Chapter Three.Journey over the mountains—Lose our way—We find Padre Pacheco enjoying a bath—Invited to his house—Fresh guests arrive—A Patriot General—A lovely heroine—A supper at the Padre’s—I am invited to join the Patriot cause—Anecdotes of Generals Bolivar and Paez—General Bermudez—The guests depart—Candela comes as our guide—The General’s history—Attacked by Indians—We wound and capture their chief—Carry him with us—Our journey continued.Our journey was performed on mule-back; but I had expected to be provided with a good horse to ride.“You would soon have wished yourself mounted on your present steady, sure-footed animal,” observed my uncle; “the roads we shall have to traverse are such as no horse could pass over in safety with a rider on its back.”I soon found that he was right. The country we travelled over was wild and rugged in the extreme. Dark rocks of varied forms rose in lofty perpendicular walls on one hand, while torrents dashed down the mountain-sides on the other. Frequently we had to ascend by a succession of rough steps cut in the rock, and then to descend by a similar description of path with a precipice on each side of it, down which, had a mule made a false step, its rider would have been thrown many hundred feet into the abyss below.I soon got accustomed to the sagacious animal I rode; and taking my uncle’s advice, I left the bridle loose on its neck, allowing it to pick its own way—which it did in a sensible manner, following most patiently the windings of the paths. Our mules had been well-trained to ascend and descend these precipitous mountains, and as they proceeded they fixed their small feet with caution and firmness in the holes made in the ground by the constant passing and repassing of other travellers.For some distance we proceeded almost parallel with the river Magdalena, of which, through openings in the rocks, we got fine views as it rushed onwards, foaming and eddying amid the huge boulders in its course. Then, leaving it on the right, we continued along the bed of a small stream for a league or so, till we reached a shallow lake which runs in and out amid the precipitous cliffs rising to an immense height above it; while over its whole extent were scattered huge masses of rock, which had been hurled down by the convulsions of Nature from the summit of the mountains. Not a canoe floated on its bosom; no human being, bird, or animal was visible. It was one of the wildest and most desolate scenes I had ever beheld, and contrasted strongly with the fertile region through which we had passed, teeming with human and animal life. I was very glad, then, when, crossing another rugged height, we reached a small valley.But I must not stop to describe the various incidents of our journey, or attempt to portray the scenery of the country we traversed. It varied greatly; sometimes being grand and beautiful, at others monotonous. Sometimes we slept at the cottages of the natives, at others we bivouacked in the woods, or under the shelter of lofty rocks. We each carried a net-hammock at the cruppers of our mules, so that we had it ready to hang up between a couple of trees, or in a hut, whenever we stopped, either for our noonday rest or at night. On crossing a wide elevated plain, we passed through several forests of date-trees; and had a few Arabs with their camels been moving about among them, the whole scene would have borne a truly African appearance.The journey appeared a very long one, though we pushed on each day as fast as our mules could travel; but we had to make frequent détours to avoid places held by the Spaniards, who, though often defeated, still had considerable forces in the field. My uncle and I, having been born in the country, would have been looked upon as Spanish subjects; and as all the members of our family were known to hold Liberal opinions, we might be detained and compelled to serve in the Spanish ranks. At all events, my unclethought it prudent to keep out of the way of the Royalists, as well as of those Indians who were known to side with them.Whenever we passed through a village or came to a halt for the night, we endeavoured to gain information of the movements of the troops; and in the course of three days we came in sight of as many spots where villages had once stood, which now only presented blackened walls and devastated fields—the sad result of civil war. When able, we obtained a guide to conduct us over the mountain-paths; but we were not always successful, and sometimes had to make our way alone.We were now approaching our home; but my uncle had been so long absent from the country that he was unacquainted with the road, and even Tim had to confess that he did not sufficiently recollect the appearance of the scenery to guide us.We had descended to a lower level, and after passing through a thick tropical forest, were proceeding along the margin of a river, looking for an open spot to encamp, when the sun disappeared behind the mountains on our right. There is little or no twilight, it will be remembered, in that latitude, and before we were aware of it darkness came down upon us.“Shure, we can camp aisy enough,” observed Tim; “but about the provender—I’m afraid our canteen is well-nigh empty.”Such proved to be the case, and we had every prospect of going without our supper. We had two mulatto boys to look after our mules, but they were of little use for any other purpose; and though we heard some parrots and other birds uttering various notes in the trees, it was too dark to see them. Still, as it could not be helped, we were about to make our usual preparations for spending the night, when Tim exclaimed that he saw a light some distance ahead; and as it probably proceeded from a hut, or perhaps from a habitation of more importance, he proposed that we should ride forward towards it. My uncle, with his usual wariness, was unwilling to allow this, fearing that it might proceed from the camp of a party of Spaniards or Indians. I offered, therefore, to make my way to it, and ascertain whether we were likely to meet with a friendly reception. To this he consented, provided I took care not to be discovered.Carrying my rifle in one hand, and a stick, with which to feel my way, in the other, I directed my steps towards the light. As I approached it, I crept forward slowly, concealing myself behind the shrubs which grew thickly around. As I advanced I saw that there were several lights, and I heard voices, with now and then the sound of laughter. “If they are enemies, they are jolly ones,” I said to myself; “there is nothing very dreadful here, I suspect.”Creeping on a few paces and looking over the bushes, I saw, in an open spot surrounded by trees, at ashort distance from the river’s brink, four Indians clothed in jackets and trousers, each holding a torch in his hand, and in their centre the head and shoulders of a jovial friar (for that he was a friar I knew by his shorn crown) just rising above a huge cask sunk in the ground. The friar was evidently enjoying a bath, though he was taking it in a somewhat curious fashion—as I at once guessed, to avoid any risk of being carried off by an alligator. Now he sank himself up to his chin in the refreshing fluid, now up he popped again like a Jack-in-the-box; now down he went, and then up he came again, holding on by the edge of the cask,—his Indian attendants meanwhile watching him, as grave as judges.At first I doubted whether I ought to intrude on the bather; but as he showed no inclination to get out, I thought that I might venture to pay my respects to him, and at the same time ask him to afford us shelter in his house, which I knew could not be far off! I accordingly advanced, and taking off my hat, saluted him with a polite bow. The Indians, who were crouching down in front of him, looking out towards the river, apparently to watch that no hungry alligator or jaguar should pounce out upon their master, upon this sprang to their feet, and looked very much inclined to run away.“Who are you; and whence do you come?” inquired the padre.“I am travelling with my uncle, Señor Denis Concannan, and a servant, towards our home, not far from hence, and having no guide we have lost our way,” I replied. “My father is Señor Barry Desmond—perhaps he is known to your reverence?”“Of course he is; and a dear friend,” answered the padre. “And you are his son! If I were not dripping wet, I would give you an embrace: receive it in imagination. You, and your uncle, and attendants, if there were fifty of them, are welcome to my abode. Go and bring them hither; and as soon as my servant comes down with my dry clothes, I will accompany you.”I must own, by-the-by, that I felt well pleased to accept the padre’s embrace in imagination rather than in reality; and heartily thanking him for his kind reception, I begged to know his name, that I might tell my uncle.“The Padre Pedro Pacheco,” he replied; “he will remember me, though he has been absent so many years, and will require no further assurance that he will meet with all the hospitality that I can afford him. Now go, young caballero, and bring him here; and by the time he arrives I shall be in a fit condition to set out.”On this, making another bow, I set off to return by the way I had come.I had not gone far when I met Tim, who, ever careful about my safety, had followed me.“Hurrah! shure, it’s all right if it’s the Padre Pacheco,” he exclaimed. “I know his riverence well, and there isn’t a praste like him in all the country round; though, to tell you the truth, Misther Barry, he isn’t much in favour with the Spaniards or monks up in the towns, for he’s a mighty great Liberal, and is as ready to fight as to pray for the cause of the Republicans.”Tim gave me this information as we were making our way back to where we had left my uncle and the mules. We were not long in saddling the animals and replacing their packs; and by the time we got back to the padre’s bathing-place we found him standing ready to receive us, clothed in dry garments. He greeted my uncle as cordially as he had done me; and taking our arms,—two of the Indians with torches leading the way,—we proceeded by a path through the forest to his house, which stood on a slight elevation above the river. It was a thatched one-storied building, with a walled-in courtyard on one side, and surrounded by a garden of considerable extent, as far as I could judge by the torchlight.He at once ushered us into a good-sized room, furnished with a large table and benches, and a ponderous arm-chair at one end. The table was covered with various substantial viands, as well as delicacies and fruits of all sorts, showing that the padre was given to hospitality, and that he was at all times prepared for the unexpected arrival of guests.“I sent up to order supper to be got ready for you, and I see that my people have not been dilatory,” he observed as we entered the room. “Perhaps we shall have other guests, and I only hope they may be such as we desire to see. Sometimes the Spaniards come this way, and I am compelled, though much against the grain, to be civil to them. However, before you sit down, you may desire to wash the dust off your hands and faces; and if you will accompany me, I will show you where you can do so.—Here, Candela, bring a torch, and towels for the caballeros.”As he spoke, an intelligent-looking black servant led the way into the courtyard, where we saw a fountain falling into a stone basin, the water afterwards serving to irrigate the garden. We quickly performed our ablutions, especially refreshing after the heat of the day, and then returned with the padre into the supper-room. We were on the point of sitting down, when the sound of horses’ hoofs coming along the path from the southward reached our ears.“Grant Heaven that they are friends!” said the padre, looking grave. “Should they be Royalists, you will guide your conversation accordingly, Señor Concannan,” he observed.—“Here, Candela, go out and welcome the cavaliers, whoever they may be.”The black, relighting his torch, hurried out; and soon we heard his voice calling to the other servants to hold the cavaliers’ horses, and in a loud voice welcoming the travellers. One of them spoke a few words in return, whereupon the padre started up and rushed out to the front of the house. I followed him, and saw him clasping the hand of a tall cavalier, who had just dismounted from a powerful horse, which one of the servants was holding. On another steed of more delicate proportions sat a lady, who, as the light of the torch fell on her countenance, appeared to be young and unusually beautiful. At the same moment several other persons came up; and the tall cavalier having now assisted the lady to dismount, advanced towards the house—the rest of the party, throwing themselves from their horses, following.On entering, the cavalier cast a suspicious glance at my uncle and me.“Who are these?” he asked of Padre Pacheco in a low voice.“They are English—friends to the cause; you can trust them,” answered the padre; and he mentioned our names. On this the new-comer advanced towards my uncle, and taking his hand, shook it warmly; afterwards doing me the same favour.“The English are always my friends,” he said,—“a noble nation, who love liberty; and especially are you so, gentlemen, who belong to such an esteemed family. Would that we had many more like them. But our cause will triumph; everywhere the tyrant Gothos are yielding to our arms whenever we can catch them in the open country; and as hornets are burned out of their nests, we must expel them from the cities in which they have taken refuge, and then not sheathe the sword till we have cut them to pieces or driven them before us into the ocean.—Say I not well, Donna Paola?” he added, turning to the young lady.A rich colour mounted to her brow, as with kindling eye she replied,—“Heaven will favour the righteous cause, and aid you, General Bermudez, and your brave followers, in the glorious undertaking.”She spoke in a firm yet sweet and melodious voice, and I at once saw that she was an enthusiast in the cause. My uncle regarded her with a look of surprise and admiration, and bowing, said,—“I have often heard of you, Donna Paola Salabriata, and rejoice to have the opportunity of meeting you.”Donna Paola smiled and bowed gracefully; and the padre, who had been giving directions to his servants, then appearing, requested her to take possession of the only private room in his house which he could offer; “Though,” he added, “it is unworthy of one to whom is due all the honour we can pay.”The young lady smiled. “I am accustomed to rough lodging,” she answered, “and will gratefully accept your kindness, Señor Padre.”I judged from the appearance and manners of the other persons who entered that they were officers on the staff of General Bermudez. Two, however, appeared to be of rank; and one I soon discovered to be an Irishman, from the rich brogue in which he addressed me on hearing my name. He had been long in the service, but had not forgotten his native tongue, he assured me—an assertion not in the slightest degree necessary. He at once launched forth in praise of General Bermudez, whom he asserted to be, next to Bolivar, the best and bravest man and truest patriot in the country; and from what I afterwards heard of the general, I am convinced that he was right.After a short time the whole party collected in the supper-room, but did not take the seats which the padre requested them to occupy. Their eyes, I saw, were frequently turned towards the door. At length it opened, and Donna Paola entered the room with that grace which Spanish women so generally possess. She looked even more beautiful than at first; her raven hair, secured by a circlet of gold, contrasting with the delicate colour of her complexion, which was fairer than that of Spanish women generally. Her figure was slight, and she appeared scarcely so tall as I had supposed when I had first seen her in her riding habit. She was followed by a black damsel,—her constant attendant, I found,—who stood behind the chair she occupied on the right of the general. He desired my uncle and me to take the seats on the other side.I confess that, interested though I had been, I had become very hungry, and was glad to fall to on the viands which the good padre had provided. There were a variety of dishes: fish and fowl predominating, an olla-podrida, omelets, and puddings. There was flesh too,—some small animals, which I strongly suspected were monkeys.The party were evidently too much interested in talking of affairs of importance to pay much attention to the nature of the provisions set before them. The young and handsome officer—a colonel, I judged, by his uniform—sat next to Donna Paola; and from the tender way in which he addressed her, and the looks she gave him in return, I suspected that her patriotic enthusiasm had not steeled her heart against all softer influences. Such I afterwards found to be the case. She had promised to marry the colonel as soon as the patriots had triumphed, and the liberties they had been struggling for had been established.It was important to gain exact information as to the intended movements of the Royalists; and Donna Paola, I found, had undertaken the hazardous duty of visiting Bogotà and other cities, and from thence transmitting intelligence to the patriot leaders. The young colonel looked grave when the subject was mentioned, and, from what he said, would willingly have dissuaded her from the attempt.“If we fear to run a risk for the purpose of obtaining an important end, that end may never be gained,” she answered; “and the time you look for, Enrico, must be postponed,” she added, playfully tapping him with her fan on the arm; for, heroine as she was, she carried one. What woman, indeed, with Spanish blood in her veins, would be without so useful an implement?The party were to continue for some days together, and then to separate in various directions,—General Bermudez to return to the plains and take command of his guerilla forces, which had already proved so terrible a scourge to the Spaniards. Had they known how close he was to them, with only a small band of followers, they would eagerly have despatched a force to effect his capture.The conversation at the supper-table was animated in the extreme, Padre Pacheco taking an active part in it. After some time the general turned to me. “You have heard, young gentleman, of the glorious cause in which we are engaged,” he said. “Many of the patriot leaders drew their swords when younger than you are. We want every one with honesty and courage to join us, and we claim you as a compatriot. Judging by your looks, you will soon become expert in all the exercises required for a leader; and I shall be glad to offer you a command in one of the brave bands serving under me when you have gained sufficient experience.”I felt highly flattered at this address, though I scarcely knew what to answer.“I shall be ready, whenever called upon, to do my duty towards the country of my birth,” I answered at length; “but I am under my father’s orders, to whom my first duty is due, and I dare not pledge myself till I have consulted him.”“Well spoken, young señor,” remarked the general. “Knowing his sentiments, I feel assured that he will not deny your request, and that I may count upon you ere long as a follower.”“Surely the young Englishman will feel it the highest privilege he can possess to fight in so glorious a cause,” observed Donna Paola, looking across the table at me with her beautiful eyes. “Say at once, my dear young friend, that, with your father’s permission, you will devote yourself to the liberation of your native land. For what nobler task can a human being live—or die, if needs be? For my part, I am ready to sacrifice all I hold dear in life, and life itself, so that I may but afford the feeble aid a woman can give in forwarding the great object.”I had found some difficulty in answering the general; I found it still more trying to reply to the beautiful Donna Paola. I remembered too well the advice given me by my sensible schoolmaster; yet, as I listened to the enthusiastic conversation of those into whose company I was so unexpectedly thrown, and heard of the atrocities of the Spaniards and the gallant exploits of the patriot leaders, I was naturally carried away, and soon forgot all my prudent resolutions, in spite of the remarks made by my uncle to prevent me from committing myself.“Whenever summoned, you will find me ready, general,” I exclaimed; “and I call my friends here to witness my promise.”“Well spoken, my young patriot,” cried the general, stretching across the table to take my hand; while Donna Paola smiled her approval.