Mr. Fortescue: An Andean Romance (2024)

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An Andean Romance

by

William Westall

Contents

Chapter I.

Matching Green.

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A quaint old Essex village of single-storied cottages, some ivymantled, with dormer windows, thatched roofs, and miniaturegardens, strewed with picturesque irregularity round as fine agreen as you will find in the county. Its normal condition isrustic peace and sleepy beatitude; and it pursues the even tenor ofits way undisturbed by anything more exciting than a meeting of thevestry, the parish dinner, the advent of a new curate, or the exitof one of the fathers of the hamlet.

But this morning the place is all agog, and so transformed thatit hardly knows itself. The entire population, from the oldestgaffer to the last-born baby, is out-of-doors; the two inns arethronged with guests, and the road is lined with all sorts andconditions of carriages, from the four-in-hand of the wealthy swellto the donkey-cart of the local coster-monger. From every point ofthe compass are trooping horsem*n, some resplendent in scarletcoats, their nether limbs clothed in immaculate white breeches andshining top-boots, others in pan hats and brown leggings; and allin high spirits and eager for the fray; for to-day, according toold custom, the Essex Hunt hold the first regular meet of theseason on Matching’s matchless Green.

The master is already to the fore, and now comes Tom Cuffe, thehuntsman, followed by his hounds, whose sleek skins and brightcoats show that they are “fit to go,” and whose eagerlooks bode ill to the long-tailed denizens of copse and covert.

It still wants a few minutes to eleven, and the interval isoccupied in the interchange of greetings between old companions ofthe chase, in desultory talk about horses and hounds; and whilesome of the older votaries of Diana fight their battles o’eragain, and describe thrice-told historic runs, which grow longerwith every repetition, others discuss the prospects of the comingseason, and indulge in hopes of which, let us hope, neither JackFrost, bad scent, nor accident by flood or field will mar thefruition.

Nearly all are talking, for there is a feeling ofcamaraderie in the hunting-field which dispenses with theformality of introductions, its frequenters sometimes becomingfamiliar friends before they have learned each other’snames.

Yet there are exceptions; and one cavalier in particular appearsto hold himself aloof, neither speaking to his neighbors nor mixingin the throng. As he does not look like a “sulkyswell,” rendered taciturn by an overweening sense of his ownimportance, he is probably either a new resident in the county or a“stranger from a distance”—which, none whom I askseems to know. There is something about this man that especiallyattracts my attention; and not mine alone, for I perceive that heis being curiously regarded by several of my neighbors. His get-upis faultless, and he sits with the easy grace of a practicedhorseman an animal of exceptional symmetry and strength. Hiswell-knit figure is slim and almost youthful, and he holds himselfas erect on his saddle as a dragoon on parade. But his closelycropped hair is turning gray, and his face that of a man faradvanced in the fifties, if not past sixty. And a striking face itis—long and oval, with a straight nose and fine nostrils, abroad forehead, and a firm, resolute mouth. His complexion, thoughit bears traces of age, is clear, healthy, and deeply bronzed. Savefor a heavy gray mustache, he is clean shaved; his dark, keenlyobservant eyes are overshadowed by black and all but straightbrows, terminating in two little tufts, which give his countenancea strange and, as some might think, an almost sardonic expression.Altogether, it strikes me as being the face of a cynical yet notill-natured or malicious Mephistopheles.

Behind him are two grooms in livery, nearly as well mounted ashimself, and, greatly to my surprise, he is presently joined by JimRawlings, who last season held the post of first whipper-in.

What manner of man is this who brings out four horses on thesame day, and what does he want with them all? Such horses, too!There is not one of them that has not the look of a twohundred-guinea hunter.

I was about to put the question to Keyworth, the hunt secretary,who had just come within speaking distance, and was likely to knowif anybody did, when the master gave the signal for a move, andhuntsman and hounds, followed by the entire field, went off at asharp trot.

We had a rather long ride to covert, but a quick find, a foxbeing viewed away almost as soon as the hounds began to draw. Itwas a fast thing while it lasted, but, unfortunately, it did notlast long; for, after a twenty minutes’ gallop, the houndsthrew up their heads, and cast as Cuffe might, he was unable torecover the line.

The country we had gone over was difficult and dangerous, fullof blind fences and yawning ditches, deep enough and wide enough toswallow up any horse and his rider who might fail to clear them.Fortunately, however, I escaped disaster, and for the greater partof the run I was close to the gentleman with the Mephistophelianface and Tom Rawlings, who acted as his pilot. Tom rode well, ofcourse—it was his business—but no better than hismaster, whose horse, besides being a big jumper, was as clever as acat, flying the ditches like a bird, and clearing the blindestfences without making a single mistake.

After the first run we drew two coverts blank, but eventuallyfound a second fox, which gave us a slow hunting run of about anhour, interrupted by several checks, and saved his brush by takingrefuge in an unstopped earth.

