely to fall in with any English ship. The Spaniards don’t encourage them to come openly into their ports with the high duties they clap on, though there’s a good deal of smuggling on the coast; and more than half the British manufactures used in the country are landed without paying a farthing of duty. I would rather stick to the river as long as we could; but then, you see, it’s the very place the Spaniards are likely to send to look for us. So I propose that we pull down some five or six miles further, where there are some rapids which we cannot pass, and then we will land on the south bank, and make our way over towards the country they call Chili, though it’s hot enough, to my mind, at times. We might manage, to be sure, to get across the mountains, and launch a canoe upon one of the streams which run into the river of the Amazons. It’s a long way, to be sure, but others have gone down the river; and I don’t see, if we can keep stout hearts in our bodies, why we shouldn’t. When one man has done a thing, I always think another may, if he set the right way about it.”
“A voyage down the river of the Amazons!” I exclaimed. “The very thing I should be delighted to accomplish. I do not care for the dangers or hardships we shall have to encounter. I say, let us try it by all means. I am sure Pedro will agree. We must first try and find my friend Manco, the Indian chief, if he should have escaped from his enemies.”
I then explained to the sailor who Manco was.
“That’s the spirit I like to see,” he answered. “We shall do, depend upon it. I’ve no great fancy for being caught by the Spaniards and clapped into prison; and they are certain to be looking for us all along the western coast. We shall have to go rather a roundabout way, but that can’t be helped. Now, from what I hear, the Indians have pretty well cleared the country of the white men to the south of this, so we shall have little to fear from the Spaniards; and as you say the Indians are your friends, if we fall in with them, it is to be hoped they will treat us well. We can’t expect, you know, to get through the world without running through a little danger now and then.”
I told the sailor I agreed with him.
“And now, my friend,” I said, “I have some more questions to ask you. I do not know your name, and I cannot guess how you came to find us out.”
“What does that matter, mate? I do not know yours; and to say the truth, I never heard of you till a few days ago, when I heard the people talking—for I know something of their lingo—of a young Englishman who was to be shot for siding with the Indians. Now, thinks I to myself, that is a very bad thing for the lad, and if I can lend him a hand, we’ll disappoint the Dons. It’s my belief, a seaman—as far as that matters, anybody—ought always to help a countryman in distress, or he’s not worth his salt.”
“Then I ought first to tell you who I am,” I replied; and I gave him a short account of myself, and my late adventures, and how I came to meet with Pedro.
“That’s very strange,” he muttered; “very strange. I’m more than ever glad to be of use to you. Now for my name. It’s not a long one. I’m called Ned Gale. I was born at sea and bred at sea; and it isn’t often I set foot on shore, so that what good there is in me I picked up afloat.”
“Then how comes it, Ned Gale, that you got so far inland as this?” I asked.
“Why, you see the ship I sailed in was seized by the Spanish authorities, in the port of Callao, where we had been driven by stress of weather. It was alleged that we had been smuggling on the coast, which was neither here nor there, as there was no one to prove it. At last the master was advised to appeal to the viceroy, and so he set off to Lima to see him, taking me in his company. When we got to Lima, we found that the viceroy had gone up the country; so away we went after him. We travelled over mountains, and across sandy plains, and rivers and torrents, day after day, but he always kept ahead of us. You see that he had gone out to fight the Indians; and when at last we came up with him, we found him in a very bad humour, for his troops had been beaten in every direction. So he would not listen to a word my captain had to say. The fact was, the bribe Captain Hindson had been advised to offer him was not large enough. My poor captain had before been very ill, and as the ship was, his own property, and all he possessed in the world, his loss ruined him. From the day he got the viceroy’s answer, he never again lifted up his head; and in a week he died in my arms. It was of a broken heart, I suppose; for there was nothing the matter with him that I could see. Poor fellow, I have seen many a shipmate struck down by the shot of the enemy, or sinking under the foaming waves, when there was no help at hand; but I never mourned for one as I did for him, for he was a right honest and kind man. The Dons did not show much Christian charity towards him after he was dead either, for they said he was a heretic; so they would not bury him in the churchyard, but carried him away to a field, where they dug a hole and covered him up like a dog. I didn’t think that mattered at all, however; so I owed them no grudge for it. I never could see the use of praying for a man after he was dead. He did not mind where he lay, and God will know where to look for him at the last day, when he has to stand his trial like all of us. At first I felt a wish to die too; but I soon got over that, and taking the money and the few things the captain had given me (I’ve got his note about that matter—his will he called it), I started off for the coast to look out for another ship. As I have been often in the country, I have picked up some of their lingo, so got on well enough among the Dons; but I found I couldn’t very well travel alone, and often had to wait till I found some one going my road. It was in this way, while I was looking out for companions, that I happened to fall in with you. And now you know something of my history, are you willing to trust me?”