“Remember, Barry, that your promise is but conditional,” whispered my uncle; “your father may have other work for you.”During the time we sat at table, I heard anecdotes of most of the chief leaders of the patriot as also of the Royalist forces. Of the former the two principal men were,—Don Simon Bolivar, a man of good birth and education; and José Paez, who, belonging to the humblest rank of life, had been brought up among the hardy llañeros of the Apure. Bolivar was born in the city of Caraccas, in the neighbourhood of which his father, Don Juan Vicente Bolivar, had large possessions, and was of noble rank. At an early age he was sent to Madrid for his education, on completing which he made the tour of Europe, visiting England among other countries. When only nineteen he married a beautiful girl, the daughter of a nobleman, and for a short time lived in the enjoyment of domestic life, until he was deprived of his wife by death. To alleviate his grief, he again visited Europe and the United States, where he imbibed, those Liberal principles which induced him to take a prominent part in fighting for the freedom of his native country. In 1811, when General Miranda, the commander of the patriot army, cut down and destroyed the Spanish standard, and hoisted the tricolour in its stead, Simon Bolivar joined him, and was immediately appointed to a command in the independent army. After a long and desperate struggle, Venezuela again fell into the hands of the Royalists, who retaliated on those who had opposed them, and the whole country was reduced to a frightful state of misery. The Spanish troops treated the people with the most revolting ferocity, plundering and murdering in all directions, on the most trifling pretexts. Old men, women, and children even, were arrested, and often cruelly maimed and massacred as rebels. These barbarous proceedings aroused the indignation of Bolivar, who had escaped from the country; and uniting with a relative, Ribas, he proceeded from the island of Curacoa to Venezuela, where he speedily raised a small force. Attacking the Spanish garrison of the town of Teneriffe on the river Magdalena, he drove them out, proceeding southward to Bogotà, then in the hands of the patriots. The Spanish generals at this time were Boves, Rosette, and Morales. They were joined by Morillo, who was sent in 1815 with a powerful army from Spain. Bolivar had again to fly; but once more returning in 1817, he defeated Morillo in several battles; and in 1819 he had become President of the Venezuelan Republic, the Congress of which had been installed at Angostura on the Orinoco. From his finished education, his knowledge of the world, and his military talents, he was well fitted, as he showed, for the important position he held.Very different was the career of General Paez, who was born at Araure. When but seventeen years old, the priest of that place—who was his uncle—sent him with a considerable sum of money, to be delivered to another padre residing at a distance. That he might perform the journey in safety, he was provided with a mule, an old pistol, and a rusty sword. It was fortunate that he was thus armed, for on the road he was attacked by three men, who demanded his treasure. Young Paez, instead of giving it up, threw himself from his mule with his pistol cocked; and his weapon for a wonder going off, killed one of his opponents, and at the same time bursting, struck another in the face; then drawing his sword, which providentially also came out of its sheath, the youthful hero charged the third robber, who, with his wounded companion, then took to flight.Not knowing what might be the consequence of having killed a man, young José,—after delivering the money to the padre,—afraid of returning home, fled to the province of Barenas, where he obtained employment on a large cattle-farm. The overseer was a black man, who, conceiving a dislike for the youth, compelled him to perform all sorts of laborious duties, and among others to break in the most vicious horses. He thus became a first-rate horseman, and learned also the use of the lance, the weapon of the llañeros. The brutal black, in order to exhibit his dislike to young Paez, compelled him more than once, on returning home after a hard day’s labour, to bring a pail of water and wash his muddy feet—an act which Paez did not forget.On the breaking out of the revolutionary war, he enlisted as a common soldier in the militia of Barenas; but soon proving his superiority over his companions, he was able to raise and organise an independent body of cavalry, with which ere long he rendered important service to the cause. His troops ever had the utmost confidence in him; when charging, he was sure to be the first among the ranks of the enemy, his lance making terrible havoc. Ever hating the Spaniards with a deadly hatred on account of their cruelties, he never spared them. Unfortunately, he was at length taken prisoner, and an order was issued by the Spanish general for his execution. It was the custom of the Spaniards to lead their prisoners out at night to some lonely spot, where they were quietly despatched with a lance or sword. Paez and some of his fellow-prisoners were being led out for this purpose, when, believing that he was merely to be taken before the general, he borrowed a hat of one of his companions. The officer in charge of the party, not recognising him, ordered him back to be exchanged for the unfortunate owner, who was supposed to be the notorious rebel captain. He thus unexpectedly obtained a respite of a day. The next night he was aroused by a loud noise in the streets, and fully expected that he was about to be led out to execution; instead of which, it proved that the Spaniards had been alarmed by the report that a large body of patriots were about to attack the town, and were hurriedly preparing to evacuate it. Paez took the opportunity of freeing himself from his fetters; and having helped to release some of his fellow-prisoners, they overpowered the sentinels, and made their escape.He was quickly at the head of a fresh body of insurgents; and after going through numerous adventures, he found himself holding the independent command of a large body of llañeros. On frequent occasions, though with inferior numbers, he attacked and defeated the Royalists. The Spaniards, having regained their power in other parts of the country, compelled, by the fearful cruelties they practised, vast numbers of men, women, and children to fly into the wilderness and take refuge in the camp of Paez. Among them were many persons of distinction; and a regular system of government being established, Paez was chosen supreme chief with the rank of general of brigade. To supply his starving followers, he, at the head of his troops, during the rainy season made a long march across the flooded savannahs to attack the city of Barenas, which abounded with all the commodities of which he stood most in need. When approaching Barenas, he sent a detachment to attack the small town of Pedroza, for the purpose of drawing the Spanish forces away from the city to its relief. His ruse was successful; and galloping forward, he and his ragged followers were quickly in possession of the city. Each man loading himself with as large an amount of provisions and stores as he could carry, the troops quickly again retreated, and succeeded in conveying their booty to their starving friends.On the arrival in the country of a large army under General Morillo, Paez gave him battle on the plains of Apure, and by a stratagem—pretending to fly—induced the Spanish cavalry to follow. His active horsemen then wheeling round, attacked them so furiously with their lances that nearly the whole were destroyed.I heard many anecdotes related of him. On one occasion he overtook in a skirmish a Spanish major of cavalry, who defended himself bravely; but when Paez was in the act of running his lance through him, he exclaimed, “O general! had you not been better mounted than I am, I should have overmatched you.”“If you think so,” exclaimed the gallant Paez, “we will exchange horses, and renew the fight.”To this the major agreed; but no sooner did he find himself on the back of the general’s horse than he galloped off at full speed, followed by Paez, who, finding that he was losing ground, threw his lasso over the major’s neck and brought him to the ground. As the major, however, had defended himself bravely, Paez gave him quarter, a favour neither he nor his llañeros were in the habit of granting to their foes.On another occasion, one of his men brought in as prisoner a Spanish hussar of the regiment of Fernando the Seventh,—who, in order to appear more terrific, wore long beards.“Why did you grant him quarter?” inquired Paez.“Because,” answered the llañero, “my conscience forbade me to despatch a Capuchin friar.”“He is no friar, but a regular soldier. Bring me no more Capuchin friars,” said the general.On this occasion, too, he spared the prisoner’s life, and the man entering his service, became much attached to him.Paez ever proved himself a most indefatigable enemy to the Spaniards. For weeks and months he followed the steps of Morillo, unceasingly clinging to him, and on every opportunity dashing into his camp at night, frequently with not more than a hundred and fifty or two hundred men, slaughtering all he encountered, and never failing to cut his way back with trifling loss. He would also, when the Royalists were fatigued by a harassing day’s march, drive off all their cattle and baggage-mules, leaving them frequently without provisions.The most renowned of his exploits occurred when he had formed a junction with Bolivar on the plains of Apure. Their troops were in an almost starving condition, and unless they could cross the river they would have to make a circuitous march of many leagues to obtain provisions; while on the opposite bank were seen vast numbers of cattle, which could not be reached for want of boats. About midway across the stream there was also a fleet of sixty flecheras, or gun-boats, well-armed and manned, belonging to the enemy. Bolivar stood on the shore gazing disconsolately at the enemy’s fleet, when Paez rode up to him and inquired the cause of his disquietude.“I would give the world to have possession of the Spanish flotilla, for without it I can never cross the river,” answered Bolivar.“It shall be yours in an hour,” replied Paez.“It is impossible,” said Bolivar.“Leave that to me,” rejoined Paez, and galloped off.In a few minutes he returned at the head of a body of three hundred lancers, selected for their proved bravery and strength from his llañeros, and leading them to the bank, he thus addressed them,—“We must have those flecheras or die. Let those who please follow Tio,” (or uncle, for so his favourite troopers were accustomed to call him). Saying this, he dashed into the river and swam towards the flotilla.His guard followed him with their lances in their mouths, now encouraging their horses to bear up against the current, now swimming by their sides and patting their necks, and shouting to scare away the alligators, of which there were hundreds in the river. Thus they proceeded till they reached the flotilla; then mounting their horses, headed by their leader, they sprang from their backs on board the boats. A desperate struggle ensued; but the llañeros were victorious, and driving the unfortunate crews overboard, they carried the flecheras to the bank of the river, where the patriot forces were drawn up.Equal to him in most respects, and superior in some, was the noble-looking cavalier, General Bermudez, in whose company I now so unexpectedly found myself. I could learn less about him at the time, but I afterwards heard much of his interesting history.Notwithstanding the difficulties and dangers with which they were surrounded, the whole party seemed in high spirits, and did not separate till a late hour. Donna Paola was the first to rise, and bowing gracefully to the military officers and wishing them good-night, she left the room, accompanied by her sable attendant. The table being then cleared, our supper-room was turned into a dormitory—every corner of the house being likewise occupied. The padre requested my uncle and me to take possession of a small chamber near his own cell, which afforded just space enough for us to stretch our legs. Here, with our saddles for pillows, and horse-cloths and cloaks for bedding, we were quickly asleep.At an early hour the next morning we were astir, and found an ample breakfast spread. General Bermudez hurried over the meal, and left the table; and on going out to the front of the house soon afterwards, I found him standing by his horse’s head, ready to mount. He presented a perfect picture of a commander of irregular troops. He was remarkably tall,—being considerably above six feet in height,—his figure well proportioned, and evidently possessing great muscular power; his handsome countenance showed intelligence, and beamed with good-nature and sincerity; while the evening before I had been struck by his frank and genial manners, so unlike those of the ordinary run of Spaniards,—though he was, as might be expected, wanting in that polish which a constant intercourse with refined society seldom fails to give. Though dexterous in the use of the lance, as are all the warriors of the plain, he was armed with aremarkably long gun, which only a man of great strength could have used with any effect. A powder-horn hung over his shoulders, and a long dagger was secured by the folds of the ample scarf he wore round his waist.At a short distance off were the troopers who had formed his escort, standing by their horses, ready for the signal to mount. They were picked men, mostly tall and stalwart, and armed with lances and carbines; evidently from their costume irregular cavalry, and looking as if they could render as efficient service in that climate and region as any body of troops, albeit clothed in more uniform fashion.“Ah, my young friend, I am glad to have the opportunity of saying farewell,” he exclaimed, putting out his hand; “you will not forget your promise of last night. And let me advise you to prepare yourself for the service you may render our beloved country. Take every opportunity of perfecting yourself in horsemanship, and practise the use of the lance and carbine I hope ere long to return this way, and to enrol you among my troops, when you will, I doubt not, with the practice we will be able to give you, become thoroughly expert in the use of your weapons. Should Heaven preserve your life, you must look forward to becoming a leader; and consider well how you will have to act in all the circumstances in which you may be placed,—whether meeting the foes of our country on the plains or amid the mountains; either pursuing, or retreating before superior numbers; endeavouring to effect a surprise, or guarding against one. He proves the most successful leader who has reflected well—during the quiet hours of the bivouac under the starry vault of heaven, or in his silent chamber—how he will conduct himself in the varied chances of warfare. Brute courage is useful in the heady fight, but the possessor of that only can never be a fitting leader.”I was thanking the general for his advice, when Donna Paola appeared, led forth by Colonel Acosta, the young officer I have before mentioned, who had been seated next to her at supper. He pressed her hand as he assisted her to mount, and by the look she gave him I saw that their affection was mutual. I trusted, for both their sakes, that she would be protected in the dangerous undertaking in which she was engaged. The general springing into his saddle, the rest of the party followed his example. Waving his adieux, he led the way along the side of the mountain; while Padre Pacheco, stretching out his hands, blessed him and his followers, and commended them to the care of Heaven.My uncle and Tim had also come out prepared for a start. The hospitable padre urged us to remain longer, but we were naturally anxious to reach home. On my uncle making inquiries as to the best road to take, “I will send Candela with you,” said the padre; “he knows it well, and may be of use to you should any roving bands of Indians (and I have noticed that there are several out), seeing a small party, attack you. They mostly know and respect me—for though they are but poor Christians, they look upon me as possessing supernatural powers; and when Candela explains that you are friends of mine, they will allow you to pass without molestation.”Without hesitation my uncle gladly accepted the kind padre’s offer, and Candela was forthwith ordered to get ready. He did not require many minutes, his preparations consisting in bolting a mess of porridge, to enable him the better to undergo the fatigue of the journey. He was to proceed on foot with the natives who conducted our baggage-mules.“You must come soon and see me again,” said the padre, as he wished me good-bye. “You are sure to find me, for I never move far from home, seeing I have my little flock to look after, and matters of importance to attend to. But before you go, let me caution you, Señor Denis, not to speak to any one about those persons you saw here. It might lead to unpleasant consequences should the tyrannical Spaniards hear that my quiet abode is frequented by patriots; and we never know what evil birds may carry information.”“You may trust Barry and me, and my brother’s servant; though we are not likely to meet any but friends to the cause where we are going,” replied my uncle.The padre looked satisfied; and again wishing him good-bye, we mounted and rode forward, led by Candela, who, with a long stick in his hand, kept well ahead of us.We soon lost sight of the padre’s abode. The road we took was wild and rugged, across the spurs of the mountains; sometimes we had to cross rocky heights, again to descend into narrow valleys, with streams—through which we waded not without difficulty—running down them. Occasionally we had to pass amid thickly-growing trees, which concealed from view the mountain-tops, which might otherwise have assisted to guide us; and we agreed that it was fortunate Candela had come with us to show us the way.We had to encamp another night in the forest, as it would have been dangerous to proceed over that kind of country in the dark; but Candela assured us that we might reach my father’s house early the following day. We pushed forward till the gloom of evening came on, when we looked about for a convenient spot for encamping. We selected one on some rocky ground just outside a wood, with a deep ravine in front of us; while on our left was a precipice of a hundred feet or so in height, at the bottom of which flowed a rapid stream.Securing the legs of our mules with their halters in the usual fashion, so that they could not stray, we turned them loose, while we lighted our fire, and placed our saddles and horse-cloths ready for sleeping. A basket of provisions, which the padre had secured to one of the baggage-mules, afforded us an ample supper; so that we had only to boil our chocolate, and to heat some water with which to mix the aguadiente the padre had sent, prescribing a cupful as a preventive against the ill effects of the damp night air or any noxious exhalations rising from the valleys—though there was not much chance of our suffering from these in the lofty position we occupied.While we were seated at supper, I asked my uncle what he knew of the guerilla chief whose acquaintance we had just made.“I learned something of his history from Padre Pacheco this morning,” he answered; “and his career has been very similar to that of General Paez. He is the son of humble parents, who resided near Caraccas, their occupation being to convey provisions to the garrison and inhabitants, in which work he assisted them. Illiterate as was the old Bermudez, he was a devoted patriot, and, notwithstanding the danger he ran in doing so, endeavoured to induce all the young men of his acquaintance to join the troops then being secretly levied for the independent cause by General Miranda. Having incautiously uttered some Liberal expressions, he was seized by the governor of the city, Monteverde. In vain young Bermudez pleaded that mercy might be shown his aged parent; notwithstanding his advanced age, he was cruelly gibbeted, his son being barbarously compelled to witness his execution. This was the fate of many others who dared to utter a word against Spanish tyranny.“Young Bermudez managed to effect his escape; and carrying with him his unhappy mother, he set off over the plains of Maturin, where he intended to provide a shelter for her few remaining years while he entered the service of his country to revenge the murder of his father. Her death from grief on the way set him free, and he immediately joined as a private a body of the irregular cavalry of the plains, commanded by the brave Hirogas. The band, from its inferiority of numbers, seldom came to an open engagement, but harassed the foraging-parties of the Spaniards, never failing to come off victorious. Bermudez, by his determined bravery and great personal prowess in these skirmishes, gained the admiration of his comrades, and was speedily raised to the rank of lieutenant of a small troop, at whose head he performed numberless acts of valour. From his great strength and skill in all the games in which the horsemen of the plains take delight, he still further rose in the estimation of his companions; while, from his unassuming manners and excellent conduct, he was beloved by all who served with him.“The band to which Bermudez belonged in a short time amounted to four hundred men; and so much injury did they inflict on the Spaniards, that Monteverde resolved, if possible, to crush them. He accordingly sent out a strong detachment—six hundred cavalry, and an equal number of infantry—in pursuit of Hirogas. The forces of the guerilla chief were strongly posted on the top of a hill, about fifteen leagues from the Spanish headquarters. They were not men to be taken by surprise, and as they saw the Spaniards advancing they charged furiously down upon them. The odds were fearfully against the patriots; and the brave Hirogas, carried by his impetuosity too far in advance, fell into the hands of the enemy, desperately wounded. Bermudez, on seeing this, charged with his troop upon the Spanish infantry, and not only succeeded in rescuing his chief, but put the enemy to flight. The Spaniards left about one-third of their number dead on the field, and many of their horses and arms in the hands of the victorious guerillas.“Hirogas dying of his wounds, Bermudez was unanimously chosen chief of the band; and his fame spreading, volunteers flocked to his standard. He had no difficulty in mounting them, from the many herds of horses which roamed at large on the mountains and plains of Venezuela, which were easily caught with the lasso, and quickly broken-in at the experienced hands of his followers.“Having organised his band, he attacked the Spanish forces; laying siege to the town of Maturin, and in three successive encounters supplying himself with arms, ammunition, and every military essential. His force was then regularly enrolled by the Congress as a portion of its troops, and in appearance and discipline became far superior to the generality of the guerillas.“Being now recognised as one of the leading patriot chiefs, he united himself to General Roxas; and in conjunction they attacked the army under the Spanish General Boves. In this action Roxas slew Boves and nine others with his own hand; and Bermudez was said to have killed thirty men in the action, during which he broke three lances. The patriot government, in recognition of his services, now created him a general of division, and offered him pay; but he nobly declined any remuneration, observing that his object was to fight for his country’s liberty without the intention of receiving reward. By his frequent forays into the plains, where he collected large herds of cattle, he contributed greatly to the support of the patriot army.”Such was the man under whom, should my father give me permission, I had undertaken to serve. I felt flattered that he should have thought me capable of being of any use among his hardy and experienced horsemen, and I could scarcely account for the reason of his so distinguishing me. I asked my uncle what he thought about the matter.“He saw that you were a likely lad, and took it for granted that your father’s son was brave and intelligent. He admires the English, and wishes to have a few with him to assist in civilising and disciplining his followers,” he answered.We talked on for some time, till my uncle proposed that we should lie down and go to sleep, leaving Tim and Candela to keep watch alternately and maintain the fire, as even at that elevation we were liable to be attacked by a prowling jaguar or puma.I never slept more soundly in my life; and when I was awakened by Tim pulling at my arm, I found that the day had already broke.“Hist, Masther Barry,” he whispered. “The praste’s black fellow Candela, says there are Injyuns lurking about, who maybe want to steal our mules, or cut our throats if they have the chance; and we’ve sent the boys to bring in the animals; and Misther Denis and Candela have gone forward to get a look down the gorge, where we think they have hidden, intending to take us by surprise.”I should have said that on the other side of the gorge was a ridge, beyond which the ground again sloped, thus enabling a party to approach within gun-shot of where we were encamped.On jumping to my feet I saw my uncle and Candela creeping along towards a fallen trunk, which lay close above the brink of a precipice. At that instant an Indian sprang up, bow in hand, from the other side of the trunk, and shot an arrow, which quivered in the ground close by my uncle’s side. He rushed forward, on seeing this, and before the Indian could fix another arrow had felled him to the earth with his sword. The next moment a large party of Indians appeared on the top of the ridge, and a shower of arrows fell close to us: happily, none took effect, and I saw my uncle drop so as to conceal himself behind a log, while he levelled his rifle over it at the Indians. As he saw the Indians about to shoot, Tim pulled me behind the nearest tree, and probably saved me and himself from being wounded by the arrows,—which, as it was, whistled close to our ears. Before the Indians could move forward, my uncle fired, and a tall warrior, who seemed to be their chief, fell wounded to the ground. This evidently disconcerted them.“Now is our time,” cried my uncle. “Barry—Tim—call the mule-boys and follow me;” and leaping over the log, he dashed down the ravine, sword in hand, and rapidly climbed the opposite side.We obeyed his orders, and the Indians, seized with a sudden panic on seeing us coming, and probably believing others were to follow, took to their heels, leaving their chief bleeding on the ground. We fired,—as did my uncle, who had reloaded his gun,—to expedite their movements, and two more fell dead, the rest continuing their flight.“Though he is an enemy, we must not let this fellow bleed to death,” said my uncle, stooping down. “Come, Barry, we’ll bind up his wound and carry him along with us; perhaps he may be able to give us some important information, and at all events we shall learn why he attacked us.”My uncle soon stopped the flow of blood from the Indian’s side; and the muleteers having brought the animals round by crossing the valley a little way above where we stood, we placed our captive on one of them. We then, guided by Candela, hurried forward on our journey, keeping a sharp look-out lest the fugitive Indians should return.