By this time it was nearly three o’clock, and being a longway from home, and thinking no more good would be done, I deemed itexpedient to leave off. I went away as Mephistopheles and his manwere mounting their second horses, which had just been brought upby the two grooms in livery.

My way lay by Matching Green, and as I stopped at the villageinn to refresh my horse with a pail of gruel and myself with aglass of ale, who should come up but old Tawney, Tom Cuffe’ssecond horseman! Besides being an adept at his calling, familiarwith every cross-road and almost every field in the county, he knewnearly as well as a hunted fox himself which way the creature meantto run. Tawney was a great gossip, and quite a mine of curiousinformation about things equine and human—especially aboutthings equine. Here was a chance not to be neglected of learningsomething about Mephistopheles; so after warming Tawney’sheart and opening his lips with a glass of hot whiskey punch, Ibegan:

“You’ve got a new first whip, I see.”

“Yes, sir, name of Cobbe—Paul Cobbe. He comes fromthe Berkshire country, he do, sir.”

“But how is it that Rawlings has left? and who is thatgentleman he was with to-day?”

“What! haven’t you heard!” exclaimed Tawney,as surprised at my ignorance as if I had asked him the name of thereigning sovereign.

“I have not heard, which, seeing that I spent the greaterpart of the summer at sea and returned only the other day, isperhaps not greatly to be wondered at.”

“Well, the gentleman as Rawlings has gone to and as he waswith to-day is Mr. Fortescue; him as has takenKingscote.”

Kingscote was a country-house of no extraordinary size, but withso large a park and gardens, conservatories and stables soextensive as to render its keeping up very costly; and the owner ormortgagee, I know not which, had for several years been vainlytrying to let it at a nominal rent.

“He must be rich, then. Kingscote will want a lot ofkeeping up.”

“Rich is not the word, sir. He has more money than heknows what to do with. Why, he has twenty horses now, and isbuilding loose-boxes for ten more, and he won’t look at oneunder a hundred pounds. Rawlings has got a fine place, he hasthat.”

“I am surprised he should have left the kennels, though.He loses his chance of ever becoming huntsman.”

“He is as good as that now, sir. He had a present of fiftypounds to start with, gets as many shillings a week and all found,and has the entire management of the stables, and with a gentlemanlike Mr. Fortescue there’ll be some nice pickings.”

“Very likely. But why does Mr. Fortescue want a pilot? Herides well, and his horses seem to know their business.”

“He won’t have any as doesn’t. Yes, he ridesuncommon well for an aged man, does Mr. Fortescue. I suppose hewants somebody to show him the way and keep him from getting riddenover. It isn’t nice to get ridden over when you’regetting into years.”

“It isn’t nice whether you are getting into years ornot. But you cannot call Mr. Fortescue an old man.”

“You cannot call him a young ’un. He has a good manygray hairs, and them puckers under his eyes hasn’t come in aday. But he has a young heart, I will say that for him. Did you seehow he did that ‘double’ as pounded half thefield?”

“Yes, it was a very sporting jump. But who is Mr.Fortescue, and where does he come from?”

“That is what nobody seems to know. Mr. Keyworth—hewas at the kennels only yesterday—asked me the very samequestion. He thought Jim Rawlings might ha’ told mesomething. But bless you, Jim knows no more than anybody else. Allas he can tell is as Mr. Fortescue sometimes goes to London, thathe is uncommon fond of hosses, and either rides or drives tandemnearly every day, and has ordered a slap-up four-in-hand drag. Andhe has got a ’boratory and no end o’ chemicals andstuff, and electric machines, and all sorts o’gimcracks.”

“Is there a Mrs. Fortescue?”

“Not as I knows on. There is not a woman in the house,except servants.”

“Who looks after things, then?”

“Well, there’s a housekeeper. But the headbottle-washer is a chap they call major-domo—a German he is.He looks after everything, and an uncommon sharp domo he is, too,Jim says. Nobody can do him a penny piece. And then there is Mr.Fortescue’s body-servant; he’s a dark man, with a bigscar on one cheek, and rings in his ears. They call himRumun.”

“Nonsense! There’s no such name as Rumun.”

“That’s what I told Jim. He said it was a rum’un, but his name was Rumun, and no mistake.”

“Dark, and rings in his ears! The man is probably aSpaniard. You mean Ramon.”

“No, I don’t; I mean Rumun,” returned Tawney,doggedly. “I thought it was an uncommon rum name, and I askedJim twice—he calls at the kennels sometimes—I asked himtwice, and he said he was co*ck sure it was Rumun.”

“Rumun let it be then. Altogether, this Mr. Fortescueseems to be rather a mysterious personage.”

“You are right there, Mr. Bacon, he is. I only wish I washalf as mysterious. Why, he must be worth thousands upon thousands.And he spends his money like a gentleman, he does—thinks lessof a sovereign than you think of a bob. He sent Mr. Keyworth ahundred pounds for his hunt subscription, and said if they were anyways short at the end of the season they had only to tell him andhe would send as much more.”