“Had I known nothing about it, after the essential service you have rendered us, I would confidently have trusted you,” I answered.
“Avast now then, mate,” exclaimed Ned Gale; “don’t give me any soft sawder; I’m not fond of it. I like the cut of your jib, and you like the cut of mine; so we shall sail very well in company. By-and-by we shall know more of each other. And the young Don there, I like his looks too, though I’m not over partial to the natives. Howsomdever, we’ve had talking enough, and as my arms are rested, and there don’t appear to be any enemy abroad looking for us, we may as well get under weigh again.”
I agreed with him; and Pedro and I sinking down into our former position, we again glided out into the stream. The river was in places very shallow, and more than once we touched the bottom, and the water began to foam over the stern; but Gale lifted her clear with his paddle, without our being obliged to jump out, and away we went again as rapidly as before. Pedro was very silent—he felt confused and astonished at all that had occurred; neither did Ned Gale nor I exchange many words, for we could not tell at what moment we might come upon any of the villages which are to be found on the banks of the river. Now and then we heard a dog bark, and the crowing of some cocks in the distance gave signs of the approach of morning; but no habitations were visible, and no human voices gave us cause for alarm.
Several of the villages on the south bank, Ned Gale had learned, had been destroyed by the Indians; but they had not attempted to cross to the north side. After about an hour’s paddling, we reached a spot similar to the one where we had before taken shelter. We paddled along the shore of the little bay for some way, trying to find a place hard enough to bear our feet, for the bank was generally soft and muddy fringed by a broad belt of reeds, which the alligators must have found convenient for tickling their snouts with.
“Step out,” said Gale, “and learn if we are likely to make our way inland from this. I will wait for you and look after the canoe.”
Doing as he desired, Pedro and I felt our way along with cautious steps, for under the trees it was so dark that we could scarcely see our hands held up before us. We found that the ground rose a little way beyond, and appeared quite hard. Satisfied with our discovery, after about a quarter of an hour’s absence, we commenced our return to the boat. We walked on slowly, every instant expecting to fall into some hole; and at last we agreed that we ought to have reached the canoe. We hunted about to the right and to the left, but we could not even see the river. We called out as loud as we dared, but Gale did not answer.
“There is the river; I see it shining through the trees,” said Pedro.
Very soon we got up to it; and Pedro, who was a little in advance, was very nearly falling in. I dragged him back, and we began to hunt for the canoe. It was nowhere to be seen. Again we shouted louder than before, but Ned Gale did not answer. Could he have deserted us? Such a thing seemed impossible, yet we began almost to despair.
“Could an alligator have picked him off?” I asked Pedro, shuddering as I thought of our friend’s probable fate.
We had kept along the bank of the river for some way. Just then Gale’s voice sounded close to us. We were soon up with him, and had told him of the result of our expedition, and of our alarm.
“It was my fault, I suppose,” he answered, laughing. “I found a tree to which I could make the canoe fast, so I thought I might as well take a little sleep while you were away. I heard you call, and dreamed that I answered you. The honest truth is, I spent all last night looking about the prison to find you out, so I haven’t closed my eyes for many an hour. You’ll pardon me, mates, I hope; nature’s nature, and will have its way.”
I assured him, now that we had found him, we did not mind the fright; and asked him what he proposed doing next.