Our journey was performed on mule-back; but I had expected to be provided with a good horse to ride.
“You would soon have wished yourself mounted on your present steady, sure-footed animal,” observed my uncle; “the roads we shall have to traverse are such as no horse could pass over in safety with a rider on its back.”
I soon found that he was right. The country we travelled over was wild and rugged in the extreme. Dark rocks of varied forms rose in lofty perpendicular walls on one hand, while torrents dashed down the mountain-sides on the other. Frequently we had to ascend by a succession of rough steps cut in the rock, and then to descend by a similar description of path with a precipice on each side of it, down which, had a mule made a false step, its rider would have been thrown many hundred feet into the abyss below.
I soon got accustomed to the sagacious animal I rode; and taking my uncle’s advice, I left the bridle loose on its neck, allowing it to pick its own way—which it did in a sensible manner, following most patiently the windings of the paths. Our mules had been well-trained to ascend and descend these precipitous mountains, and as they proceeded they fixed their small feet with caution and firmness in the holes made in the ground by the constant passing and repassing of other travellers.
For some distance we proceeded almost parallel with the river Magdalena, of which, through openings in the rocks, we got fine views as it rushed onwards, foaming and eddying amid the huge boulders in its course. Then, leaving it on the right, we continued along the bed of a small stream for a league or so, till we reached a shallow lake which runs in and out amid the precipitous cliffs rising to an immense height above it; while over its whole extent were scattered huge masses of rock, which had been hurled down by the convulsions of Nature from the summit of the mountains. Not a canoe floated on its bosom; no human being, bird, or animal was visible. It was one of the wildest and most desolate scenes I had ever beheld, and contrasted strongly with the fertile region through which we had passed, teeming with human and animal life. I was very glad, then, when, crossing another rugged height, we reached a small valley.
But I must not stop to describe the various incidents of our journey, or attempt to portray the scenery of the country we traversed. It varied greatly; sometimes being grand and beautiful, at others monotonous. Sometimes we slept at the cottages of the natives, at others we bivouacked in the woods, or under the shelter of lofty rocks. We each carried a net-hammock at the cruppers of our mules, so that we had it ready to hang up between a couple of trees, or in a hut, whenever we stopped, either for our noonday rest or at night. On crossing a wide elevated plain, we passed through several forests of date-trees; and had a few Arabs with their camels been moving about among them, the whole scene would have borne a truly African appearance.
The journey appeared a very long one, though we pushed on each day as fast as our mules could travel; but we had to make frequent détours to avoid places held by the Spaniards, who, though often defeated, still had considerable forces in the field. My uncle and I, having been born in the country, would have been looked upon as Spanish subjects; and as all the members of our family were known to hold Liberal opinions, we might be detained and compelled to serve in the Spanish ranks. At all events, my unclethought it prudent to keep out of the way of the Royalists, as well as of those Indians who were known to side with them.
Whenever we passed through a village or came to a halt for the night, we endeavoured to gain information of the movements of the troops; and in the course of three days we came in sight of as many spots where villages had once stood, which now only presented blackened walls and devastated fields—the sad result of civil war. When able, we obtained a guide to conduct us over the mountain-paths; but we were not always successful, and sometimes had to make our way alone.
We were now approaching our home; but my uncle had been so long absent from the country that he was unacquainted with the road, and even Tim had to confess that he did not sufficiently recollect the appearance of the scenery to guide us.
We had descended to a lower level, and after passing through a thick tropical forest, were proceeding along the margin of a river, looking for an open spot to encamp, when the sun disappeared behind the mountains on our right. There is little or no twilight, it will be remembered, in that latitude, and before we were aware of it darkness came down upon us.
“Shure, we can camp aisy enough,” observed Tim; “but about the provender—I’m afraid our canteen is well-nigh empty.”
Such proved to be the case, and we had every prospect of going without our supper. We had two mulatto boys to look after our mules, but they were of little use for any other purpose; and though we heard some parrots and other birds uttering various notes in the trees, it was too dark to see them. Still, as it could not be helped, we were about to make our usual preparations for spending the night, when Tim exclaimed that he saw a light some distance ahead; and as it probably proceeded from a hut, or perhaps from a habitation of more importance, he proposed that we should ride forward towards it. My uncle, with his usual wariness, was unwilling to allow this, fearing that it might proceed from the camp of a party of Spaniards or Indians. I offered, therefore, to make my way to it, and ascertain whether we were likely to meet with a friendly reception. To this he consented, provided I took care not to be discovered.
Carrying my rifle in one hand, and a stick, with which to feel my way, in the other, I directed my steps towards the light. As I approached it, I crept forward slowly, concealing myself behind the shrubs which grew thickly around. As I advanced I saw that there were several lights, and I heard voices, with now and then the sound of laughter. “If they are enemies, they are jolly ones,” I said to myself; “there is nothing very dreadful here, I suspect.”
Creeping on a few paces and looking over the bushes, I saw, in an open spot surrounded by trees, at ashort distance from the river’s brink, four Indians clothed in jackets and trousers, each holding a torch in his hand, and in their centre the head and shoulders of a jovial friar (for that he was a friar I knew by his shorn crown) just rising above a huge cask sunk in the ground. The friar was evidently enjoying a bath, though he was taking it in a somewhat curious fashion—as I at once guessed, to avoid any risk of being carried off by an alligator. Now he sank himself up to his chin in the refreshing fluid, now up he popped again like a Jack-in-the-box; now down he went, and then up he came again, holding on by the edge of the cask,—his Indian attendants meanwhile watching him, as grave as judges.
At first I doubted whether I ought to intrude on the bather; but as he showed no inclination to get out, I thought that I might venture to pay my respects to him, and at the same time ask him to afford us shelter in his house, which I knew could not be far off! I accordingly advanced, and taking off my hat, saluted him with a polite bow. The Indians, who were crouching down in front of him, looking out towards the river, apparently to watch that no hungry alligator or jaguar should pounce out upon their master, upon this sprang to their feet, and looked very much inclined to run away.
“Who are you; and whence do you come?” inquired the padre.
“I am travelling with my uncle, Señor Denis Concannan, and a servant, towards our home, not far from hence, and having no guide we have lost our way,” I replied. “My father is Señor Barry Desmond—perhaps he is known to your reverence?”
“Of course he is; and a dear friend,” answered the padre. “And you are his son! If I were not dripping wet, I would give you an embrace: receive it in imagination. You, and your uncle, and attendants, if there were fifty of them, are welcome to my abode. Go and bring them hither; and as soon as my servant comes down with my dry clothes, I will accompany you.”
I must own, by-the-by, that I felt well pleased to accept the padre’s embrace in imagination rather than in reality; and heartily thanking him for his kind reception, I begged to know his name, that I might tell my uncle.
“The Padre Pedro Pacheco,” he replied; “he will remember me, though he has been absent so many years, and will require no further assurance that he will meet with all the hospitality that I can afford him. Now go, young caballero, and bring him here; and by the time he arrives I shall be in a fit condition to set out.”
On this, making another bow, I set off to return by the way I had come.
I had not gone far when I met Tim, who, ever careful about my safety, had followed me.
“Hurrah! shure, it’s all right if it’s the Padre Pacheco,” he exclaimed. “I know his riverence well, and there isn’t a praste like him in all the country round; though, to tell you the truth, Misther Barry, he isn’t much in favour with the Spaniards or monks up in the towns, for he’s a mighty great Liberal, and is as ready to fight as to pray for the cause of the Republicans.”
Tim gave me this information as we were making our way back to where we had left my uncle and the mules. We were not long in saddling the animals and replacing their packs; and by the time we got back to the padre’s bathing-place we found him standing ready to receive us, clothed in dry garments. He greeted my uncle as cordially as he had done me; and taking our arms,—two of the Indians with torches leading the way,—we proceeded by a path through the forest to his house, which stood on a slight elevation above the river. It was a thatched one-storied building, with a walled-in courtyard on one side, and surrounded by a garden of considerable extent, as far as I could judge by the torchlight.
He at once ushered us into a good-sized room, furnished with a large table and benches, and a ponderous arm-chair at one end. The table was covered with various substantial viands, as well as delicacies and fruits of all sorts, showing that the padre was given to hospitality, and that he was at all times prepared for the unexpected arrival of guests.
“I sent up to order supper to be got ready for you, and I see that my people have not been dilatory,” he observed as we entered the room. “Perhaps we shall have other guests, and I only hope they may be such as we desire to see. Sometimes the Spaniards come this way, and I am compelled, though much against the grain, to be civil to them. However, before you sit down, you may desire to wash the dust off your hands and faces; and if you will accompany me, I will show you where you can do so.—Here, Candela, bring a torch, and towels for the caballeros.”
As he spoke, an intelligent-looking black servant led the way into the courtyard, where we saw a fountain falling into a stone basin, the water afterwards serving to irrigate the garden. We quickly performed our ablutions, especially refreshing after the heat of the day, and then returned with the padre into the supper-room. We were on the point of sitting down, when the sound of horses’ hoofs coming along the path from the southward reached our ears.
“Grant Heaven that they are friends!” said the padre, looking grave. “Should they be Royalists, you will guide your conversation accordingly, Señor Concannan,” he observed.—“Here, Candela, go out and welcome the cavaliers, whoever they may be.”
The black, relighting his torch, hurried out; and soon we heard his voice calling to the other servants to hold the cavaliers’ horses, and in a loud voice welcoming the travellers. One of them spoke a few words in return, whereupon the padre started up and rushed out to the front of the house. I followed him, and saw him clasping the hand of a tall cavalier, who had just dismounted from a powerful horse, which one of the servants was holding. On another steed of more delicate proportions sat a lady, who, as the light of the torch fell on her countenance, appeared to be young and unusually beautiful. At the same moment several other persons came up; and the tall cavalier having now assisted the lady to dismount, advanced towards the house—the rest of the party, throwing themselves from their horses, following.
On entering, the cavalier cast a suspicious glance at my uncle and me.
“Who are these?” he asked of Padre Pacheco in a low voice.
“They are English—friends to the cause; you can trust them,” answered the padre; and he mentioned our names. On this the new-comer advanced towards my uncle, and taking his hand, shook it warmly; afterwards doing me the same favour.
“The English are always my friends,” he said,—“a noble nation, who love liberty; and especially are you so, gentlemen, who belong to such an esteemed family. Would that we had many more like them. But our cause will triumph; everywhere the tyrant Gothos are yielding to our arms whenever we can catch them in the open country; and as hornets are burned out of their nests, we must expel them from the cities in which they have taken refuge, and then not sheathe the sword till we have cut them to pieces or driven them before us into the ocean.—Say I not well, Donna Paola?” he added, turning to the young lady.
A rich colour mounted to her brow, as with kindling eye she replied,—“Heaven will favour the righteous cause, and aid you, General Bermudez, and your brave followers, in the glorious undertaking.”
She spoke in a firm yet sweet and melodious voice, and I at once saw that she was an enthusiast in the cause. My uncle regarded her with a look of surprise and admiration, and bowing, said,—“I have often heard of you, Donna Paola Salabriata, and rejoice to have the opportunity of meeting you.”
Donna Paola smiled and bowed gracefully; and the padre, who had been giving directions to his servants, then appearing, requested her to take possession of the only private room in his house which he could offer; “Though,” he added, “it is unworthy of one to whom is due all the honour we can pay.”
The young lady smiled. “I am accustomed to rough lodging,” she answered, “and will gratefully accept your kindness, Señor Padre.”
I judged from the appearance and manners of the other persons who entered that they were officers on the staff of General Bermudez. Two, however, appeared to be of rank; and one I soon discovered to be an Irishman, from the rich brogue in which he addressed me on hearing my name. He had been long in the service, but had not forgotten his native tongue, he assured me—an assertion not in the slightest degree necessary. He at once launched forth in praise of General Bermudez, whom he asserted to be, next to Bolivar, the best and bravest man and truest patriot in the country; and from what I afterwards heard of the general, I am convinced that he was right.
After a short time the whole party collected in the supper-room, but did not take the seats which the padre requested them to occupy. Their eyes, I saw, were frequently turned towards the door. At length it opened, and Donna Paola entered the room with that grace which Spanish women so generally possess. She looked even more beautiful than at first; her raven hair, secured by a circlet of gold, contrasting with the delicate colour of her complexion, which was fairer than that of Spanish women generally. Her figure was slight, and she appeared scarcely so tall as I had supposed when I had first seen her in her riding habit. She was followed by a black damsel,—her constant attendant, I found,—who stood behind the chair she occupied on the right of the general. He desired my uncle and me to take the seats on the other side.
I confess that, interested though I had been, I had become very hungry, and was glad to fall to on the viands which the good padre had provided. There were a variety of dishes: fish and fowl predominating, an olla-podrida, omelets, and puddings. There was flesh too,—some small animals, which I strongly suspected were monkeys.
The party were evidently too much interested in talking of affairs of importance to pay much attention to the nature of the provisions set before them. The young and handsome officer—a colonel, I judged, by his uniform—sat next to Donna Paola; and from the tender way in which he addressed her, and the looks she gave him in return, I suspected that her patriotic enthusiasm had not steeled her heart against all softer influences. Such I afterwards found to be the case. She had promised to marry the colonel as soon as the patriots had triumphed, and the liberties they had been struggling for had been established.
It was important to gain exact information as to the intended movements of the Royalists; and Donna Paola, I found, had undertaken the hazardous duty of visiting Bogotà and other cities, and from thence transmitting intelligence to the patriot leaders. The young colonel looked grave when the subject was mentioned, and, from what he said, would willingly have dissuaded her from the attempt.
“If we fear to run a risk for the purpose of obtaining an important end, that end may never be gained,” she answered; “and the time you look for, Enrico, must be postponed,” she added, playfully tapping him with her fan on the arm; for, heroine as she was, she carried one. What woman, indeed, with Spanish blood in her veins, would be without so useful an implement?
The party were to continue for some days together, and then to separate in various directions,—General Bermudez to return to the plains and take command of his guerilla forces, which had already proved so terrible a scourge to the Spaniards. Had they known how close he was to them, with only a small band of followers, they would eagerly have despatched a force to effect his capture.
The conversation at the supper-table was animated in the extreme, Padre Pacheco taking an active part in it. After some time the general turned to me. “You have heard, young gentleman, of the glorious cause in which we are engaged,” he said. “Many of the patriot leaders drew their swords when younger than you are. We want every one with honesty and courage to join us, and we claim you as a compatriot. Judging by your looks, you will soon become expert in all the exercises required for a leader; and I shall be glad to offer you a command in one of the brave bands serving under me when you have gained sufficient experience.”
I felt highly flattered at this address, though I scarcely knew what to answer.
“I shall be ready, whenever called upon, to do my duty towards the country of my birth,” I answered at length; “but I am under my father’s orders, to whom my first duty is due, and I dare not pledge myself till I have consulted him.”
“Well spoken, young señor,” remarked the general. “Knowing his sentiments, I feel assured that he will not deny your request, and that I may count upon you ere long as a follower.”
“Surely the young Englishman will feel it the highest privilege he can possess to fight in so glorious a cause,” observed Donna Paola, looking across the table at me with her beautiful eyes. “Say at once, my dear young friend, that, with your father’s permission, you will devote yourself to the liberation of your native land. For what nobler task can a human being live—or die, if needs be? For my part, I am ready to sacrifice all I hold dear in life, and life itself, so that I may but afford the feeble aid a woman can give in forwarding the great object.”
I had found some difficulty in answering the general; I found it still more trying to reply to the beautiful Donna Paola. I remembered too well the advice given me by my sensible schoolmaster; yet, as I listened to the enthusiastic conversation of those into whose company I was so unexpectedly thrown, and heard of the atrocities of the Spaniards and the gallant exploits of the patriot leaders, I was naturally carried away, and soon forgot all my prudent resolutions, in spite of the remarks made by my uncle to prevent me from committing myself.
“Whenever summoned, you will find me ready, general,” I exclaimed; “and I call my friends here to witness my promise.”
“Well spoken, my young patriot,” cried the general, stretching across the table to take my hand; while Donna Paola smiled her approval.
“Remember, Barry, that your promise is but conditional,” whispered my uncle; “your father may have other work for you.”
During the time we sat at table, I heard anecdotes of most of the chief leaders of the patriot as also of the Royalist forces. Of the former the two principal men were,—Don Simon Bolivar, a man of good birth and education; and José Paez, who, belonging to the humblest rank of life, had been brought up among the hardy llañeros of the Apure. Bolivar was born in the city of Caraccas, in the neighbourhood of which his father, Don Juan Vicente Bolivar, had large possessions, and was of noble rank. At an early age he was sent to Madrid for his education, on completing which he made the tour of Europe, visiting England among other countries. When only nineteen he married a beautiful girl, the daughter of a nobleman, and for a short time lived in the enjoyment of domestic life, until he was deprived of his wife by death. To alleviate his grief, he again visited Europe and the United States, where he imbibed, those Liberal principles which induced him to take a prominent part in fighting for the freedom of his native country. In 1811, when General Miranda, the commander of the patriot army, cut down and destroyed the Spanish standard, and hoisted the tricolour in its stead, Simon Bolivar joined him, and was immediately appointed to a command in the independent army. After a long and desperate struggle, Venezuela again fell into the hands of the Royalists, who retaliated on those who had opposed them, and the whole country was reduced to a frightful state of misery. The Spanish troops treated the people with the most revolting ferocity, plundering and murdering in all directions, on the most trifling pretexts. Old men, women, and children even, were arrested, and often cruelly maimed and massacred as rebels. These barbarous proceedings aroused the indignation of Bolivar, who had escaped from the country; and uniting with a relative, Ribas, he proceeded from the island of Curacoa to Venezuela, where he speedily raised a small force. Attacking the Spanish garrison of the town of Teneriffe on the river Magdalena, he drove them out, proceeding southward to Bogotà, then in the hands of the patriots. The Spanish generals at this time were Boves, Rosette, and Morales. They were joined by Morillo, who was sent in 1815 with a powerful army from Spain. Bolivar had again to fly; but once more returning in 1817, he defeated Morillo in several battles; and in 1819 he had become President of the Venezuelan Republic, the Congress of which had been installed at Angostura on the Orinoco. From his finished education, his knowledge of the world, and his military talents, he was well fitted, as he showed, for the important position he held.
Very different was the career of General Paez, who was born at Araure. When but seventeen years old, the priest of that place—who was his uncle—sent him with a considerable sum of money, to be delivered to another padre residing at a distance. That he might perform the journey in safety, he was provided with a mule, an old pistol, and a rusty sword. It was fortunate that he was thus armed, for on the road he was attacked by three men, who demanded his treasure. Young Paez, instead of giving it up, threw himself from his mule with his pistol cocked; and his weapon for a wonder going off, killed one of his opponents, and at the same time bursting, struck another in the face; then drawing his sword, which providentially also came out of its sheath, the youthful hero charged the third robber, who, with his wounded companion, then took to flight.