Having now got all the information out of Tawney he was able togive me, I stood him another whiskey, and after lighting a cigar Imounted my horse and jogged slowly homeward, thinking much aboutMr. Fortescue, and wondering who he could be. The study ofphysiognomy is one of my fads, and his face had deeply impressedme; in great wealth, moreover, there is always something thatstrikes the imagination, and this man was evidently very rich, andthe mystery that surrounded him piqued my curiosity.

Chapter II.

Tickle-Me-Quick.

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Being naturally of a retiring disposition, and in no sense thehero of the tale which I am about to tell, I shall say no moreconcerning myself than is absolutely necessary. At the same time,it is essential to a right comprehension of what follows that I saysomething about myself, and better that I should say it now thaninterrupt the even flow of my narrative later on.

My name is Geoffrey Bacon, and I have reason to believe that Iwas born at a place in Essex called (appropriately enough) Dedham.My family is one of the oldest in the county, and (of course)highly respectable; but as the question is often put to me byfriends, and will naturally suggest itself to my readers, I may aswell observe, once for all, that I am not a descendent ofthe Lord Keeper Bacon, albeit, if he had had any children, I haveno doubt I should have been.

My poor mother died in giving me birth; my father followed herwhen I was ten years old, leaving me with his blessing (nothingelse), to the care of his aunt, Miss Ophelia Bacon, by whom I wasbrought up and educated. She was very good to me, but though I wasfar from being intentionally ungrateful, I fear that I did notrepay her goodness as it deserved. The dear old lady had made upher mind that I should be a doctor, and though I would rather havebeen a farmer or a country gentleman (the latter for choice), Imade no objection; and so long as I remained at school she had noreason to complain of my conduct. I satisfied my masters and passedmy preliminary examination creditably and without difficulty, to myaunt’s great delight. She protested that she was proud of me,and rewarded my diligence and cleverness with a five-pound note.But after I became a student at Guy’s I gave her muchtrouble, and got myself into some sad scrapes. I spent her present,and something more, in hiring mounts, for I was passionately fondof riding, especially to hounds, and ran into debt with aneighboring livery-stable keeper to the tune of twenty pounds. Iwould sometimes borrow the greengrocer’s pony, for I was notparticular what I rode, so long as it had four legs. When I couldobtain a mount neither for love nor on credit, I went after theharriers on foot. The result, as touching my health and growth, wasall that could be desired. As touching my studies, however, it wasless satisfactory. I was spun twice, both in my anatomy andphysiology. Miss Ophelia, though sorely grieved, was veryindulgent, and had she lived, I am afraid that I should never havegot my diploma. But when I was twenty-one and she seventy-five, mydear aunt died, leaving me all her property (which made an incomeof about four hundred a year), with the proviso that unless, withinthree years of her death, I obtained the double qualification, thewhole of her estate was to pass to Guy’s Hospital. In themean time the trustees were empowered to make me an allowance oftwo guineas a week and defray all my hospital expenses.

On this, partly because I was loath to lose so goodly aheritage, partly, I hope, from worthier motives, I buckled-to inreal earnest, and before I was four-and-twenty I could write aftermy name the much coveted capitals M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P. All this whileI had not once crossed a horse or looked at a hound, yet the rulingpassion was still strong, and being very much of Mr.Jorrock’s opinion that all time not spent in hunting is lost,I resolved, before “settling down” or taking up anyposition which might be incompatible with indulgence in my favoriteamusem*nt, to devote a few years of my life to fox-hunting. Attwenty-four a man does not give much thought to the future—atany rate I did not.

The next question was how to hunt three or four days a week onfour hundred a year, for though I was quite willing to spend myincome, I was resolved not to touch my capital. To begin with, Isold my aunt’s cottage and furniture and took a couple ofrooms for the winter at Red Chimneys, a roomy farm-house in theneighborhood of Treydon. Then, acting on the great principle ofco-operation, I joined at horse-keeping with my good friend and oldschool-fellow, Bertie Alston, a London solicitor. Being both of uslight-weights, we could mount ourselves cheaply; the average costof our stud of four horses did not exceed forty pounds apiece.Moreover, when opportunities offered, we did not disdain to turn anhonest penny by buying an animal cheap and selling him dear, and asI looked after things myself, bought my own forage, and saw that Ihad full measure, our stable expenses were kept within moderatelimits. Except when the weather was bad, or a horse hors decombat, I generally contrived to get four days’ huntinga week—three with the fox-hounds and one with Mr.Vigne’s harriers—for, owing to his professionalengagements, Alston could not go out as often as I did. But as Itook all the trouble and responsibility, it was only fair that Ishould have the lion’s share of the riding.

At the end of the season we either sold the horses off or turnedthem into a straw-yard, and I went to sea as ship’s surgeon.In this capacity I made voyages to Australia, to the Cape, and tothe West Indies; and the summer before I first saw Mr. Fortescue Ihad been to the Arctic Ocean in a whaler. True, the pay did notamount to much, but it found me in pocket-money and clothes, and Isaved my keep.