“Why, the first thing, you see, is to send the canoe out into the stream, so that our enemies may not discover where we have landed,” he answered. “It will float away over the falls; so they may be looking for us miles below them perhaps.”
According to Ned Gale’s suggestion, we towed the canoe to the end of the point which formed one side of the bay, and he then throwing the paddle into it, we gave it a shove, which sent it out into the middle of the stream, down which we could distinguish it gliding rapidly away, till it was lost to sight.
“We must lose no more time now, mates,” said Ned Gale, as we climbed up the bank. “We must get some way inland before daylight, and then stow ourselves away in a wood till we have time to look about us. We must keep clear of all cottages, for the white-brown fellows hereabouts would make no bones of selling us to the Dons, if they thought they could get anything for us. You see I’ve brought prog enough to last all hands for three days or more, on somewhat short commons; and mayhap we may snare some game to eke it out much longer.”
This was good news, for, by taking proper precautions, I thought we might at all events avoid falling into the hands of the Spaniards; and of the Indians I had no fear. The ground over which we were passing, was very rough and uncultivated, and we could discover no beaten path. After some time we came to a mud wall; and on the other side we found a field full of maize, just fit for cutting. This gave us a very welcome supply of food, and we filled our pockets and caps, and a bag Ned Gale had brought with him, for that very purpose.
It was necessary, however, to get away from the farm before daylight; so we skirted along the wall, and once more found ourselves on wild ground. The whole eastern sky was covered with a mass of flame, a sign that the sun himself was about to appear, when we caught sight of a forest spreading out before us. We pushed on much faster than we had been able to do during the darkness, and had just concealed ourselves among the trees, as the sun, rushing from among the mountains, cast a bright glow of light over the plains we had just passed. The first thing Ned Gale did, was to climb up one of the tallest trees on the outskirts of the forest, to take a look round and see what was in sight, as, he observed, a good seaman always does the first thing in the morning. When he came down, he reported that he had observed in the far distance some smoke, which he supposed arose from the farmhouse we had passed in the night; but that he had discovered no other human habitation while as far as the eye could discern there appeared to be only an uncultivated plain. Having eaten nothing since our last meal in the prison, Pedro and I were very glad when Ned Gale opened his wallet, and produced some dried meat and bread and cheese, and what was almost of greater value, a good supply of cocoa. He had a flint and steel with him, and a tin cup for boiling water; so we collected some sticks and lighted a small fire, sufficient to cook our cocoa and to parch some peas. On looking over our provisions, we found that we had already ample to last us a week, so that we might venture to push across the mountains towards Cuzco, where, Manco had told me, he expected about this time the Indians would be collected in great force. We had, however, more than a day’s journey before we could reach the foot of the mountains, which were upwards of thirty miles off.
On hunting about, we discovered a spring of bright water bubbling up close to the roots of an enormous tree, which it evidently very much assisted to nourish. We ate a good meal, and then Gale insisted that Pedro and I should lie down and rest, while he watched. As we both of us very much required sleep, we were not sorry to follow his advice; and in about two hours we awoke much refreshed.
I have not yet described Ned Gale. He was about five feet six in height, and very strongly built, with rather a large head, covered with a profusion of light hair. He wore a full bushy beard and large whiskers. His eyes were full and round, and of the brightest blue I have ever seen in those of a man. His month was large, and filled with strong white teeth, and his nose, though rather thick and prominent, was otherwise well cut. Indeed he came up fully to the description of a fine-looking fellow without being handsome. His dress was that of an ordinary seaman of those days. He wore a belt with a brace of pistols stuck in it, which were partly concealed by his loose cloth jacket. His head was covered by a small low-crowned straw hat; and the puzzle seemed to be how he could manage to keep it on. Altogether he presented a figure very seldom seen so far inland as we then were.
“Come, mates,” he exclaimed, “it’s time to be making headway again.”
We jumped up, and having divided our stores into three equal parts, and cut some thick walking-sticks, we shouldered our bundles, and recommenced our journey.