Not knowing what might be the consequence of having killed a man, young José,—after delivering the money to the padre,—afraid of returning home, fled to the province of Barenas, where he obtained employment on a large cattle-farm. The overseer was a black man, who, conceiving a dislike for the youth, compelled him to perform all sorts of laborious duties, and among others to break in the most vicious horses. He thus became a first-rate horseman, and learned also the use of the lance, the weapon of the llañeros. The brutal black, in order to exhibit his dislike to young Paez, compelled him more than once, on returning home after a hard day’s labour, to bring a pail of water and wash his muddy feet—an act which Paez did not forget.
On the breaking out of the revolutionary war, he enlisted as a common soldier in the militia of Barenas; but soon proving his superiority over his companions, he was able to raise and organise an independent body of cavalry, with which ere long he rendered important service to the cause. His troops ever had the utmost confidence in him; when charging, he was sure to be the first among the ranks of the enemy, his lance making terrible havoc. Ever hating the Spaniards with a deadly hatred on account of their cruelties, he never spared them. Unfortunately, he was at length taken prisoner, and an order was issued by the Spanish general for his execution. It was the custom of the Spaniards to lead their prisoners out at night to some lonely spot, where they were quietly despatched with a lance or sword. Paez and some of his fellow-prisoners were being led out for this purpose, when, believing that he was merely to be taken before the general, he borrowed a hat of one of his companions. The officer in charge of the party, not recognising him, ordered him back to be exchanged for the unfortunate owner, who was supposed to be the notorious rebel captain. He thus unexpectedly obtained a respite of a day. The next night he was aroused by a loud noise in the streets, and fully expected that he was about to be led out to execution; instead of which, it proved that the Spaniards had been alarmed by the report that a large body of patriots were about to attack the town, and were hurriedly preparing to evacuate it. Paez took the opportunity of freeing himself from his fetters; and having helped to release some of his fellow-prisoners, they overpowered the sentinels, and made their escape.
He was quickly at the head of a fresh body of insurgents; and after going through numerous adventures, he found himself holding the independent command of a large body of llañeros. On frequent occasions, though with inferior numbers, he attacked and defeated the Royalists. The Spaniards, having regained their power in other parts of the country, compelled, by the fearful cruelties they practised, vast numbers of men, women, and children to fly into the wilderness and take refuge in the camp of Paez. Among them were many persons of distinction; and a regular system of government being established, Paez was chosen supreme chief with the rank of general of brigade. To supply his starving followers, he, at the head of his troops, during the rainy season made a long march across the flooded savannahs to attack the city of Barenas, which abounded with all the commodities of which he stood most in need. When approaching Barenas, he sent a detachment to attack the small town of Pedroza, for the purpose of drawing the Spanish forces away from the city to its relief. His ruse was successful; and galloping forward, he and his ragged followers were quickly in possession of the city. Each man loading himself with as large an amount of provisions and stores as he could carry, the troops quickly again retreated, and succeeded in conveying their booty to their starving friends.
On the arrival in the country of a large army under General Morillo, Paez gave him battle on the plains of Apure, and by a stratagem—pretending to fly—induced the Spanish cavalry to follow. His active horsemen then wheeling round, attacked them so furiously with their lances that nearly the whole were destroyed.
I heard many anecdotes related of him. On one occasion he overtook in a skirmish a Spanish major of cavalry, who defended himself bravely; but when Paez was in the act of running his lance through him, he exclaimed, “O general! had you not been better mounted than I am, I should have overmatched you.”
“If you think so,” exclaimed the gallant Paez, “we will exchange horses, and renew the fight.”
To this the major agreed; but no sooner did he find himself on the back of the general’s horse than he galloped off at full speed, followed by Paez, who, finding that he was losing ground, threw his lasso over the major’s neck and brought him to the ground. As the major, however, had defended himself bravely, Paez gave him quarter, a favour neither he nor his llañeros were in the habit of granting to their foes.
On another occasion, one of his men brought in as prisoner a Spanish hussar of the regiment of Fernando the Seventh,—who, in order to appear more terrific, wore long beards.
“Why did you grant him quarter?” inquired Paez.
“Because,” answered the llañero, “my conscience forbade me to despatch a Capuchin friar.”
“He is no friar, but a regular soldier. Bring me no more Capuchin friars,” said the general.
On this occasion, too, he spared the prisoner’s life, and the man entering his service, became much attached to him.
Paez ever proved himself a most indefatigable enemy to the Spaniards. For weeks and months he followed the steps of Morillo, unceasingly clinging to him, and on every opportunity dashing into his camp at night, frequently with not more than a hundred and fifty or two hundred men, slaughtering all he encountered, and never failing to cut his way back with trifling loss. He would also, when the Royalists were fatigued by a harassing day’s march, drive off all their cattle and baggage-mules, leaving them frequently without provisions.
The most renowned of his exploits occurred when he had formed a junction with Bolivar on the plains of Apure. Their troops were in an almost starving condition, and unless they could cross the river they would have to make a circuitous march of many leagues to obtain provisions; while on the opposite bank were seen vast numbers of cattle, which could not be reached for want of boats. About midway across the stream there was also a fleet of sixty flecheras, or gun-boats, well-armed and manned, belonging to the enemy. Bolivar stood on the shore gazing disconsolately at the enemy’s fleet, when Paez rode up to him and inquired the cause of his disquietude.
“I would give the world to have possession of the Spanish flotilla, for without it I can never cross the river,” answered Bolivar.
“It shall be yours in an hour,” replied Paez.
“It is impossible,” said Bolivar.
“Leave that to me,” rejoined Paez, and galloped off.
In a few minutes he returned at the head of a body of three hundred lancers, selected for their proved bravery and strength from his llañeros, and leading them to the bank, he thus addressed them,—“We must have those flecheras or die. Let those who please follow Tio,” (or uncle, for so his favourite troopers were accustomed to call him). Saying this, he dashed into the river and swam towards the flotilla.
His guard followed him with their lances in their mouths, now encouraging their horses to bear up against the current, now swimming by their sides and patting their necks, and shouting to scare away the alligators, of which there were hundreds in the river. Thus they proceeded till they reached the flotilla; then mounting their horses, headed by their leader, they sprang from their backs on board the boats. A desperate struggle ensued; but the llañeros were victorious, and driving the unfortunate crews overboard, they carried the flecheras to the bank of the river, where the patriot forces were drawn up.
Equal to him in most respects, and superior in some, was the noble-looking cavalier, General Bermudez, in whose company I now so unexpectedly found myself. I could learn less about him at the time, but I afterwards heard much of his interesting history.
Notwithstanding the difficulties and dangers with which they were surrounded, the whole party seemed in high spirits, and did not separate till a late hour. Donna Paola was the first to rise, and bowing gracefully to the military officers and wishing them good-night, she left the room, accompanied by her sable attendant. The table being then cleared, our supper-room was turned into a dormitory—every corner of the house being likewise occupied. The padre requested my uncle and me to take possession of a small chamber near his own cell, which afforded just space enough for us to stretch our legs. Here, with our saddles for pillows, and horse-cloths and cloaks for bedding, we were quickly asleep.
At an early hour the next morning we were astir, and found an ample breakfast spread. General Bermudez hurried over the meal, and left the table; and on going out to the front of the house soon afterwards, I found him standing by his horse’s head, ready to mount. He presented a perfect picture of a commander of irregular troops. He was remarkably tall,—being considerably above six feet in height,—his figure well proportioned, and evidently possessing great muscular power; his handsome countenance showed intelligence, and beamed with good-nature and sincerity; while the evening before I had been struck by his frank and genial manners, so unlike those of the ordinary run of Spaniards,—though he was, as might be expected, wanting in that polish which a constant intercourse with refined society seldom fails to give. Though dexterous in the use of the lance, as are all the warriors of the plain, he was armed with aremarkably long gun, which only a man of great strength could have used with any effect. A powder-horn hung over his shoulders, and a long dagger was secured by the folds of the ample scarf he wore round his waist.
At a short distance off were the troopers who had formed his escort, standing by their horses, ready for the signal to mount. They were picked men, mostly tall and stalwart, and armed with lances and carbines; evidently from their costume irregular cavalry, and looking as if they could render as efficient service in that climate and region as any body of troops, albeit clothed in more uniform fashion.
“Ah, my young friend, I am glad to have the opportunity of saying farewell,” he exclaimed, putting out his hand; “you will not forget your promise of last night. And let me advise you to prepare yourself for the service you may render our beloved country. Take every opportunity of perfecting yourself in horsemanship, and practise the use of the lance and carbine I hope ere long to return this way, and to enrol you among my troops, when you will, I doubt not, with the practice we will be able to give you, become thoroughly expert in the use of your weapons. Should Heaven preserve your life, you must look forward to becoming a leader; and consider well how you will have to act in all the circumstances in which you may be placed,—whether meeting the foes of our country on the plains or amid the mountains; either pursuing, or retreating before superior numbers; endeavouring to effect a surprise, or guarding against one. He proves the most successful leader who has reflected well—during the quiet hours of the bivouac under the starry vault of heaven, or in his silent chamber—how he will conduct himself in the varied chances of warfare. Brute courage is useful in the heady fight, but the possessor of that only can never be a fitting leader.”
I was thanking the general for his advice, when Donna Paola appeared, led forth by Colonel Acosta, the young officer I have before mentioned, who had been seated next to her at supper. He pressed her hand as he assisted her to mount, and by the look she gave him I saw that their affection was mutual. I trusted, for both their sakes, that she would be protected in the dangerous undertaking in which she was engaged. The general springing into his saddle, the rest of the party followed his example. Waving his adieux, he led the way along the side of the mountain; while Padre Pacheco, stretching out his hands, blessed him and his followers, and commended them to the care of Heaven.
My uncle and Tim had also come out prepared for a start. The hospitable padre urged us to remain longer, but we were naturally anxious to reach home. On my uncle making inquiries as to the best road to take, “I will send Candela with you,” said the padre; “he knows it well, and may be of use to you should any roving bands of Indians (and I have noticed that there are several out), seeing a small party, attack you. They mostly know and respect me—for though they are but poor Christians, they look upon me as possessing supernatural powers; and when Candela explains that you are friends of mine, they will allow you to pass without molestation.”
Without hesitation my uncle gladly accepted the kind padre’s offer, and Candela was forthwith ordered to get ready. He did not require many minutes, his preparations consisting in bolting a mess of porridge, to enable him the better to undergo the fatigue of the journey. He was to proceed on foot with the natives who conducted our baggage-mules.
“You must come soon and see me again,” said the padre, as he wished me good-bye. “You are sure to find me, for I never move far from home, seeing I have my little flock to look after, and matters of importance to attend to. But before you go, let me caution you, Señor Denis, not to speak to any one about those persons you saw here. It might lead to unpleasant consequences should the tyrannical Spaniards hear that my quiet abode is frequented by patriots; and we never know what evil birds may carry information.”
“You may trust Barry and me, and my brother’s servant; though we are not likely to meet any but friends to the cause where we are going,” replied my uncle.
The padre looked satisfied; and again wishing him good-bye, we mounted and rode forward, led by Candela, who, with a long stick in his hand, kept well ahead of us.
We soon lost sight of the padre’s abode. The road we took was wild and rugged, across the spurs of the mountains; sometimes we had to cross rocky heights, again to descend into narrow valleys, with streams—through which we waded not without difficulty—running down them. Occasionally we had to pass amid thickly-growing trees, which concealed from view the mountain-tops, which might otherwise have assisted to guide us; and we agreed that it was fortunate Candela had come with us to show us the way.
We had to encamp another night in the forest, as it would have been dangerous to proceed over that kind of country in the dark; but Candela assured us that we might reach my father’s house early the following day. We pushed forward till the gloom of evening came on, when we looked about for a convenient spot for encamping. We selected one on some rocky ground just outside a wood, with a deep ravine in front of us; while on our left was a precipice of a hundred feet or so in height, at the bottom of which flowed a rapid stream.
Securing the legs of our mules with their halters in the usual fashion, so that they could not stray, we turned them loose, while we lighted our fire, and placed our saddles and horse-cloths ready for sleeping. A basket of provisions, which the padre had secured to one of the baggage-mules, afforded us an ample supper; so that we had only to boil our chocolate, and to heat some water with which to mix the aguadiente the padre had sent, prescribing a cupful as a preventive against the ill effects of the damp night air or any noxious exhalations rising from the valleys—though there was not much chance of our suffering from these in the lofty position we occupied.
While we were seated at supper, I asked my uncle what he knew of the guerilla chief whose acquaintance we had just made.
“I learned something of his history from Padre Pacheco this morning,” he answered; “and his career has been very similar to that of General Paez. He is the son of humble parents, who resided near Caraccas, their occupation being to convey provisions to the garrison and inhabitants, in which work he assisted them. Illiterate as was the old Bermudez, he was a devoted patriot, and, notwithstanding the danger he ran in doing so, endeavoured to induce all the young men of his acquaintance to join the troops then being secretly levied for the independent cause by General Miranda. Having incautiously uttered some Liberal expressions, he was seized by the governor of the city, Monteverde. In vain young Bermudez pleaded that mercy might be shown his aged parent; notwithstanding his advanced age, he was cruelly gibbeted, his son being barbarously compelled to witness his execution. This was the fate of many others who dared to utter a word against Spanish tyranny.
“Young Bermudez managed to effect his escape; and carrying with him his unhappy mother, he set off over the plains of Maturin, where he intended to provide a shelter for her few remaining years while he entered the service of his country to revenge the murder of his father. Her death from grief on the way set him free, and he immediately joined as a private a body of the irregular cavalry of the plains, commanded by the brave Hirogas. The band, from its inferiority of numbers, seldom came to an open engagement, but harassed the foraging-parties of the Spaniards, never failing to come off victorious. Bermudez, by his determined bravery and great personal prowess in these skirmishes, gained the admiration of his comrades, and was speedily raised to the rank of lieutenant of a small troop, at whose head he performed numberless acts of valour. From his great strength and skill in all the games in which the horsemen of the plains take delight, he still further rose in the estimation of his companions; while, from his unassuming manners and excellent conduct, he was beloved by all who served with him.
“The band to which Bermudez belonged in a short time amounted to four hundred men; and so much injury did they inflict on the Spaniards, that Monteverde resolved, if possible, to crush them. He accordingly sent out a strong detachment—six hundred cavalry, and an equal number of infantry—in pursuit of Hirogas. The forces of the guerilla chief were strongly posted on the top of a hill, about fifteen leagues from the Spanish headquarters. They were not men to be taken by surprise, and as they saw the Spaniards advancing they charged furiously down upon them. The odds were fearfully against the patriots; and the brave Hirogas, carried by his impetuosity too far in advance, fell into the hands of the enemy, desperately wounded. Bermudez, on seeing this, charged with his troop upon the Spanish infantry, and not only succeeded in rescuing his chief, but put the enemy to flight. The Spaniards left about one-third of their number dead on the field, and many of their horses and arms in the hands of the victorious guerillas.
“Hirogas dying of his wounds, Bermudez was unanimously chosen chief of the band; and his fame spreading, volunteers flocked to his standard. He had no difficulty in mounting them, from the many herds of horses which roamed at large on the mountains and plains of Venezuela, which were easily caught with the lasso, and quickly broken-in at the experienced hands of his followers.
“Having organised his band, he attacked the Spanish forces; laying siege to the town of Maturin, and in three successive encounters supplying himself with arms, ammunition, and every military essential. His force was then regularly enrolled by the Congress as a portion of its troops, and in appearance and discipline became far superior to the generality of the guerillas.
“Being now recognised as one of the leading patriot chiefs, he united himself to General Roxas; and in conjunction they attacked the army under the Spanish General Boves. In this action Roxas slew Boves and nine others with his own hand; and Bermudez was said to have killed thirty men in the action, during which he broke three lances. The patriot government, in recognition of his services, now created him a general of division, and offered him pay; but he nobly declined any remuneration, observing that his object was to fight for his country’s liberty without the intention of receiving reward. By his frequent forays into the plains, where he collected large herds of cattle, he contributed greatly to the support of the patriot army.”
Such was the man under whom, should my father give me permission, I had undertaken to serve. I felt flattered that he should have thought me capable of being of any use among his hardy and experienced horsemen, and I could scarcely account for the reason of his so distinguishing me. I asked my uncle what he thought about the matter.
“He saw that you were a likely lad, and took it for granted that your father’s son was brave and intelligent. He admires the English, and wishes to have a few with him to assist in civilising and disciplining his followers,” he answered.
We talked on for some time, till my uncle proposed that we should lie down and go to sleep, leaving Tim and Candela to keep watch alternately and maintain the fire, as even at that elevation we were liable to be attacked by a prowling jaguar or puma.
I never slept more soundly in my life; and when I was awakened by Tim pulling at my arm, I found that the day had already broke.
“Hist, Masther Barry,” he whispered. “The praste’s black fellow Candela, says there are Injyuns lurking about, who maybe want to steal our mules, or cut our throats if they have the chance; and we’ve sent the boys to bring in the animals; and Misther Denis and Candela have gone forward to get a look down the gorge, where we think they have hidden, intending to take us by surprise.”
I should have said that on the other side of the gorge was a ridge, beyond which the ground again sloped, thus enabling a party to approach within gun-shot of where we were encamped.
On jumping to my feet I saw my uncle and Candela creeping along towards a fallen trunk, which lay close above the brink of a precipice. At that instant an Indian sprang up, bow in hand, from the other side of the trunk, and shot an arrow, which quivered in the ground close by my uncle’s side. He rushed forward, on seeing this, and before the Indian could fix another arrow had felled him to the earth with his sword. The next moment a large party of Indians appeared on the top of the ridge, and a shower of arrows fell close to us: happily, none took effect, and I saw my uncle drop so as to conceal himself behind a log, while he levelled his rifle over it at the Indians. As he saw the Indians about to shoot, Tim pulled me behind the nearest tree, and probably saved me and himself from being wounded by the arrows,—which, as it was, whistled close to our ears. Before the Indians could move forward, my uncle fired, and a tall warrior, who seemed to be their chief, fell wounded to the ground. This evidently disconcerted them.
“Now is our time,” cried my uncle. “Barry—Tim—call the mule-boys and follow me;” and leaping over the log, he dashed down the ravine, sword in hand, and rapidly climbed the opposite side.
We obeyed his orders, and the Indians, seized with a sudden panic on seeing us coming, and probably believing others were to follow, took to their heels, leaving their chief bleeding on the ground. We fired,—as did my uncle, who had reloaded his gun,—to expedite their movements, and two more fell dead, the rest continuing their flight.
“Though he is an enemy, we must not let this fellow bleed to death,” said my uncle, stooping down. “Come, Barry, we’ll bind up his wound and carry him along with us; perhaps he may be able to give us some important information, and at all events we shall learn why he attacked us.”
My uncle soon stopped the flow of blood from the Indian’s side; and the muleteers having brought the animals round by crossing the valley a little way above where we stood, we placed our captive on one of them. We then, guided by Candela, hurried forward on our journey, keeping a sharp look-out lest the fugitive Indians should return.