Having now, as I hope, done with digressions and placed myselfen rapport with my readers, I will return to the principalpersonage of my story.

The next time I met Mr. Fortescue was at Harlow Bush. He wasquite as well mounted as before, and accompanied, as usual, byRawlings and two grooms with their second horses. On this occasionMr. Fortescue did not hold himself nearly so much aloof as he haddone at Matching Green, perhaps because he was more noticed; and hewas doubtless more noticed because the fame of his wealth and thelavish use he made of it were becoming more widely known. Themaster gave him a friendly nod and a gracious smile, and expresseda hope that we should have good sport; the secretary engaged him ina lively conversation; the hunt servants touched their caps to himwith profound respect, and he received greetings from most of theswells.

We drew Latton, found in a few minutes, and had a “realgood thing,” a grand run of nearly two hours, with only oneor two trifling checks, which, as I am not writing a hunting story,I need not describe any further than to remark that we had plentyof fencing, a good deal of hard galloping, a kill in the open, andthat of the sixty or seventy who were present at the start onlyabout a score were up at the finish. Among the fortunate few wereMr. Fortescue and his pilot. During the latter part of the run werode side by side, and pulled up at the same instant, just as thefox was rolled over.

“A very fine run,” I took the liberty to observe, asI stepped from my saddle and slackened my horse’s girths.“It will be a long time before we have a better.”

“Two hours and two minutes,” shouted the secretary,looking at his watch, “and straight. We are in the heart ofthe Puckeridge country.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Fortescue, quietly, “it was avery enjoyable run. You like hunting, I think?”

“Like it! I should rather think I do. I regard fox-huntingas the very prince of sports. It is manly, health-giving, andexhilarating. There is no sport in which so many participate and soheartily enjoy. We enjoy it, the horses enjoy it, and the houndsenjoy it.”

“How about the fox?”

“Oh, the fox! Well, the fox is allowed to exist oncondition of being occasionally hunted. If there were no huntingthere would be no foxes. On the whole, I regard him as a fortunateand rather pampered individual; and I have even heard it said thathe rather likes being hunted than otherwise.”

“As for the general question, I dare say you are right.But I don’t think the fox likes it much. It once happened tome to be hunted, and I know I did not like it.”

This was rather startling, and had Mr. Fortescue spoken lessgravely and not been so obviously in earnest, I should have thoughthe was joking.

“You don’t mean—Was it a paper-chase?” Isaid, rather foolishly.

“No; it was not a paper-chase,” he answered, grimly.“There were no paper-chases in my time. I mean that I wasonce hunted, just as we have been hunting that fox.”

“With a pack of hounds?”

“Yes, with a pack of hounds.”

I was about to ask what sort of a chase it was, and how andwhere he was hunted, when Cuffe came up, and, on behalf of themaster, offered Mr. Fortescue the brush.

“Thank you,” said Mr. Fortescue, taking the brushand handing it to Rawlings. “Here is something foryou”—tipping the huntsman a sovereign, which he put inhis pocket with a “Thank you kindly, sir,” and agratified smile.

And then flasks were uncorked, sandwich-cases opened, cigarslighted, and the conversation becoming general, I had no otheropportunity—at that time—of making further inquiry ofMr. Fortescue touching the singular episode in his career which hehad just mentioned. A few minutes later a move was made for our owncountry, and as we were jogging along I found myself near JimRawlings.

“That’s a fresh hoss you’ve got, I think,sir,” he said.

“Yes, I have ridden him two or three times with theharriers; but this is the first time I have had him out withfox-hounds.”

“He carried you very well in the run, sir.”

“You are quite right; he did. Very well.”

“Does he lay hold on you at all, Mr. Bacon?”

“Not a bit.”

“Light in the mouth, a clever jumper, and a freegoer.”

“All three.”

“Yes, he’s the right sort, he is, sir; and if everyou feel disposed to sell him, I could, may be, find you acustomer.”

Accepting this as a delicate intimation that Mr. Fortescue hadtaken a fancy to the horse and would like to buy him, I told Jimthat I was quite willing to sell at a fair price.

“And what might you consider a fair price, if it is a fairquestion?” asked the man.

“A hundred guineas,” I answered; for, as I knew thatMr. Fortescue would not “look at a horse,” as Tawneyput it, under that figure, it would have been useless to askless.

“Very well, sir. I will speak to my master, and let youknow.”

Ranger, as I called the horse, was a purchase of Alston’s.Liking his looks (though Bertie was really a very indifferentjudge), he had bought him out of a hansom-cab for forty pounds, andafter a little “schooling,” the creature took tojumping as naturally as a duck takes to water. Sixty pounds mayseem rather an unconscionable profit, but considering that Rangerwas quite sound and up to weight, I don’t think a hundredguineas was too much. A dealer would have asked a hundred andfifty.