Chapter Four.Approach my home—A welcome—My sister Norah—The Indian’s wound dressed—He takes his medicine from Norah—His gratitude—My family—A happy evening—Candela leaves us—Our relative, Don Fernando Serrano—Gerald and I pay him a visit—The Barawa Indians—Our cousins—Donna Isabella Monterola—I practise with the lance—Win Donna Isabella’s approval—We take our departure—Swim across a river—Put to flight by a boa-constrictor—Travel along the borders of a lake—See Dr Stutterheim—He accompanies us home—Takes Kanimapo in hand—The fate of Donna Paola Salabriata—Start on a shooting expedition with the doctor—Encounter a huge anaconda—I shoot it, and save the doctor—Carry off the skin in triumph.We were now approaching my father’s house, and I recognised several points in the surrounding scenery. The northern end of the lake came into view, bordered by lofty palms and other graceful trees, and I remembered well the shape of the mountains which rose above it.Tim kept a watchful eye on our prisoner, who, though badly wounded, might still, he thought it probable, attempt to make his escape. He had not spoken as yet, but I observed his dark eye wandering on every side, either in the hope of rescue, or as if considering in what direction he should fly, should he be able to free himself from the thongs by which he was secured to the mule. I was surprised that his followers should have deserted him in the cowardly way they had done. He was a fine-looking savage, with features more refined and regular than those of the Indians I had hitherto seen. But his countenance was sullen; and, from his resolute aspect, he probably expected that he would meet with the fate the Spaniards invariably inflicted on their captives, and be immediately put to death on our arrival at our destination. I suspect that he was in ignorance as to who we were, and supposed that we belonged to a party of patriots; and if so, he must have been surprised on discovering the smallness of our numbers.Tim led his mule, constantly looking back to assure himself that he had not succeeded in loosening the thongs which secured his arms and legs. At the same time Tim continued talking to me, and pointing out various objects which I thought I remembered.At length he exclaimed,—“Sure, Masther Barry, there’s the masther’s house; and mighty glad they’ll all be to see you safe;” and he pointed to a good-sized house with a broad verandah in front, shaded by trees, and standing in the midst of a large, well-irrigated garden. Though smaller than I had supposed, I at once knew the house to be that in which I was born. “And beyond it there, higher up the hill, you see Mr Concannan’s mansion—Castle Concannan, we call it, you’ll remember—and a pretty dacent castle it is, with its high, thick walls and courtyard; it would take a pretty strong earthquake to shake it down. He has made it stronger still, by blocking up some of the lower windows.”In our eagerness to reach home, we pushed on as rapidly as our mules could move. We were yet at a little distance, when, riding on ahead, I caught sight of the figure of a black woman holding up a chubby little boy in her arms. I felt sure that he must be my youngest brother,—the baby, as he was called,—whom I had never seen, and that the woman must be our nurse, Josefa. She gazed at me, doubting whether the tall young man she saw approaching could be the little boy who had gone away but a few years before. The baby, who was a good bouncing one, shook his rattle, and seemed satisfied that I was some one he ought to expect.Josefa knew me the moment I uttered her name; and as I sprang from my mule, she and little Denis, who was named after our uncle, threw their arms round my neck. We then hastened on towards the front gate, Josefa shrieking out in her delight,—“They are come! they are come! It is Señor Barry!” Her voice was heard at the house; and my father and mother, with my sister Norah and the rest of the family, guessing who we were, hurried out to welcome us.Our first greetings over, my father expressed his satisfaction at my appearance.“You have benefited greatly by your stay in the old country, Barry,” he said; “and your journey here seems to have done you no harm.”My mother pressed me to her heart; and my sweet sister Norah kissed my cheek again and again, gazing at me as sisters are apt to do at a brother of whom they are proud. I am sure I felt proud of her, and wondered that all the young men in the neighbourhood were not dying with love for her; but perhaps they had too much to do in fighting for the liberty of their country.As may be supposed, my father soon made inquiries about our captive. Uncle Denis explained how we had caught him, and suggested that he should be placed in a strong room, under a proper guard, where his wound could be tended without the risk of his making his escape. My father observed that he had a small unoccupied room at the back of the house, which would serve as a prison; and to this our captive was at once conducted.As there was no surgeon, either English or Spanish, living within many miles, my uncle undertook to dress the Indian’s wound, and to do his best to cure him.A bed was brought into the room, on which he was placed. Uncle Denis then commenced his operations.After gently washing the wound, he discovered to his satisfaction that the ball had passed through the Indian’s body, and that he should therefore not have to attempt its extraction. This greatly facilitated his task. My mother having brought some linen bandages and a healing salve, the wound was carefully bound up. The Indian, who did not once wince, though he must have been suffering great pain, gazed with a look of surprise at my uncle and the other bystanders, and was evidently wondering why so much care was taken of him. My sister Norah then brought in a cooling draught, which she offered to him; and speaking first in Spanish, and then in the language generally used by the Indians in the neighbourhood, advised him to take it, assuring him that it would be beneficial. He, without hesitation, swallowed the draught; and now speaking for the first time, expressed his gratitude for the attention bestowed on him.“We are sorry that you were wounded, and our wish is that you may recover,” said Norah, in a pitying tone. “You must rest now; and if you will give your word that you will not attempt to escape, or to injure those who are guarding you, your arms will be left at liberty.”The Indian hesitated, and was apparently considering the consequences which might ensue should he give the promise required.“Tell him that we intend to keep him a prisoner only till his wound is healed, and that we will not now trouble him with questions; but we shall by-and-by wish to learn who he is, and why he attacked your uncle and Barry,” said my father.Norah repeated this, for having learned the Indian tongue from her nurse, she spoke it better than any one else in the house; no one, indeed, would have been so likely to calm the suspicions of our captive, and to gain his confidence, as she was. “We do not wish you to speak now,” she added; “but to-morrow or next day, when you are stronger, you will tell us what we seek to know. And now, will you give me the promise we ask? It will be for your benefit; and you know how you would have been treated had you fallen into the hands of the Spaniards.”“I promise to remain quiet as a child on its mother’s breast,” answered the Indian. “Kanimapo never breaks his word; and to you, who have treated him so mercifully, he will be faithful.”On this assurance, in which my father and uncle believed that they could trust, the Indian’s limbs were left unfettered; but, at the same time, they thought it prudent to place a man well-armed with pistols and a dagger at the door, and carefully to bar the window on the outside, so that the captive, even in possession of his full strength, would have been unable to make his escape.My father, with Norah, always accompanied by another person, visited him several times during the evening. Notwithstanding all the care bestowed on him, he appeared to be suffering much, though, Indianlike, he endeavoured not to exhibit his feelings; but his eye brightened whenever it fell on Norah, and he seemed to look upon her as his good genius. Each time he showed his gratitude by a few words, or by the expression of his countenance when unable to speak from pain.We had a very happy evening. My parents were glad to have me back safe, and, as may be supposed, we had a great deal to talk about.My young brother, Gerald, was fully as fine a little fellow as Tim had described him. He constantly came up to my side, and brought various articles to show me—stuffed birds, and the skins of animals he had shot—and as soon as he could he dragged me away to exhibit his gun, and his canoe, and several animals he had tamed. Kathleen, my second sister, was like Norah, but on a smaller scale; and Mary, the third, was a jolly little girl, fat and chubby as a rosy apple, in spite of the climate in which she was born; while the baby, Denis, was a merry chap, who took to me at once, though he might not exactly have comprehended our relationship.Our uncle remained with us during the night, that he might attend to our wounded prisoner, though anxious to proceed to his brother’s house. He was also unwilling to let Candela go back alone, lest the Indians who attacked us might be still prowling about, and should murder him.“I have no fear on that score, señor,” he answered; “I know the country better than they do, and can easily make my way without being discovered. They would not, either, willingly attack the señor padre’s servant; and so by daybreak to-morrow I will depart, as my master will be anxious to hear of your arrival.”We sent many messages to the kind padre; and my father especially invited him to come to our house, should he at any time find himself threatened by the Spaniards on account of his Liberal principles. His cloth certainly would not save him, as they had already shot several padres who had sided with the patriots; the greater number of the priests, however, professed to be loyal subjects of the King of Spain, and supported his cause. One might have supposed that the Spaniards, after all they had suffered at the hands of Napoleon’s generals, would have been inclined to treat their fellow-countrymen in their colonies with leniency; but, on the contrary, the only lesson they appeared to have learned had taught them to be more cruel and tyrannical than their conquerors.Among the various friends about whom my uncle made inquiries was our relative, Don Fernando Serrano, whose estate was a few leagues off, though it abutted upon that of Mr Concannan, which extended a considerable distance to the southward. Properties in that country are of great extent, and a visitor to Don Serrano’s house had to travel a dozen leagues through his estate before reaching it. He was not only a wealthy man, but greatly esteemed by all who knew him. He was supposed to entertain strong Liberal principles, but, on account of his age and health, had taken no part in the struggle going forward. My mother’s and Uncle Denis’s father, I may remark, had married his sister; he was therefore my great-uncle, and his children were my cousins. Our families, too, had always been on the most friendly terms, and my father and mother had paid frequent visits at his house. His eldest son, Don Carlos, who was married and had a large family, lived with him. Two of Don Carlos’ sons and one of his brothers had joined the insurgents, but, not to commit Don Fernando, had assumed different names; though we knew that both Don Fernando and Don Carlos afforded much pecuniary assistance to the Liberals. From the precautions they had taken, they believed that they were not suspected by the Royalists, and at all events they had escaped being molested.Their chief cause of anxiety arose, however, from the hostile behaviour of a tribe of Indians, the Barawas, who inhabited the shores of the river Guaviare, falling into the Orinoco. They belonged to the great Carib family, and had many years before been driven by their white invaders from their native territory on the coast to the eastward, and had here settled themselves; retaining, however, their warlike disposition and many of their ancient manners and customs. Barawa is a Carib name for the sea; and they consequently took it, as was supposed, from their ancestors having lived on the borders of the ocean, or having crossed it from the lands they once inhabited. We had little doubt that our prisoner belonged to that tribe, and was probably a chief among them.My father told us of a report he had heard, of Spanish emissaries having visited them for the purpose of inducing them to take up arms against the Republicans; and should such be the case, the capture of our prisoner, Kanimapo, might prove a fortunate circumstance, as we should hold him as a hostage for their good behaviour. The next morning, however, there appeared great probability that our hopes would be disappointed; for on my uncle’s visiting him he found him much worse. As the day advanced, Uncle Denis expressed his fears that the Indian would die, notwithstanding all the care bestowed on him.Day after day, however, the wounded man lingered on. My father and Norah were assiduous in their attentions to him; and he refused to take such medicines as we possessed from any other hands but my sister’s. There was now no chance of his escaping, for he was too weak to walk; indeed, he could scarcely sit up in his bed. Still, the Indians possess wonderful vitality and endurance, which enable them to recover from wounds of the body; but they succumb very quickly to European diseases. Though apparently growing weaker, Kanimapo still clung to existence. He seemed grateful, too, for the attentions shown him; but except having mentioned his name, he had not told us who he was, nor had he given any reason for attacking our party.Uncle Denis had gone home; and soon after Gerald and I paid a visit at his house. We then went on to that of our relation, Don Fernando Serrano, where we were received by him and my cousins with the greatest kindness. They were interested in hearing of all my adventures, and especially in the accounts I gave them of our capturing the Indian; but they were unable to conjecture who he was. I was delighted with all the family, they were so gentle and loving to each other, and so kind to me. What also surprised me much, was to find that Don Serrano regularly read the Bible and had prayers with his family. Such a thing was at that time probably unheard-of in South America. They did not speak unkindly of the nearest padre, who occasionally visited them, but they evidently held him in no respect.“He is a poor ignorant man,” observed Don Carlos, “a blind leader of the blind; he expressed his horror at finding we read the Bible, and urged us to give up the practice, as one most dangerous to our souls. Now, it is very evident to me that from the Bible alone do we know anything about God, or how He desires men to live; and therefore, unless we read the Bible, we must remain ignorant of Him and His will, or obtain the knowledge second-hand from one who might make grievous mistakes in interpreting it,—as Padre Bobo would most certainly do.”I suspected from this (what I afterwards found to be the case) that my relatives were really Protestants, though they did not openly declare themselves to be so; that their family had held these opinions from the time when many of the noblest in Spain had espoused them. Their ancestor had providentially escaped the doom which the horrible Inquisition had inflicted on the greater number of those who had become Protestants: having made his way to America with his wife, he had settled in this then remote region; but dreading persecution, he had not attempted to promulgate his opinions beyond his own family. My maternal grandfather, when he married Donna Teresina Serrano, had, through her instruction, become a Protestant. Thus, in the heart of South America, those principles were cherished which, as was fondly hoped, would spread around them when liberty should be established among the population.I suspect it was owing to the machinations of the priests that the Barawa Indians had proved so hostile to one whose wish and aim was always to benefit them. That such was the case, Don Fernando could not clearly ascertain; but it was known that Padre Bobo had made several visits to the Indians, for the purpose, as he professed, of converting them to Christianity. He had managed, indeed, to induce some of them to allow him to baptise their children, but they remained as utterly ignorant of the Truth as before. (What I have here mentioned, I heard from my own family before Gerald and I set off to visit our friends.) As is often the case in Spanish families of wealth, there were three generations living in harmony together, and I was somewhat puzzled at first to distinguish between my numerous relatives. Gerald, who knew them all, helped me, but still I was frequently making mistakes. Among them was a very beautiful girl, whom I at first took to be one of my cousins, and whom I addressed accordingly; but after I had been there a couple of days, she laughingly told me that, though she should be very happy to be a relative, she was not so in reality: that her name was Isabella Monterola, and that she was a ward of Don Fernando. Then suddenly changing her tone from gay to grave, she said,—“I am happy here, and they are all very kind; but I cannot forget my poor father, who was murdered by the cruel Spaniards because he loved liberty and hated tyranny; and, alas! my mother, who was compelled to witness his execution, died of grief. They would have shot her too, had she lived, as they did other women, without remorse; and me, perhaps, because I was their child, had I not been so young but I was rescued from prison by Juan Serrano, and brought here secretly. The Spaniards did not know who carried me off, and therefore could not send to bring me back, or they would have done so. You have not been long enough in the country to have heard one-tenth part of the horrible cruelties those Gothos have inflicted on our people.”“But you, Donna Isabella, are Spanish, and so are all our friends here,” I said, after having expressed my horror of the atrocities which had been committed in the country.“I am a child of Venezuela,” she answered proudly. “I disown the name of Spaniard; do not, Señor Barry, ever call me one again. We speak the language of Spain, it is true, and boast our descent from noble ancestors who conquered the country in which we live; but we have for ever severed our connection with the land from which we came, because Spaniards desire to enslave us.”I had considered Donna Paola a heroine, but as I listened to Donna Isabella I thought her a still more interesting one; and she was equally anxious to enlist recruits in the cause of liberty.I had not forgotten the advice General Bermudez had given me; and I found my young cousins were in the habit of exercising themselves daily in the use of the lance, as well as with firearms and swords. Every morning they went out for some hours on horseback, and practised on a level meadow at some little distance from the house; and I soon became as expert as any of them. The ends of our lances were not only headless, but covered with a soft pad, so that we could charge at each other without much risk of serious injury; and one day, in a sham fight, I unhorsed all my opponents in succession. As I rode up to where the ladies—who had come out to witness our sports—were standing, they greeted me with loud applause, and Donna Isabella especially showed her satisfaction by the bright smile she gave me and the eagerness with which she waved her scarf.We had occasionally, also, real sport in hunting wild boars in the part of the forest frequented by those animals. The first day I went out I killed a boar, after narrowly escaping, by a dexterous turn of my horse, being killed myself. We killed a bear, too, and a puma, or South American lion—which, next to the jaguar, is the most savage animal in that continent; and I had the satisfaction of presenting the skin to Donna Isabella.But our visit was at last to come to an end. Very unwillingly, so far as I was concerned, did we bid our friends good-bye, and mount our horses to commence our journey.“I shall expect to hear great things of you, Señor Barry,” said Donna Isabella, as I bade her farewell. “The next campaign undertaken by Bolivar will, it is hoped, complete the overthrow of the Spaniards, I am told.”“The noble sentiments you hold will inspire me, Donna Isabella,” I answered; “and if you will give me that feather from your hat, I will ever wear it in battle, and promise that it shall never be seen in flight.”She, smiling, instantly gave it me, and I fixed it securely in my hat. We were very young, and I had of late become more romantic than I had ever before been.At last we had to ride forward, two of our cousins accompanying us to the borders of the estate. As we were well-mounted, instead of taking the rougher but shorter road across the spurs of the mountains, we had settled to strike down into the plain, where we could gallop for a considerable distance, and then, keeping by the borders of a long lake, return towards our own home. Gerald, who knew the way well, said there were no insuperable difficulties to overcome, though we might have to swim a stream or two. “But that,” as he observed, “is nothing when one is accustomed to it; and you, Barry, will have many a river to cross and many a marsh to wade through, as well as mountains to climb, and hundreds of miles to gallop over the prairie, when you take service with General Bermudez.”He was right; and I was glad to gain some experience as to the varieties of country I might have ere long to traverse.We were armed with pistols, carbines, and lances, though Gerald’s arm was not strong enough to wield the latter with much effect; but he could skilfully use his carbine when going at full gallop. We trusted, however, to the speed of our horses, should we come in sight of any marauding party of the enemy; and Gerald declared that three, or even four or five, horsemen would not dare to attack us. He was indeed the most spirited little fellow I ever met, and utterly fearless.As we galloped along we kept a look-out over the plain for any horsemen who might appear.“I only wish two or three would come!” cried Gerald. “We would soon make the survivors turn to the right-about; for I am pretty sure we should kill a couple at least.”“I hope that we shall not have anything of the sort to do,” I answered. “I am perfectly ready to fight, when necessary, in a right cause, such as I believe that to be in which our friends are engaged; but it is dreadful to contemplate killing people unless stern necessity compels us. Warfare is terrible work at the best, and the butcheries of which I have heard in this country show too well what men are capable of when their passions are excited. For my part, though I have seen but little of fighting as yet, I wish that peace were established.”“Oh, you wouldn’t do for a guerilla!” exclaimed Gerald, in a somewhat contemptuous tone.“I shall not fight with less determination because I wish for peace,” I continued, not minding him. “The only way to secure it is to beat our enemies; and that I will do my best to accomplish, when I have the opportunity.”“That I am sure you will!” exclaimed Gerald, sorry for his remark; for though impulsive, and in the habit of blurting out anything that came uppermost, he was ever ready to acknowledge himself in the wrong.We galloped on for some leagues, stopping occasionally to give our horses breath, and then reached the borders of the lake I spoke of—which extended for some distance parallel with the foot of the mountains, and was fed by several streams which flowed from them. It was also connected, by another stream, with the smaller lake below our father’s house. Out of it likewise flowed a river of some size towards the east.We had forded two of these smaller streams without difficulty, when we came to a wider and deeper one.“We shall have to swim for a little distance,” said Gerald; “but our horses will perhaps carry us over on their backs. However, if we find that our weight is too much for them, we must slip off; only we must remember to hold on tight by their manes, and keep at their shoulders, to avoid the unpleasant pats they might otherwise give us with their fore hoofs. And, by-the-by, it will be as well, while we are on their backs, to keep our feet as high up as we can, lest an alligator should take a fancy to our toes; though, as the brutes are of no great size, we haven’t much to fear from them.”I thought Gerald was joking; but he was perfectly in earnest, though the danger we were to run did not in the slightest degree trouble him.I followed his advice when, after wading a short distance, my horse began to swim. Shortly afterwards, as its body was completely immersed, I slipped off its back, taking care to hold on to its mane, near the crupper, with one hand, while I struck out with the other. Gerald himself, being so much lighter, stuck on, and guiding his horse to a shelving part of the bank, regained the firm ground.I was still in the water, when, looking up the stream, he shouted out to me,—“Make haste, make haste, Barry! for here comes an ugly-looking customer it would be as well not to encounter in the water.”As may be supposed, I was making all the haste I could; for I had no fancy to remain in the river longer than necessary, with the possibility of being seized by an alligator, even though it might be one not large enough to swallow me at a gulp. I saw that Gerald was more excited than usual: as he held his horse’sbridle, he kept stamping and moving about in his eagerness. I exerted myself to the utmost, and at length had the satisfaction of finding my horse’s feet touch the shore; when I immediately scrambled on its back and rode up the bank.“Look there!” cried Gerald; “that brute would be a more unpleasant opponent than even a big alligator.”He pointed, as he spoke, to a huge serpent—which, I concluded, was a boa-constrictor—coiled round the broken stem of a palm-tree, and, with head erect, floating leisurely down the river.“I only wish it would come nearer!” exclaimed Gerald. “I think I could manage to hit it and blow its head off.”He fired as he spoke, but missed; and the serpent, turning its head, gave a hiss at us, though it did not attempt to quit its raft. From the way it moved its tail, which served as a rudder, I believe that it could easily have guided itself to the shore; and as it was big enough to have crushed not only one of us, but either of our horses, in its powerful folds, I felt especially anxious to avoid it.Gerald quickly reloaded his weapon. “Fire, Barry—fire!” he cried out; “and if you miss, I’ll have another shot.”As the snake, though it was not likely to attack us, might injure other people or destroy some cattle, I took aim and fired; but I merely grazed its head, for it was a small mark to hit with a carbine. The creature then gave a hiss, as if it did not like such treatment, and whisking its tail urged its float towards the bank.“I say, Barry, the brute’s coming towards us,” cried Gerald. “I’ll have one more shot; and if I miss we’d better gallop off, for these snakes move with fearful rapidity through the grass, and this one might catch hold of us in a way we shouldn’t like.”I was glad to find that Gerald was as cautious as he was brave; and considering his advice good, I agreed to take to flight rather than risk an encounter with the serpent on dry land. I might transfix it with my lance, as Saint George did the dragon, but I had no wish to engage in combat with the terrible beast.While I was reloading my carbine Gerald fired. “Missed again!” he shouted; “now let’s gallop for it,—the brute’s in earnest, and will have us if he can!”We turned our horses’ heads, and digging our spurs into their flanks, left the serpent, should it land, to search for us in vain.After going some distance we pulled rein and looked back, but as we could nowhere see it, we concluded that, not discovering us on the shore, it had continued its voyage to wherever it was bound.“I don’t care for human foes, or for any wild animals, but these snakes are my detestation,” said Gerald. “The boa and anaconda, and the big tree-snake, are bad enough; but there are others which, on account of their bite, are still worse. There is one called the aques, seldom more than eight or ten feet long, which is the most savage creature imaginable; and its fangs are so deadly that a person seldom lives more than a few hours after being bitten. Not only will the creature spring out upon a passer-by, but it will follow him to a considerable distance, and then fly at his throat and kill him,—unless he has a long stick to defend himself. The Indians and blacks are, with good reason, mortally afraid of the aques. I have often seen them, but never had a fight with one; though I shouldn’t care about it, provided I was armed with a long, tough stick.”I confessed that I should not wish to make the near acquaintance of so terrible a reptile; but, young as he was, Gerald had shot a jaguar and a puma (on each occasion while quite alone), and several smaller wild animals—such as black bears, boars, peccaries, and tiger-cats. He had numerous trophies of his skill to exhibit. No wonder that Tim was proud of him. He had greatly the advantage of me as a sportsman; but, though our father and mother had done their best to instruct him, he was sadly behind-hand in general knowledge and book-learning, such as I had had the opportunity of gaining at school. Notwithstanding this, we got on very well together; and there was no fear, I hoped, of our ever falling out. He looked up to me as superior to him in many points, and I regarded him with admiration for his courage and hardihood and excellent temper.We had proceeded for some way along the banks of the lake, when we caught sight of a boat in the distance, apparently crossing to reach a point ahead of us. We could distinguish four people in the boat, which came on rather slowly. This was accounted for when we made out several horses swimming in the water astern. The lake was bordered by a fringe of reeds, which in some places grew some distance into the water, over which water-fowl of various species winged their flight,—while we observed several pink-tinted flamingoes stalking with long legs in the shallows: and as we were watching the boat, a large flight of these beautiful birds came swooping along through the air.Being curious to know who was in the boat, we rode slowly on towards the landing-place, from whence, Gerald told me, the road led past the end of the lake to our house. As we reached the spot the boat approached; and looking at the only passenger it contained, I at once recognised the countenance of Dr Stutterheim, while his canine friend Jumbo was standing in the bow of the boat. “What, doctor! is that you?” I shouted out.“Ah, my young friend, I am very glad to see you,” he exclaimed, standing up and waving his hand. “I am coming to take advantage of your invitation. But I will tell you all about it when I get on shore.”In another minute the boat touched the bank; when the doctor, leaping on dry ground, dragged two of his horses out of the water by the long reins which secured them—a black man, whom I found to be his attendant, leading the third. Shaking hands warmly with the doctor, I introduced Gerald, while Jumbo acknowledged me as an acquaintance by leaping up and energetically whisking his tail. The boatmen then assisted in loading the baggage-animals with several chests the doctor had brought; and having paid the men, he dismissed them, and mounted his horse.“Now, Heliogabalus, follow me; and see that none of the baggage falls off, you black villain,” said the doctor.The black, having examined the thongs which secured the baggage, climbed up on the back of one of the animals, and followed us as we rode on.“I sometimes call him Heliogabalus,” said the doctor; “but he is generally known by the name of Gab, which is a more convenient appellation for ordinary use. I picked him up on the road to Santa Fé. I have no great faith in his honesty; but as I wanted an attendant, I engaged him—though I strongly suspect he is a runaway, and very likely may be reclaimed by his owner.”“I don’t admire him for his beauty,” I answered. “Now tell me, doctor, to what happy circumstance are we indebted for the pleasure of seeing you so soon?”“Simply because I found it dangerous to remain longer in Santa Fé,” he answered. “I got no practice,—or rather no payment from my patients; and I thought it very probable that I should be led out and shot by the Spaniards on suspicion of being a Liberal, as was the case with many unfortunate people while I was there. I determined, therefore, to continue my journey through the country, and gain a further knowledge of its natural history and productions,—keeping, if possible, out of the way of the combatants. I should have preferred travelling in more peaceable times; but, as life is short, I might not have an opportunity were I to defer my travels till the Spaniards are driven out of the country and peace is restored.”Of course I told him that, under any circumstances, we were very glad to see him; and it at once occurred to me, that should our captive Indian be still alive, the doctor might by his superior skill assist to cure him.“I have a grand remedy, which, if he has still some breath in his body, is almost sure to succeed,” he answered.“What is it?” I asked.“To let nature take its course,” he replied. “Perhaps your friends have been doctoring him overmuch; but I shall judge when I see him.”It was late when we reached our house, and my father, to whom I had before described the doctor, gave him a hearty welcome.I was thankful to hear that the Indian was still alive, though in a very weak state; so the doctor was at once taken in to see him. Having examined his wound and felt his pulse, he observed,—“I see all about it. We will give him stimulants, which will set the machine agoing. You have been afraid of fever, and have kept him too low. I will answer for it that in a few days he will be ready to perform his war-dance and flourish his scalping-knife with as much energy as ever.”Norah, who heard this remark, assured the doctor that she believed his patient had become perfectly civilised, mild, and gentle.“Oh yes, while he is in this house and in your presence, young lady; but let him get back to his old haunts among his savage companions, and he will cut throats with as much zest as ever,” replied the doctor.At the supper-table my father inquired what news the doctor brought from Bogotà.“Judging from the cruelties inflicted on their prisoners, the Spaniards know that they are losing ground,” he answered. “It is bad enough when they shoot men taken in arms; but the day before I left I witnessed a sight which made my blood boil with indignation—and I am not apt to feel such sensations, I assure you. A young lady, it appears, residing in the city, was accused of favouring the patriot cause, and of giving information to its leaders—of being a spy, in fact. A letter she had written to Bolivar was stopped, and the bearer confessed that it had been intrusted to him to deliver, by her. She was immediately arrested and brought before the judge. She was young and beautiful—very beautiful indeed, I assure you—and I should have thought that her appearance alone would have softened the heart of the greatest tyrant. I expected to hear her plead her innocence with tears in her eyes, imploring for mercy; but instead, she stood calm and unmoved, and boldly acknowledged herself a patriot, and ready to die, if required, so that she might know her beloved country would gain its freedom. Not one among those collected at the trial dared to utter a word in her favour: she was condemned to die, and was forthwith led out to undergo the sentence just pronounced. She bowed her head proudly, not a limb trembling, not a tear dropping from her eye. It was granted her, as a favour, that she should be shot, on account of her rank and the high estimation in which she was held. A priest was sent for; but she refused his services, observing that she had counted the cost, and had made full preparation for the fate which awaited her should she be discovered—her only regret being that she could no longer serve the cause in which she gloried. ‘Do you leave no one behind you who will mourn your loss?’ asked her military judge, with cruel irony in his tone; for it was known that she was engaged to marry a young and handsome colonel of the Republican army.”“Who was she?” I exclaimed eagerly, my heart sinking as I heard the doctor say this; “what was her name?”“Donna Paola Salabriata,” he answered. “Without being allowed to take a last farewell of her friends, or to communicate with any one, she was led out into the great square, followed by a party of soldiers,” continued the doctor, not observing my agitation. “She entreated as a favour that her eyes might not be bound; and facing her executioners, she stood with her arms crossed on her fair bosom, without for a moment exhibiting the slightest fear. I could not have believed that any woman would have shown courage so undaunted, and yet be so gentle and modest in all her actions. Stoical and indifferent as I am, I could scarcely refrain from shouting ‘To the rescue!’ and rushing forward to preserve her; but I remembered in time that I should certainly be shot did I make the attempt. And so, rooted to the spot, and feeling as if I were turning into stone, I waited till the fatal word should be given. Could any being in the form of man, as he beheld that young creature in all her maiden beauty, utter that word? Could those swarthy soldiers, savage as they looked, pull a trigger to deprive her of life? Yes! and the officer—who perhaps was a husband, perhaps a father—in a loud voice, which sounded to me like the shriek of a demon, gave the order to fire. Then came the rattle of musketry and a cloud of smoke; and the fair young girl, pierced by a dozen wounds, sank lifeless on the ground. The officer advanced to ascertain that she was dead, followed by the soldiers, to plunge their bayonets into her had she shown any signs of life. But death had been merciful; and the still lovely corpse—for not a shot had struck her countenance—was placed on a bier, and carried away for interment.”As the doctor finished his thrilling narrative, unable longer to restrain myself, I burst into tears, at the thought of one so young, so lovely, and so devoted to a noble cause, having been thus cruelly put to death. My heart bled, too, for young Colonel Acosta. I reflected on the agony he must endure, the bitter desire for vengeance which must animate his bosom. I little fancied at the time that he was my cousin, and that I should be by his side on the field of battle when, in the hour of victory, he cast his last fond look at the miniature of the lovely girl whom he had hoped one day to make his bride, ere she was foully murdered by those who were now about to be driven for ever from the land. But I anticipate events.The account we had heard excited feelings of grief and indignation in all our family. Norah was weeping bitterly; she had known Donna Paola. Even had she not known her, she would have wept at the tale, and wished, as I did, to aid in driving our tyrants from the land. I suspect that had my worthy schoolmaster been present, his sympathies would have been with us, and he would not have advised me to remain neutral in the struggle. But I must quit the subject; I cannot, even at the present day, speak of it without a choking sensation rising in my bosom.The doctor looked surprised at the effect his narrative had produced; and he expressed his regret that he should have spoken of her, when I told him that I had but lately met Donna Paola.“Now we will talk of something else,” he said. “Your brother seems to be a great sportsman for one so young, Mr Barry. I hope that he will assist me in obtaining specimens of natural history, and enable me to gain a further knowledge of the habits of the quadrupeds and quadrumana, and of the feathered tribes, of this region.”“I shall be very happy to accompany you, doctor,—either into the forests, or over the plains, or up the mountains, or on the shores of the lakes,—whenever you wish to go,” said Gerald.“I should be ready to go to-morrow; but I must not neglect my patient,” answered the doctor. “And he will require my care for a few days; and trust me, I will do my best to cure him.”The rest of the evening was spent in talking of our proposed shooting-excursion.Some days elapsed, however, before we could set out. The doctor was most attentive to the wounded Indian, who was now evidently recovering under his superintendence. Still, he seemed to regard Norah as his chief nurse; and though he hesitated to take what the doctor prescribed for him from any one else, he received it willingly from her hands.At last the doctor pronounced him convalescent, and declared that he no longer needed his care. “And so, my young friends,” he said, turning to us, one evening while we sat at supper, “we will lose no more time, out set off immediately. Life is short, remember. ‘Carpe diem’ should be the motto of all who desire to gain information.”I agreed to accompany the doctor and Gerald; and before retiring to rest that night we made arrangements. Tim, also, on hearing of our plan, begged to go—being afraid that Gerald would get into some scrape.The doctor of course intended to take Jumbo. I asked him if Gab was to go also.“I have not tried him yet, and I think it is possible, if I put a gun into his hands, that he might shoot me instead of a jaguar, should one appear before us,” he replied.I confess I thought that possible, for I did not particularly like the appearance of Mr Heliogabalus.My father employed a number of blacks on his estate, as did my uncle; for they found them far more trustworthy and industrious than the so-called Christianised natives. Gab soon made himself at home among his fellow-blacks, but they from the first looked upon him with some degree of suspicion, for which I could not account; they very probably had more insight into his character than either his master or I had.We started early the next morning, with a small quantity of provisions,—consisting chiefly of flour and biscuits,—a pot in which to boil our cocoa, and some cups to drink it out of; some condiments, such as pepper and salt; and plenty of powder and shot. We expected to kill sufficient game to supply ourselves with substantial food. We were all mounted, as we could leg-strap our horses while we shot, or leave them under charge of a black servant, who accompanied us with a sumpter-horse to carry our larger game, as also the skins of any animals the doctor might wish to preserve. We agreed to camp out for a couple of nights, and then return home.I must not stop to describe the numerous birds we saw on the lake along the shores of which we took our way—the flamingoes, spoonbills, herons, and several varieties of water-fowl. Among others, we saw some little herons as white as snow, which the doctor assured me were great friends of the alligators. Before long we caught sight of a number of these saurians lying on a bank in the sun; and while we were watching them, several of the beautiful birds perched on their backs, and went walking composedly along, as if they mistook them for trunks of trees. The alligators were much smaller than those I had seen in the Magdalena, and both Gerald and Tim assured us that they never attacked human beings.Having left our horses in charge of our black servant, Chumbo, we set off to get a shot at the wild-fowl, some of which the doctor wanted to stuff, while we agreed they would also serve us for dinner. The reeds being very high, we soon lost sight of each other. I had gone some way, supposing that I was at a distance from my companions, and was on the point of firing at some wild-fowl which rose in the air, when, just close to the water, I heard the doctor shout out in a voice of terror, which I was sure he would not have done without good cause. I rushed forward as fast as I could through the reeds, when what was my horror to see an enormous anaconda, capable of swallowing a foal or a young calf at a gulp, with its head raised within a few feet of his shoulders, and apparently about to seize him in its deadly embrace. Either his gun was unloaded, or terror prevented him from using it.Hastily ramming a bullet down my fowling-piece, I raised it to fire, hoping earnestly that I might take good aim. My worthy friend’s life depended on mydoing: so, for in another instant the monster might envelop him in its huge folds. I shall not forget in a hurry the look of horror depicted in the worthy doctor’s countenance. Taking steady aim, I fired, and the bullet happily went crashing through the anaconda’s head. Though the creature was not killed, its head dropped, and the doctor had time to spring forward and escape its fangs, which almost grazed his arm. I shouted to him while I was reloading my gun. In a moment he was himself again, and imitating my example, got his weapon ready to fire down the serpent’s throat should it again lift its head. It quickly gave him an opportunity; and the second shot had the effect of making it roll over and over in a most extraordinary fashion.I was glad to keep out of its way, and so was the doctor, whom, by making a circuit, I rejoined.“I hope this marsh is not frequented by other snakes of the same species,” he observed. “If it is, I propose that we beat a retreat while we can do so with whole bones. But I should like to have that fellow’s skin; it would be a prize worth possessing. However, I don’t feel inclined to approach it nearer.”“Nor do I; but probably in a few minutes it will be dead,” I said.“Not quite sure of that,” replied the doctor; “serpents have wonderful vitality. But if we could get near enough to cut off its tail, we should soon kill it.”I undertook to make the attempt. Having a sharp axe in my belt, while the doctor stood ready to fire should it raise its head, I rushed forward and severed the tail about six feet from the end. In an instant its movements ceased, and its coils gradually relaxed.“Bravo, Barry! The piece you’ve cut off would make a good-sized serpent of itself,” shouted the doctor, holding it up. “If we could skin it, we might carry it home.”While we were speaking, Jumbo, who had been at a distance, came jumping up, and barked furiously at the dead serpent. I rather suspect that, having seen the creature, he had bolted—not unwisely, for it would have swallowed him at a gulp. I hinted this to the doctor, who at first repudiated the idea, but acknowledged that Jumbo was more experienced with regard to alligators than anacondas.Our shots, and shouts had been heard by Gerald and Tim, who now appeared, and congratulated the doctor on his escape.“I owe it to my friend Barry’s coolness and courage,” he answered. “I shall ever be grateful to him;” and he described how I had shot the anaconda.The doctor seemed so anxious to have the skin that we all set to work and cut it off, together with the head. To me it was a disagreeable operation, as I was unaccustomed to it; but the rest of the party took it as a matter of course. Having scraped it as clean as we could, we bore it in triumph to where we had left the horses. They snorted as they saw it, and the animal on whose back we fastened it did not seem much to like its burden. Our negro servant gazed on it with horror and astonishment, declaring that he had never seen so large a serpent.We agreed that, as there might be others in the neighbourhood, it would be wise not to remain among the reeds, especially as Gerald and Tim had shot as many wild-fowl as we required for supper. We accordingly proceeded on towards a forest which bordered the bank of a stream running into the lake; and here we intended to encamp for the night.