At any rate, Mr. Fortescue did not think it too much, forRawlings presently brought me word that his master would take thehorse at the price I had named, if I could warrant him sound.

“In that case it is a bargain,” I said, “for Ican warrant him sound.”

“All right, sir. I’ll send one of the grooms over toyour place for him to-morrow.”

Shortly afterward I fell in with Keyworth, and as a matter ofcourse we talked about Mr. Fortescue.

“Do you know anything about him?” I asked.

“Not much. I believe he is rich—andrespectable.”

“That is pretty evident, I think.”

“I am not sure. A man who spends a good deal of money ispresumably rich; but it by no means follows that he is respectable.There are such people in the world as successful rogues and wealthyswindlers. Not that I think Mr. Fortescue is either one or theother. I learned, from the check he sent me for his subscription,who his bankers are, and through a friend of mine, who is intimatewith one of the directors, I got a confidential report about him.It does not amount to much; but it is satisfactory so far as itgoes. They say he is a man of large fortune, and, as they believe,highly respectable.”

“Is that all?”

“All there was in the report. ButTomlinson—that’s my friend—has heard that he hasspent the greater part of his life abroad, and that he made hismoney in South America.”

The mention of South America interested me, for I had madevoyages both to Rio de Janeiro and several places on the SpanishMain.

“South America is rather vague,” I observed.“You might almost as well say ‘Southern Asia.’Have you any idea in what part of it?”

“Not the least. I have told you all I know. I should beglad to know more; but for the present it is quite enough for mypurpose. I intend to call upon Mr. Fortescue.”

It is hardly necessary to say that I had no such intention, forhaving neither a “position in the county,” as thephrase goes, a house of my own, nor any official connection withthe hunt, a call from me would probably have been regarded, andrightly so, as a piece of presumption. As it happened, however, Inot only called on Mr. Fortescue before the secretary, but becamehis guest, greatly to my surprise, and, I have no doubt, to his,although he was the indirect cause; for had he not bought Ranger,it is very unlikely that I should have become an inmate of hishouse.

It came about in this way. Bertie was so pleased with the resultof his first speculation in horseflesh (though so far as he wasconcerned it was a pure fluke) that he must needs make another. Ifhe had picked up a second cab-horse at thirty or forty pounds hecould not have gone far wrong; but instead of that he must needs goto Tattersall’s and give nearly fifty for a blood marerejoicing in the name of “Tickle-me-Quick,” describedas being “the property of a gentleman,” and said tohave won several country steeple-chases.

The moment I set eyes on the beast I saw she was a screw,“and vicious at that,” as an American would have said.But as she had been bought (without warranty) and paid for, I hadto make the best of her. Within an hour of the mare’s arrivalat Red Chimneys, I was on her back, trying her paces. She gallopedwell and jumped splendidly, but I feared from her ways that shewould be hot with hounds, and perhaps, kick in a crowd, one of theworst faults that a hunter can possess.

On the next non-hunting day I took Tickle-me-Quick out for along ride in the country, to see how she shaped as a hack. I littlethought, as we set off, that it would prove to be her last journey,and one of the most memorable events of my life.

For a while all went well. The mare wanted riding, yet shebehaved no worse than I expected, although from the way she laidher ears back and the angry tossing of her head when I made herfeel the bit, she was clearly not in the best of tempers. But Ikept her going; and an hour after leaving Red Chimneys we turnedinto a narrow deep lane between high banks, which led to Kingscoteentering the road on the west side of the park at right angles, andvery near Mr. Fortescue’s lodge-gates.

In the field to my right several colts were grazing, and whenthey caught sight of Tickle-me-Quick trotting up the lane they tookit into their heads to have an impromptu race among themselves.Neighing loudly, they set off at full gallop. Without asking myleave, Tickle-me-Quick followed suit. I tried to stop her. I mightas well have tried to stop an avalanche. So, making a virtue ofnecessity, I let her go, thinking that before she reached the topof the lane she would have had quite enough, and I should be ableto pull her up without difficulty.

The colts are soon left behind; but we can hear them gallopingbehind us, and on goes the mare like the wind. I can now see theend of the lane, and as the great park wall, twelve feet high,looms in sight, the horrible thought flashes on my mind that unlessI pull her up we shall both be dashed to pieces; for to turn asharp corner at the speed we are going is quite out of thequestion.

I make another effort, sawing the mare’s mouth till itbleeds, and tightening the reins till they are fit to break.

All in vain; she puts her head down and gallops on, if possiblemore madly than before. Still larger looms that terrible wall;death stares me in the face, and for the first time in my life Iundergo the intense agony of mortal terror.

We are now at the end of the lane. There is one chance only, andthat the most desperate, of saving my life. I slip my feet from thestirrups, and when Tickle-me-Quick is within two or three stridesof the wall, I drop the reins and throw myself from her back. Thenall is darkness.

Chapter III.

Mr. Fortescue’s Proposal.

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“Where am I?”

I feel as if I were in a strait-jacket. One of my arms isimmovable, my head is bandaged, and when I try to turn I sufferexcruciating pain.

“Where am I?”

“Oh, you have wakened up!” says somebody with aforeign accent, and a dark face bends over me. The light is dim andmy sight weak, and but for his grizzled mustache I might have takenthe speaker for a woman, his ears being adorned with large goldrings.

“Where are you? You are in the house of SeñorFortescue.”

“And the mare?”

“The mare broke her wicked head against the park wall, andshe has gone to the kennels to be eaten by the dogs.”

“Already? How long is it since?”

“It was the day before yesterday zat ithappened.”

“God bless me! I must have been insensible ever since.That means concussion of the brain. Am I much damaged otherwise, doyou know?”

“Pretty well. Your left shoulder is dislocated, one ofyour fingers and two of your ribs broken, and one of your anklesseverely contused. But it might have been worse. If you had notthrown yourself from your horse, as you did, you would just now bein a coffin instead of in this comfortable bed.”

“Somebody saw me, then?”

“Yes, the lodge-keeper. He thought you were dead, and cameup and told us; and we brought you here on a stretcher, and theSeñor Coronel sent for a doctor—”

“The Señor Coronel! Do you mean Mr.Fortescue?”

“Yes, sir, I mean Mr. Fortescue.”

“Then you are Ramon?”

“Hijo de Dios! You know my name.”

“Yes, you are Mr. Fortescue’sbody-servant.”

“Caramba! Somebody must have told you.”

“You might have made a worse guess, Señor Ramon.Will you please tell Mr. Fortescue that I thank him with all myheart for his great kindness, and that I will not trespass on itmore than I can possibly help. As soon as I can be moved I shall goto my own place.”

“That will not be for a long time, and I do not think theSeñor Coronel would like—But when he returns he willsee you, and then you can tell him yourself.”

“He is away from home, then?”

“The Señor Coronel has gone to London. He will beback to-morrow.”

“Well, if I cannot thank him to-day, I can thank you. Youare my nurse, are you not?”

“A little—Geist and I, and Mees Tomleenson, werelieve each other. But those two don’t know much aboutwounds.”

“And you do, I suppose?”

“Hijo de Dios! Do I know much about wounds? Ihave nursed men who have been cut to pieces. I have been cut topieces myself. Look!”

And with that Ramon pointed to his neck, which was seamed allthe way down with a tremendous scar; then to his left hand, whichwas minus two fingers; next to one of his arms, which appeared tohave been plowed from wrist to elbow with a bullet; and lastly tohis head, which was almost covered with cicatrices, great andsmall.

“And I have many more marks in other parts of my body,which it would not be convenient to show you just now,” hesaid, quietly.

“You are an old soldier, then, Ramon?”

“Very. And now I will light myself a cigarette, and youwill no more talk. As an old soldier, I know that it is bad for acaballero with a broken head to talk so much as you aredoing.”

“As a surgeon, I know you are right, and I will talk nomore for the present.”

And then, feeling rather drowsy, I composed myself to sleep. Thelast thing I remembered before closing my eyes was the long,swarthy, quixotic-looking face of my singular nurse, veiled in ablue cloud of cigarette-smoke, which, as it rolled from thenostrils of his big, aquiline nose, made those orifices look likethe twin craters of an active volcano, upside down.

When, after a short snooze, I woke a second time, my firstsensation was one of intense surprise, and being unable, withoutconsiderable inconvenience, to rub my eyes, I winked several timesin succession to make sure that I was not dreaming; for while Islept the swart visage, black eyes, and grizzled mustache of mynurse had, to all appearance, been turned into a fair countenance,with blue eyes and a tawny head, while the tiny cigarette hadbecome a big meerschaum pipe.

“God bless me! You are surely not Ramon?” Iexclaimed.

“No; I am Geist. It is my turn of duty as your nurse. CanI get you anything?”

“Thank you very much; you are all very kind. I feel ratherfaint, and perhaps if I had something to eat it might do megood.”

“Certainly. There is some beef-tea ready. Here it is.Shall I feed you?”

“Thank you. My left arm is tied up, and this broken fingeris very painful. Bat I am giving you no end of trouble. Idon’t know how I shall be able to repay you and Mr. Fortescuefor all your kindness.”

“Ach Gott! Don’t mention it, my dear sir.Mr. Fortescue said you were to have every attention; and when afellow-man has been broken all to pieces it is our duty to do forhim what we can. Who knows? Perhaps some time I may be broken allto pieces myself. But I will not ride your fiery horses. My weightis seventeen stone, and if I was to throw myself off a gallopinghorse as you did, ach Gott! I should be broken pastmending.”

Mr. Geist made an attentive and genial nurse, discoursing sopleasantly and fluently that, greatly to my satisfaction (for I wasvery weak), my part in the conversation was limited to anoccasional monosyllable; but he said nothing on the subject as towhich I was most anxious for information—Mr.Fortescue—and, as he clearly desired to avoid it, I refrainedfrom asking questions that might have put him in a difficulty andexposed me to a rebuff.