We were now approaching my father’s house, and I recognised several points in the surrounding scenery. The northern end of the lake came into view, bordered by lofty palms and other graceful trees, and I remembered well the shape of the mountains which rose above it.
Tim kept a watchful eye on our prisoner, who, though badly wounded, might still, he thought it probable, attempt to make his escape. He had not spoken as yet, but I observed his dark eye wandering on every side, either in the hope of rescue, or as if considering in what direction he should fly, should he be able to free himself from the thongs by which he was secured to the mule. I was surprised that his followers should have deserted him in the cowardly way they had done. He was a fine-looking savage, with features more refined and regular than those of the Indians I had hitherto seen. But his countenance was sullen; and, from his resolute aspect, he probably expected that he would meet with the fate the Spaniards invariably inflicted on their captives, and be immediately put to death on our arrival at our destination. I suspect that he was in ignorance as to who we were, and supposed that we belonged to a party of patriots; and if so, he must have been surprised on discovering the smallness of our numbers.
Tim led his mule, constantly looking back to assure himself that he had not succeeded in loosening the thongs which secured his arms and legs. At the same time Tim continued talking to me, and pointing out various objects which I thought I remembered.
At length he exclaimed,—“Sure, Masther Barry, there’s the masther’s house; and mighty glad they’ll all be to see you safe;” and he pointed to a good-sized house with a broad verandah in front, shaded by trees, and standing in the midst of a large, well-irrigated garden. Though smaller than I had supposed, I at once knew the house to be that in which I was born. “And beyond it there, higher up the hill, you see Mr Concannan’s mansion—Castle Concannan, we call it, you’ll remember—and a pretty dacent castle it is, with its high, thick walls and courtyard; it would take a pretty strong earthquake to shake it down. He has made it stronger still, by blocking up some of the lower windows.”
In our eagerness to reach home, we pushed on as rapidly as our mules could move. We were yet at a little distance, when, riding on ahead, I caught sight of the figure of a black woman holding up a chubby little boy in her arms. I felt sure that he must be my youngest brother,—the baby, as he was called,—whom I had never seen, and that the woman must be our nurse, Josefa. She gazed at me, doubting whether the tall young man she saw approaching could be the little boy who had gone away but a few years before. The baby, who was a good bouncing one, shook his rattle, and seemed satisfied that I was some one he ought to expect.
Josefa knew me the moment I uttered her name; and as I sprang from my mule, she and little Denis, who was named after our uncle, threw their arms round my neck. We then hastened on towards the front gate, Josefa shrieking out in her delight,—“They are come! they are come! It is Señor Barry!” Her voice was heard at the house; and my father and mother, with my sister Norah and the rest of the family, guessing who we were, hurried out to welcome us.
Our first greetings over, my father expressed his satisfaction at my appearance.
“You have benefited greatly by your stay in the old country, Barry,” he said; “and your journey here seems to have done you no harm.”
My mother pressed me to her heart; and my sweet sister Norah kissed my cheek again and again, gazing at me as sisters are apt to do at a brother of whom they are proud. I am sure I felt proud of her, and wondered that all the young men in the neighbourhood were not dying with love for her; but perhaps they had too much to do in fighting for the liberty of their country.
As may be supposed, my father soon made inquiries about our captive. Uncle Denis explained how we had caught him, and suggested that he should be placed in a strong room, under a proper guard, where his wound could be tended without the risk of his making his escape. My father observed that he had a small unoccupied room at the back of the house, which would serve as a prison; and to this our captive was at once conducted.
As there was no surgeon, either English or Spanish, living within many miles, my uncle undertook to dress the Indian’s wound, and to do his best to cure him.
A bed was brought into the room, on which he was placed. Uncle Denis then commenced his operations.
After gently washing the wound, he discovered to his satisfaction that the ball had passed through the Indian’s body, and that he should therefore not have to attempt its extraction. This greatly facilitated his task. My mother having brought some linen bandages and a healing salve, the wound was carefully bound up. The Indian, who did not once wince, though he must have been suffering great pain, gazed with a look of surprise at my uncle and the other bystanders, and was evidently wondering why so much care was taken of him. My sister Norah then brought in a cooling draught, which she offered to him; and speaking first in Spanish, and then in the language generally used by the Indians in the neighbourhood, advised him to take it, assuring him that it would be beneficial. He, without hesitation, swallowed the draught; and now speaking for the first time, expressed his gratitude for the attention bestowed on him.
“We are sorry that you were wounded, and our wish is that you may recover,” said Norah, in a pitying tone. “You must rest now; and if you will give your word that you will not attempt to escape, or to injure those who are guarding you, your arms will be left at liberty.”
The Indian hesitated, and was apparently considering the consequences which might ensue should he give the promise required.
“Tell him that we intend to keep him a prisoner only till his wound is healed, and that we will not now trouble him with questions; but we shall by-and-by wish to learn who he is, and why he attacked your uncle and Barry,” said my father.
Norah repeated this, for having learned the Indian tongue from her nurse, she spoke it better than any one else in the house; no one, indeed, would have been so likely to calm the suspicions of our captive, and to gain his confidence, as she was. “We do not wish you to speak now,” she added; “but to-morrow or next day, when you are stronger, you will tell us what we seek to know. And now, will you give me the promise we ask? It will be for your benefit; and you know how you would have been treated had you fallen into the hands of the Spaniards.”
“I promise to remain quiet as a child on its mother’s breast,” answered the Indian. “Kanimapo never breaks his word; and to you, who have treated him so mercifully, he will be faithful.”
On this assurance, in which my father and uncle believed that they could trust, the Indian’s limbs were left unfettered; but, at the same time, they thought it prudent to place a man well-armed with pistols and a dagger at the door, and carefully to bar the window on the outside, so that the captive, even in possession of his full strength, would have been unable to make his escape.
My father, with Norah, always accompanied by another person, visited him several times during the evening. Notwithstanding all the care bestowed on him, he appeared to be suffering much, though, Indianlike, he endeavoured not to exhibit his feelings; but his eye brightened whenever it fell on Norah, and he seemed to look upon her as his good genius. Each time he showed his gratitude by a few words, or by the expression of his countenance when unable to speak from pain.
We had a very happy evening. My parents were glad to have me back safe, and, as may be supposed, we had a great deal to talk about.
My young brother, Gerald, was fully as fine a little fellow as Tim had described him. He constantly came up to my side, and brought various articles to show me—stuffed birds, and the skins of animals he had shot—and as soon as he could he dragged me away to exhibit his gun, and his canoe, and several animals he had tamed. Kathleen, my second sister, was like Norah, but on a smaller scale; and Mary, the third, was a jolly little girl, fat and chubby as a rosy apple, in spite of the climate in which she was born; while the baby, Denis, was a merry chap, who took to me at once, though he might not exactly have comprehended our relationship.
Our uncle remained with us during the night, that he might attend to our wounded prisoner, though anxious to proceed to his brother’s house. He was also unwilling to let Candela go back alone, lest the Indians who attacked us might be still prowling about, and should murder him.
“I have no fear on that score, señor,” he answered; “I know the country better than they do, and can easily make my way without being discovered. They would not, either, willingly attack the señor padre’s servant; and so by daybreak to-morrow I will depart, as my master will be anxious to hear of your arrival.”
We sent many messages to the kind padre; and my father especially invited him to come to our house, should he at any time find himself threatened by the Spaniards on account of his Liberal principles. His cloth certainly would not save him, as they had already shot several padres who had sided with the patriots; the greater number of the priests, however, professed to be loyal subjects of the King of Spain, and supported his cause. One might have supposed that the Spaniards, after all they had suffered at the hands of Napoleon’s generals, would have been inclined to treat their fellow-countrymen in their colonies with leniency; but, on the contrary, the only lesson they appeared to have learned had taught them to be more cruel and tyrannical than their conquerors.
Among the various friends about whom my uncle made inquiries was our relative, Don Fernando Serrano, whose estate was a few leagues off, though it abutted upon that of Mr Concannan, which extended a considerable distance to the southward. Properties in that country are of great extent, and a visitor to Don Serrano’s house had to travel a dozen leagues through his estate before reaching it. He was not only a wealthy man, but greatly esteemed by all who knew him. He was supposed to entertain strong Liberal principles, but, on account of his age and health, had taken no part in the struggle going forward. My mother’s and Uncle Denis’s father, I may remark, had married his sister; he was therefore my great-uncle, and his children were my cousins. Our families, too, had always been on the most friendly terms, and my father and mother had paid frequent visits at his house. His eldest son, Don Carlos, who was married and had a large family, lived with him. Two of Don Carlos’ sons and one of his brothers had joined the insurgents, but, not to commit Don Fernando, had assumed different names; though we knew that both Don Fernando and Don Carlos afforded much pecuniary assistance to the Liberals. From the precautions they had taken, they believed that they were not suspected by the Royalists, and at all events they had escaped being molested.
Their chief cause of anxiety arose, however, from the hostile behaviour of a tribe of Indians, the Barawas, who inhabited the shores of the river Guaviare, falling into the Orinoco. They belonged to the great Carib family, and had many years before been driven by their white invaders from their native territory on the coast to the eastward, and had here settled themselves; retaining, however, their warlike disposition and many of their ancient manners and customs. Barawa is a Carib name for the sea; and they consequently took it, as was supposed, from their ancestors having lived on the borders of the ocean, or having crossed it from the lands they once inhabited. We had little doubt that our prisoner belonged to that tribe, and was probably a chief among them.
My father told us of a report he had heard, of Spanish emissaries having visited them for the purpose of inducing them to take up arms against the Republicans; and should such be the case, the capture of our prisoner, Kanimapo, might prove a fortunate circumstance, as we should hold him as a hostage for their good behaviour. The next morning, however, there appeared great probability that our hopes would be disappointed; for on my uncle’s visiting him he found him much worse. As the day advanced, Uncle Denis expressed his fears that the Indian would die, notwithstanding all the care bestowed on him.
Day after day, however, the wounded man lingered on. My father and Norah were assiduous in their attentions to him; and he refused to take such medicines as we possessed from any other hands but my sister’s. There was now no chance of his escaping, for he was too weak to walk; indeed, he could scarcely sit up in his bed. Still, the Indians possess wonderful vitality and endurance, which enable them to recover from wounds of the body; but they succumb very quickly to European diseases. Though apparently growing weaker, Kanimapo still clung to existence. He seemed grateful, too, for the attentions shown him; but except having mentioned his name, he had not told us who he was, nor had he given any reason for attacking our party.
Uncle Denis had gone home; and soon after Gerald and I paid a visit at his house. We then went on to that of our relation, Don Fernando Serrano, where we were received by him and my cousins with the greatest kindness. They were interested in hearing of all my adventures, and especially in the accounts I gave them of our capturing the Indian; but they were unable to conjecture who he was. I was delighted with all the family, they were so gentle and loving to each other, and so kind to me. What also surprised me much, was to find that Don Serrano regularly read the Bible and had prayers with his family. Such a thing was at that time probably unheard-of in South America. They did not speak unkindly of the nearest padre, who occasionally visited them, but they evidently held him in no respect.
“He is a poor ignorant man,” observed Don Carlos, “a blind leader of the blind; he expressed his horror at finding we read the Bible, and urged us to give up the practice, as one most dangerous to our souls. Now, it is very evident to me that from the Bible alone do we know anything about God, or how He desires men to live; and therefore, unless we read the Bible, we must remain ignorant of Him and His will, or obtain the knowledge second-hand from one who might make grievous mistakes in interpreting it,—as Padre Bobo would most certainly do.”
I suspected from this (what I afterwards found to be the case) that my relatives were really Protestants, though they did not openly declare themselves to be so; that their family had held these opinions from the time when many of the noblest in Spain had espoused them. Their ancestor had providentially escaped the doom which the horrible Inquisition had inflicted on the greater number of those who had become Protestants: having made his way to America with his wife, he had settled in this then remote region; but dreading persecution, he had not attempted to promulgate his opinions beyond his own family. My maternal grandfather, when he married Donna Teresina Serrano, had, through her instruction, become a Protestant. Thus, in the heart of South America, those principles were cherished which, as was fondly hoped, would spread around them when liberty should be established among the population.
I suspect it was owing to the machinations of the priests that the Barawa Indians had proved so hostile to one whose wish and aim was always to benefit them. That such was the case, Don Fernando could not clearly ascertain; but it was known that Padre Bobo had made several visits to the Indians, for the purpose, as he professed, of converting them to Christianity. He had managed, indeed, to induce some of them to allow him to baptise their children, but they remained as utterly ignorant of the Truth as before. (What I have here mentioned, I heard from my own family before Gerald and I set off to visit our friends.) As is often the case in Spanish families of wealth, there were three generations living in harmony together, and I was somewhat puzzled at first to distinguish between my numerous relatives. Gerald, who knew them all, helped me, but still I was frequently making mistakes. Among them was a very beautiful girl, whom I at first took to be one of my cousins, and whom I addressed accordingly; but after I had been there a couple of days, she laughingly told me that, though she should be very happy to be a relative, she was not so in reality: that her name was Isabella Monterola, and that she was a ward of Don Fernando. Then suddenly changing her tone from gay to grave, she said,—“I am happy here, and they are all very kind; but I cannot forget my poor father, who was murdered by the cruel Spaniards because he loved liberty and hated tyranny; and, alas! my mother, who was compelled to witness his execution, died of grief. They would have shot her too, had she lived, as they did other women, without remorse; and me, perhaps, because I was their child, had I not been so young but I was rescued from prison by Juan Serrano, and brought here secretly. The Spaniards did not know who carried me off, and therefore could not send to bring me back, or they would have done so. You have not been long enough in the country to have heard one-tenth part of the horrible cruelties those Gothos have inflicted on our people.”
“But you, Donna Isabella, are Spanish, and so are all our friends here,” I said, after having expressed my horror of the atrocities which had been committed in the country.
“I am a child of Venezuela,” she answered proudly. “I disown the name of Spaniard; do not, Señor Barry, ever call me one again. We speak the language of Spain, it is true, and boast our descent from noble ancestors who conquered the country in which we live; but we have for ever severed our connection with the land from which we came, because Spaniards desire to enslave us.”
I had considered Donna Paola a heroine, but as I listened to Donna Isabella I thought her a still more interesting one; and she was equally anxious to enlist recruits in the cause of liberty.
I had not forgotten the advice General Bermudez had given me; and I found my young cousins were in the habit of exercising themselves daily in the use of the lance, as well as with firearms and swords. Every morning they went out for some hours on horseback, and practised on a level meadow at some little distance from the house; and I soon became as expert as any of them. The ends of our lances were not only headless, but covered with a soft pad, so that we could charge at each other without much risk of serious injury; and one day, in a sham fight, I unhorsed all my opponents in succession. As I rode up to where the ladies—who had come out to witness our sports—were standing, they greeted me with loud applause, and Donna Isabella especially showed her satisfaction by the bright smile she gave me and the eagerness with which she waved her scarf.
We had occasionally, also, real sport in hunting wild boars in the part of the forest frequented by those animals. The first day I went out I killed a boar, after narrowly escaping, by a dexterous turn of my horse, being killed myself. We killed a bear, too, and a puma, or South American lion—which, next to the jaguar, is the most savage animal in that continent; and I had the satisfaction of presenting the skin to Donna Isabella.
But our visit was at last to come to an end. Very unwillingly, so far as I was concerned, did we bid our friends good-bye, and mount our horses to commence our journey.
“I shall expect to hear great things of you, Señor Barry,” said Donna Isabella, as I bade her farewell. “The next campaign undertaken by Bolivar will, it is hoped, complete the overthrow of the Spaniards, I am told.”
“The noble sentiments you hold will inspire me, Donna Isabella,” I answered; “and if you will give me that feather from your hat, I will ever wear it in battle, and promise that it shall never be seen in flight.”
She, smiling, instantly gave it me, and I fixed it securely in my hat. We were very young, and I had of late become more romantic than I had ever before been.
At last we had to ride forward, two of our cousins accompanying us to the borders of the estate. As we were well-mounted, instead of taking the rougher but shorter road across the spurs of the mountains, we had settled to strike down into the plain, where we could gallop for a considerable distance, and then, keeping by the borders of a long lake, return towards our own home. Gerald, who knew the way well, said there were no insuperable difficulties to overcome, though we might have to swim a stream or two. “But that,” as he observed, “is nothing when one is accustomed to it; and you, Barry, will have many a river to cross and many a marsh to wade through, as well as mountains to climb, and hundreds of miles to gallop over the prairie, when you take service with General Bermudez.”
He was right; and I was glad to gain some experience as to the varieties of country I might have ere long to traverse.
We were armed with pistols, carbines, and lances, though Gerald’s arm was not strong enough to wield the latter with much effect; but he could skilfully use his carbine when going at full gallop. We trusted, however, to the speed of our horses, should we come in sight of any marauding party of the enemy; and Gerald declared that three, or even four or five, horsemen would not dare to attack us. He was indeed the most spirited little fellow I ever met, and utterly fearless.
As we galloped along we kept a look-out over the plain for any horsemen who might appear.
“I only wish two or three would come!” cried Gerald. “We would soon make the survivors turn to the right-about; for I am pretty sure we should kill a couple at least.”
“I hope that we shall not have anything of the sort to do,” I answered. “I am perfectly ready to fight, when necessary, in a right cause, such as I believe that to be in which our friends are engaged; but it is dreadful to contemplate killing people unless stern necessity compels us. Warfare is terrible work at the best, and the butcheries of which I have heard in this country show too well what men are capable of when their passions are excited. For my part, though I have seen but little of fighting as yet, I wish that peace were established.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t do for a guerilla!” exclaimed Gerald, in a somewhat contemptuous tone.
“I shall not fight with less determination because I wish for peace,” I continued, not minding him. “The only way to secure it is to beat our enemies; and that I will do my best to accomplish, when I have the opportunity.”
“That I am sure you will!” exclaimed Gerald, sorry for his remark; for though impulsive, and in the habit of blurting out anything that came uppermost, he was ever ready to acknowledge himself in the wrong.
We galloped on for some leagues, stopping occasionally to give our horses breath, and then reached the borders of the lake I spoke of—which extended for some distance parallel with the foot of the mountains, and was fed by several streams which flowed from them. It was also connected, by another stream, with the smaller lake below our father’s house. Out of it likewise flowed a river of some size towards the east.
We had forded two of these smaller streams without difficulty, when we came to a wider and deeper one.
“We shall have to swim for a little distance,” said Gerald; “but our horses will perhaps carry us over on their backs. However, if we find that our weight is too much for them, we must slip off; only we must remember to hold on tight by their manes, and keep at their shoulders, to avoid the unpleasant pats they might otherwise give us with their fore hoofs. And, by-the-by, it will be as well, while we are on their backs, to keep our feet as high up as we can, lest an alligator should take a fancy to our toes; though, as the brutes are of no great size, we haven’t much to fear from them.”