I found out afterward that neither he nor Ramon ever discussedtheir master, and though Mrs. Tomlinson, my third nurse (a buxom,healthy, middle-aged widow, whose position seemed to be somethingbetween that of housekeeper and upper servant), was less reticent,it was probably because she had so little to tell.

I learned, among other things, that the habits of the householdwere almost as regular as those of a regiment, and that theservants, albeit kindly treated and well paid, were strictly ruled,even comparatively slight breaches of discipline being punishedwith instant dismissal. At half-past ten everybody was supposed tobe in bed, and up at six; for at seven Mr. Fortescue took his firstbreakfast of fruit and dry toast. According to Mrs. Tomlinson (andthis I confess rather surprised me) he was an essentially busy man.His only idle time was that which he gave to sleep. During hiswaking hours he was always either working in his study, hislaboratory, or his conservatories, riding and driving being hissole recreations.

“He is the most active man I ever knew, young orold,” said Mrs. Tomlinson, “and a good master—Iwill say that for him. But I cannot make him out at all. He seemsto have neither kith nor kin, and yet—This is quite betweenourselves, Mr. Bacon—”

“Of course, Mrs. Tomlinson, quite.”

“Well, there is a picture in his room as he keeps veiledand locked up in a sort of shrine; but one day he forgot to turnthe key, and I—I looked.”

“Naturally. And what did you see?”

“The picture of a woman, dark, but, oh, sobeautiful—as beautiful as an angel…. I thought it was,may be, a sweetheart or something, but she is too young for thelikes of him.”

“Portraits are always the same; that picture may have beenpainted ages ago. Always veiled is it? That seems very mysterious,does it not?”

“It does; and I am just dying to know what the mystery is.If you should happen to find out, and it’s no secret, wouldyou mind telling me?”

At this point Herr Geist appeared, whereupon Mrs. Tomlinson,with true feminine tact, changed the subject without waiting for areply.

During the time I was laid up Mr. Fortescue came into my roomalmost every day, but never stayed more than a few minutes. When Iexpressed my sense of his kindness and talked about going home, hewould smile gravely, and say:

“Patience! You must be my guest until you have the fulluse of your limbs and are able to go about without help.”

After this I protested no more, for there was an indescribablesomething about Mr. Fortescue which would have made it difficult tocontradict him, even had I been disposed to take so ungrateful andungracious a part.

At length, after a weary interval of inaction and pain, came atime when I could get up and move about without discomfort, and onefine frosty day, which seemed the brightest of my life, Geist andRamon helped me down-stairs and led me into a pretty littlemorning-room, opening into one of the conservatories, where theplants and flowers had been so arranged as to look like a sort oftropical forest, in the midst of which was an aviary filled withparrots, co*ckatoos, and other birds of brilliant plumage.

Geist brought me an easy-chair, Ramon a box of cigarettes andthe “Times,” and I was just settling down to acomfortable read and smoke, when Mr. Fortescue entered from theconservatory. He wore a Norfolk jacket and a broad-brimmed hat, andhis step was so elastic, and his bearing so upright, and he seemedso strong and vigorous withal, that I began to think that inestimating his age at sixty I had made a mistake. He looked morelike fifty or fifty-five.

“I am glad to see you down-stairs,” he said, helpinghimself to a cigarette. “How do you feel?”

“Very much better, thank you, and to-morrow or the nextday I must really—”

“No, no, I cannot let you go yet. I shall keep you, at anyrate, a few days longer. And while this frost lasts you can do nohunting. How is the shoulder?”

“Better. In a fortnight or so I shall be able to dispensewith the sling, but my ankle is the worst. The contusion was verysevere. I fear that I shall feel the effects of it for a longtime.”

“That is very likely, I think. I would any time ratherhave a clean flesh wound than a severe contusion. I have hadexperience of both. At Salamanca my shoulder was laid open with asabre-stroke at the very moment my horse was shot under me; and myleg, which was terribly bruised in the fall, was much longer ingetting better than my shoulder.”

“At Salamanca! You surely don’t mean the battle ofSalamanca?”

“Yes, the battle of Salamanca.”

“But, God bless me, that is ages ago! At the beginning ofthe century—1810 or 1812, or something like that.”

“The battle of Salamanca was fought on the 21st of July,1812,” said my host, with a matter-of-fact air.

“But—why—how?” I stammered, staring athim in supreme surprise. “That is sixty years since, and youdon’t look much more than fifty now.”

“All the same I am nearly fourscore,” said Mr.Fortescue, smiling as if the compliment pleased him.

“Fourscore, and so hale and strong! I have known men halfyour age not half so vigorous and alert. Why, you may live to be ahundred.”

“I think I shall, probably longer. Of course barringaccidents, and if I continue to avoid a peril which has beenhanging over me for half a century or so, and from which I haveseveral times escaped only by the skin of my teeth.”

“And what is the peril, Mr. Fortescue?”