I thought Gerald was joking; but he was perfectly in earnest, though the danger we were to run did not in the slightest degree trouble him.
I followed his advice when, after wading a short distance, my horse began to swim. Shortly afterwards, as its body was completely immersed, I slipped off its back, taking care to hold on to its mane, near the crupper, with one hand, while I struck out with the other. Gerald himself, being so much lighter, stuck on, and guiding his horse to a shelving part of the bank, regained the firm ground.
I was still in the water, when, looking up the stream, he shouted out to me,—“Make haste, make haste, Barry! for here comes an ugly-looking customer it would be as well not to encounter in the water.”
As may be supposed, I was making all the haste I could; for I had no fancy to remain in the river longer than necessary, with the possibility of being seized by an alligator, even though it might be one not large enough to swallow me at a gulp. I saw that Gerald was more excited than usual: as he held his horse’sbridle, he kept stamping and moving about in his eagerness. I exerted myself to the utmost, and at length had the satisfaction of finding my horse’s feet touch the shore; when I immediately scrambled on its back and rode up the bank.
“Look there!” cried Gerald; “that brute would be a more unpleasant opponent than even a big alligator.”
He pointed, as he spoke, to a huge serpent—which, I concluded, was a boa-constrictor—coiled round the broken stem of a palm-tree, and, with head erect, floating leisurely down the river.
“I only wish it would come nearer!” exclaimed Gerald. “I think I could manage to hit it and blow its head off.”
He fired as he spoke, but missed; and the serpent, turning its head, gave a hiss at us, though it did not attempt to quit its raft. From the way it moved its tail, which served as a rudder, I believe that it could easily have guided itself to the shore; and as it was big enough to have crushed not only one of us, but either of our horses, in its powerful folds, I felt especially anxious to avoid it.
Gerald quickly reloaded his weapon. “Fire, Barry—fire!” he cried out; “and if you miss, I’ll have another shot.”
As the snake, though it was not likely to attack us, might injure other people or destroy some cattle, I took aim and fired; but I merely grazed its head, for it was a small mark to hit with a carbine. The creature then gave a hiss, as if it did not like such treatment, and whisking its tail urged its float towards the bank.
“I say, Barry, the brute’s coming towards us,” cried Gerald. “I’ll have one more shot; and if I miss we’d better gallop off, for these snakes move with fearful rapidity through the grass, and this one might catch hold of us in a way we shouldn’t like.”
I was glad to find that Gerald was as cautious as he was brave; and considering his advice good, I agreed to take to flight rather than risk an encounter with the serpent on dry land. I might transfix it with my lance, as Saint George did the dragon, but I had no wish to engage in combat with the terrible beast.
While I was reloading my carbine Gerald fired. “Missed again!” he shouted; “now let’s gallop for it,—the brute’s in earnest, and will have us if he can!”
We turned our horses’ heads, and digging our spurs into their flanks, left the serpent, should it land, to search for us in vain.
After going some distance we pulled rein and looked back, but as we could nowhere see it, we concluded that, not discovering us on the shore, it had continued its voyage to wherever it was bound.
“I don’t care for human foes, or for any wild animals, but these snakes are my detestation,” said Gerald. “The boa and anaconda, and the big tree-snake, are bad enough; but there are others which, on account of their bite, are still worse. There is one called the aques, seldom more than eight or ten feet long, which is the most savage creature imaginable; and its fangs are so deadly that a person seldom lives more than a few hours after being bitten. Not only will the creature spring out upon a passer-by, but it will follow him to a considerable distance, and then fly at his throat and kill him,—unless he has a long stick to defend himself. The Indians and blacks are, with good reason, mortally afraid of the aques. I have often seen them, but never had a fight with one; though I shouldn’t care about it, provided I was armed with a long, tough stick.”
I confessed that I should not wish to make the near acquaintance of so terrible a reptile; but, young as he was, Gerald had shot a jaguar and a puma (on each occasion while quite alone), and several smaller wild animals—such as black bears, boars, peccaries, and tiger-cats. He had numerous trophies of his skill to exhibit. No wonder that Tim was proud of him. He had greatly the advantage of me as a sportsman; but, though our father and mother had done their best to instruct him, he was sadly behind-hand in general knowledge and book-learning, such as I had had the opportunity of gaining at school. Notwithstanding this, we got on very well together; and there was no fear, I hoped, of our ever falling out. He looked up to me as superior to him in many points, and I regarded him with admiration for his courage and hardihood and excellent temper.
We had proceeded for some way along the banks of the lake, when we caught sight of a boat in the distance, apparently crossing to reach a point ahead of us. We could distinguish four people in the boat, which came on rather slowly. This was accounted for when we made out several horses swimming in the water astern. The lake was bordered by a fringe of reeds, which in some places grew some distance into the water, over which water-fowl of various species winged their flight,—while we observed several pink-tinted flamingoes stalking with long legs in the shallows: and as we were watching the boat, a large flight of these beautiful birds came swooping along through the air.
Being curious to know who was in the boat, we rode slowly on towards the landing-place, from whence, Gerald told me, the road led past the end of the lake to our house. As we reached the spot the boat approached; and looking at the only passenger it contained, I at once recognised the countenance of Dr Stutterheim, while his canine friend Jumbo was standing in the bow of the boat. “What, doctor! is that you?” I shouted out.
“Ah, my young friend, I am very glad to see you,” he exclaimed, standing up and waving his hand. “I am coming to take advantage of your invitation. But I will tell you all about it when I get on shore.”
In another minute the boat touched the bank; when the doctor, leaping on dry ground, dragged two of his horses out of the water by the long reins which secured them—a black man, whom I found to be his attendant, leading the third. Shaking hands warmly with the doctor, I introduced Gerald, while Jumbo acknowledged me as an acquaintance by leaping up and energetically whisking his tail. The boatmen then assisted in loading the baggage-animals with several chests the doctor had brought; and having paid the men, he dismissed them, and mounted his horse.
“Now, Heliogabalus, follow me; and see that none of the baggage falls off, you black villain,” said the doctor.
The black, having examined the thongs which secured the baggage, climbed up on the back of one of the animals, and followed us as we rode on.
“I sometimes call him Heliogabalus,” said the doctor; “but he is generally known by the name of Gab, which is a more convenient appellation for ordinary use. I picked him up on the road to Santa Fé. I have no great faith in his honesty; but as I wanted an attendant, I engaged him—though I strongly suspect he is a runaway, and very likely may be reclaimed by his owner.”
“I don’t admire him for his beauty,” I answered. “Now tell me, doctor, to what happy circumstance are we indebted for the pleasure of seeing you so soon?”
“Simply because I found it dangerous to remain longer in Santa Fé,” he answered. “I got no practice,—or rather no payment from my patients; and I thought it very probable that I should be led out and shot by the Spaniards on suspicion of being a Liberal, as was the case with many unfortunate people while I was there. I determined, therefore, to continue my journey through the country, and gain a further knowledge of its natural history and productions,—keeping, if possible, out of the way of the combatants. I should have preferred travelling in more peaceable times; but, as life is short, I might not have an opportunity were I to defer my travels till the Spaniards are driven out of the country and peace is restored.”
Of course I told him that, under any circumstances, we were very glad to see him; and it at once occurred to me, that should our captive Indian be still alive, the doctor might by his superior skill assist to cure him.
“I have a grand remedy, which, if he has still some breath in his body, is almost sure to succeed,” he answered.
“What is it?” I asked.
“To let nature take its course,” he replied. “Perhaps your friends have been doctoring him overmuch; but I shall judge when I see him.”
It was late when we reached our house, and my father, to whom I had before described the doctor, gave him a hearty welcome.
I was thankful to hear that the Indian was still alive, though in a very weak state; so the doctor was at once taken in to see him. Having examined his wound and felt his pulse, he observed,—“I see all about it. We will give him stimulants, which will set the machine agoing. You have been afraid of fever, and have kept him too low. I will answer for it that in a few days he will be ready to perform his war-dance and flourish his scalping-knife with as much energy as ever.”
Norah, who heard this remark, assured the doctor that she believed his patient had become perfectly civilised, mild, and gentle.
“Oh yes, while he is in this house and in your presence, young lady; but let him get back to his old haunts among his savage companions, and he will cut throats with as much zest as ever,” replied the doctor.
At the supper-table my father inquired what news the doctor brought from Bogotà.
“Judging from the cruelties inflicted on their prisoners, the Spaniards know that they are losing ground,” he answered. “It is bad enough when they shoot men taken in arms; but the day before I left I witnessed a sight which made my blood boil with indignation—and I am not apt to feel such sensations, I assure you. A young lady, it appears, residing in the city, was accused of favouring the patriot cause, and of giving information to its leaders—of being a spy, in fact. A letter she had written to Bolivar was stopped, and the bearer confessed that it had been intrusted to him to deliver, by her. She was immediately arrested and brought before the judge. She was young and beautiful—very beautiful indeed, I assure you—and I should have thought that her appearance alone would have softened the heart of the greatest tyrant. I expected to hear her plead her innocence with tears in her eyes, imploring for mercy; but instead, she stood calm and unmoved, and boldly acknowledged herself a patriot, and ready to die, if required, so that she might know her beloved country would gain its freedom. Not one among those collected at the trial dared to utter a word in her favour: she was condemned to die, and was forthwith led out to undergo the sentence just pronounced. She bowed her head proudly, not a limb trembling, not a tear dropping from her eye. It was granted her, as a favour, that she should be shot, on account of her rank and the high estimation in which she was held. A priest was sent for; but she refused his services, observing that she had counted the cost, and had made full preparation for the fate which awaited her should she be discovered—her only regret being that she could no longer serve the cause in which she gloried. ‘Do you leave no one behind you who will mourn your loss?’ asked her military judge, with cruel irony in his tone; for it was known that she was engaged to marry a young and handsome colonel of the Republican army.”
“Who was she?” I exclaimed eagerly, my heart sinking as I heard the doctor say this; “what was her name?”
“Donna Paola Salabriata,” he answered. “Without being allowed to take a last farewell of her friends, or to communicate with any one, she was led out into the great square, followed by a party of soldiers,” continued the doctor, not observing my agitation. “She entreated as a favour that her eyes might not be bound; and facing her executioners, she stood with her arms crossed on her fair bosom, without for a moment exhibiting the slightest fear. I could not have believed that any woman would have shown courage so undaunted, and yet be so gentle and modest in all her actions. Stoical and indifferent as I am, I could scarcely refrain from shouting ‘To the rescue!’ and rushing forward to preserve her; but I remembered in time that I should certainly be shot did I make the attempt. And so, rooted to the spot, and feeling as if I were turning into stone, I waited till the fatal word should be given. Could any being in the form of man, as he beheld that young creature in all her maiden beauty, utter that word? Could those swarthy soldiers, savage as they looked, pull a trigger to deprive her of life? Yes! and the officer—who perhaps was a husband, perhaps a father—in a loud voice, which sounded to me like the shriek of a demon, gave the order to fire. Then came the rattle of musketry and a cloud of smoke; and the fair young girl, pierced by a dozen wounds, sank lifeless on the ground. The officer advanced to ascertain that she was dead, followed by the soldiers, to plunge their bayonets into her had she shown any signs of life. But death had been merciful; and the still lovely corpse—for not a shot had struck her countenance—was placed on a bier, and carried away for interment.”
As the doctor finished his thrilling narrative, unable longer to restrain myself, I burst into tears, at the thought of one so young, so lovely, and so devoted to a noble cause, having been thus cruelly put to death. My heart bled, too, for young Colonel Acosta. I reflected on the agony he must endure, the bitter desire for vengeance which must animate his bosom. I little fancied at the time that he was my cousin, and that I should be by his side on the field of battle when, in the hour of victory, he cast his last fond look at the miniature of the lovely girl whom he had hoped one day to make his bride, ere she was foully murdered by those who were now about to be driven for ever from the land. But I anticipate events.
The account we had heard excited feelings of grief and indignation in all our family. Norah was weeping bitterly; she had known Donna Paola. Even had she not known her, she would have wept at the tale, and wished, as I did, to aid in driving our tyrants from the land. I suspect that had my worthy schoolmaster been present, his sympathies would have been with us, and he would not have advised me to remain neutral in the struggle. But I must quit the subject; I cannot, even at the present day, speak of it without a choking sensation rising in my bosom.
The doctor looked surprised at the effect his narrative had produced; and he expressed his regret that he should have spoken of her, when I told him that I had but lately met Donna Paola.
“Now we will talk of something else,” he said. “Your brother seems to be a great sportsman for one so young, Mr Barry. I hope that he will assist me in obtaining specimens of natural history, and enable me to gain a further knowledge of the habits of the quadrupeds and quadrumana, and of the feathered tribes, of this region.”
“I shall be very happy to accompany you, doctor,—either into the forests, or over the plains, or up the mountains, or on the shores of the lakes,—whenever you wish to go,” said Gerald.
“I should be ready to go to-morrow; but I must not neglect my patient,” answered the doctor. “And he will require my care for a few days; and trust me, I will do my best to cure him.”
The rest of the evening was spent in talking of our proposed shooting-excursion.
Some days elapsed, however, before we could set out. The doctor was most attentive to the wounded Indian, who was now evidently recovering under his superintendence. Still, he seemed to regard Norah as his chief nurse; and though he hesitated to take what the doctor prescribed for him from any one else, he received it willingly from her hands.
At last the doctor pronounced him convalescent, and declared that he no longer needed his care. “And so, my young friends,” he said, turning to us, one evening while we sat at supper, “we will lose no more time, out set off immediately. Life is short, remember. ‘Carpe diem’ should be the motto of all who desire to gain information.”
I agreed to accompany the doctor and Gerald; and before retiring to rest that night we made arrangements. Tim, also, on hearing of our plan, begged to go—being afraid that Gerald would get into some scrape.
The doctor of course intended to take Jumbo. I asked him if Gab was to go also.
“I have not tried him yet, and I think it is possible, if I put a gun into his hands, that he might shoot me instead of a jaguar, should one appear before us,” he replied.
I confess I thought that possible, for I did not particularly like the appearance of Mr Heliogabalus.
My father employed a number of blacks on his estate, as did my uncle; for they found them far more trustworthy and industrious than the so-called Christianised natives. Gab soon made himself at home among his fellow-blacks, but they from the first looked upon him with some degree of suspicion, for which I could not account; they very probably had more insight into his character than either his master or I had.
We started early the next morning, with a small quantity of provisions,—consisting chiefly of flour and biscuits,—a pot in which to boil our cocoa, and some cups to drink it out of; some condiments, such as pepper and salt; and plenty of powder and shot. We expected to kill sufficient game to supply ourselves with substantial food. We were all mounted, as we could leg-strap our horses while we shot, or leave them under charge of a black servant, who accompanied us with a sumpter-horse to carry our larger game, as also the skins of any animals the doctor might wish to preserve. We agreed to camp out for a couple of nights, and then return home.
I must not stop to describe the numerous birds we saw on the lake along the shores of which we took our way—the flamingoes, spoonbills, herons, and several varieties of water-fowl. Among others, we saw some little herons as white as snow, which the doctor assured me were great friends of the alligators. Before long we caught sight of a number of these saurians lying on a bank in the sun; and while we were watching them, several of the beautiful birds perched on their backs, and went walking composedly along, as if they mistook them for trunks of trees. The alligators were much smaller than those I had seen in the Magdalena, and both Gerald and Tim assured us that they never attacked human beings.
Having left our horses in charge of our black servant, Chumbo, we set off to get a shot at the wild-fowl, some of which the doctor wanted to stuff, while we agreed they would also serve us for dinner. The reeds being very high, we soon lost sight of each other. I had gone some way, supposing that I was at a distance from my companions, and was on the point of firing at some wild-fowl which rose in the air, when, just close to the water, I heard the doctor shout out in a voice of terror, which I was sure he would not have done without good cause. I rushed forward as fast as I could through the reeds, when what was my horror to see an enormous anaconda, capable of swallowing a foal or a young calf at a gulp, with its head raised within a few feet of his shoulders, and apparently about to seize him in its deadly embrace. Either his gun was unloaded, or terror prevented him from using it.
Hastily ramming a bullet down my fowling-piece, I raised it to fire, hoping earnestly that I might take good aim. My worthy friend’s life depended on mydoing: so, for in another instant the monster might envelop him in its huge folds. I shall not forget in a hurry the look of horror depicted in the worthy doctor’s countenance. Taking steady aim, I fired, and the bullet happily went crashing through the anaconda’s head. Though the creature was not killed, its head dropped, and the doctor had time to spring forward and escape its fangs, which almost grazed his arm. I shouted to him while I was reloading my gun. In a moment he was himself again, and imitating my example, got his weapon ready to fire down the serpent’s throat should it again lift its head. It quickly gave him an opportunity; and the second shot had the effect of making it roll over and over in a most extraordinary fashion.
I was glad to keep out of its way, and so was the doctor, whom, by making a circuit, I rejoined.
“I hope this marsh is not frequented by other snakes of the same species,” he observed. “If it is, I propose that we beat a retreat while we can do so with whole bones. But I should like to have that fellow’s skin; it would be a prize worth possessing. However, I don’t feel inclined to approach it nearer.”
“Nor do I; but probably in a few minutes it will be dead,” I said.
“Not quite sure of that,” replied the doctor; “serpents have wonderful vitality. But if we could get near enough to cut off its tail, we should soon kill it.”
I undertook to make the attempt. Having a sharp axe in my belt, while the doctor stood ready to fire should it raise its head, I rushed forward and severed the tail about six feet from the end. In an instant its movements ceased, and its coils gradually relaxed.
“Bravo, Barry! The piece you’ve cut off would make a good-sized serpent of itself,” shouted the doctor, holding it up. “If we could skin it, we might carry it home.”
While we were speaking, Jumbo, who had been at a distance, came jumping up, and barked furiously at the dead serpent. I rather suspect that, having seen the creature, he had bolted—not unwisely, for it would have swallowed him at a gulp. I hinted this to the doctor, who at first repudiated the idea, but acknowledged that Jumbo was more experienced with regard to alligators than anacondas.
Our shots, and shouts had been heard by Gerald and Tim, who now appeared, and congratulated the doctor on his escape.
“I owe it to my friend Barry’s coolness and courage,” he answered. “I shall ever be grateful to him;” and he described how I had shot the anaconda.
The doctor seemed so anxious to have the skin that we all set to work and cut it off, together with the head. To me it was a disagreeable operation, as I was unaccustomed to it; but the rest of the party took it as a matter of course. Having scraped it as clean as we could, we bore it in triumph to where we had left the horses. They snorted as they saw it, and the animal on whose back we fastened it did not seem much to like its burden. Our negro servant gazed on it with horror and astonishment, declaring that he had never seen so large a serpent.
We agreed that, as there might be others in the neighbourhood, it would be wise not to remain among the reeds, especially as Gerald and Tim had shot as many wild-fowl as we required for supper. We accordingly proceeded on towards a forest which bordered the bank of a stream running into the lake; and here we intended to encamp for the night.