“Assassination.”

“Assassination!”

“Yes, assassination. I told you a short time ago that Iwas once hunted by a pack of hounds. I am hunted now—havebeen hunted for two generations—by a family ofmurderers.”

The thought occurred to me—and not for the firsttime—that Mr. Fortescue was either mad or a Munchausen, and Ilooked at him curiously; but neither in that calm, powerful,self-possessed face, nor in the steady gaze of those keen darkeyes, could I detect the least sign of incipient insanity or aboastful spirit.

“You are quite mistaken,” he said, with one of hisenigmatic smiles. “I am not mad; and I have lived too longeither to cherish illusions or conjure up imaginarydangers.”

“I—I beg your pardon, Mr. Fortescue—I had nointention,” I stammered, quite taken aback by the accuracywith which he had read, or guessed, my thoughts—“I hadno intention to cast a doubt on what you said. But who are thesepeople that seek your life? and why don’t you inform thepolice?”

“The police! How could the police help me?”exclaimed Mr. Fortescue, with a gesture of disdain, “Besides,life would not be worth having at the price of being always underpolice protection, like an evicting Irish landlord. But let uschange the subject; we have talked quite enough about myself. Iwant to talk about you.”

A very few minutes sufficed to put Mr. Fortescue in possessionof all the information he desired. He already knew something aboutme, and as I had nothing to conceal, I answered all his questionswithout reserve.

“Don’t you think you are rather wasting yourlife?” he asked, after I had answered the last of them.

“I am enjoying it.”

“Very likely. People generally do enjoy life when they areyoung. Hunting is all very well as an amusem*nt, but to have noother object in life seems—what shall we say?—just alittle frivolous, don’t you think?”

“Well, perhaps it does; but I mean, after a while, to buya practice and settle down.”

“But in the mean time your medical knowledge must begrowing rather rusty. I have heard physicians say that it is onlyafter they have obtained their degree that they begin to learntheir profession. And the practice you get on board these shipscannot amount to much.”

“You are quite right,” I said, frankly, for myconscience was touched. “I am, as you say, living too muchfor the present. I know less than I knew when I left Guy’s. Icould not pass my ‘final’ over again to save my life.You are quite right: I must turn over a new leaf.”

“I am glad to hear you say so, the more especially as Ihave a proposal to make; and as I make it quite as much in my owninterest as in yours, you will incur no obligation in accepting it.I want you to become an inmate of my house, help me in mylaboratory, and act as my secretary and domestic physician, andwhen I am away from home, as my representative. You will have freequarters, of course; my stable will be at your disposal for huntingpurposes, and you may go sometimes to London to attend lectures anddo practical work at your hospital. As for salary—you can fixit yourself, when you have ascertained by actual experience thecharacter of your work. What do you say?”

Mr. Fortescue put this question as if he had no doubt about myanswer, and I fulfilled his expectation by answering promptly inthe affirmative. The proposal seemed in every way to my advantage,and was altogether to my liking; and even had it been less so Ishould have accepted it, for what I had just heard greatly whettedmy curiosity, and made me more desirous than ever to know thehistory of the extraordinary man with whom I had so strangely comein contact, and ascertain the secret of his wealth.

The same day I wrote to Alston announcing the dissolution of ourpartnership, and leaving him to deal with the horses at RedChimneys as he might think fit.

Chapter IV.

A Rescue.

Return to Table ofContents

My curiosity was rather long in being gratified, and but for avery strange occurrence, which I shall presently describe, probablynever would have been gratified. Even after I had been a member ofMr. Fortescue’s household for several months, I knew littlemore of his antecedents and circ*mstances than on the day when hemade me the proposal which I have just mentioned. If I attempted tolead up to the subject, he would either cleverly evade it or saybluntly that he preferred to talk about something else. Save as tomatters that did not particularly interest me, Ramon was asreticent as his master; and as Geist had only been with Mr.Fortescue during the latter’s residence at Kingscote, hisknowledge, or, rather, his ignorance was on a par with my own.

Mr. Fortescue’s character was as enigmatic as his historywas obscure. He seemed to be destitute both of kinsfolk andfriends, never made any allusion to his family, neither noticedwomen nor discussed them. Politics and religion he equally ignored,and, so far as might appear, had neither foibles nor fads. On theother hand, he had three passions—science, horses, andhorticulture, and his knowledge was almost encyclopædic. Hewas a great reader, master of many languages, and seemed to havebeen everywhere and seen all in the world that was worth seeing.His wealth appeared to be unlimited, but how he made it or where hekept it I had no idea. All I knew was that whenever money waswanted it was forthcoming, and that he signed a check for tenpounds and ten thousand with equal indifference. As he conductedhis private correspondence himself, my position as secretary gaveme no insight into his affairs. My duties consisted chiefly incorresponding with tradesmen, horse-dealers, and nursery gardeners,and noting the results of chemical experiments.

Mr. Fortescue was very abstemious, and took great care of hishealth, and if he was really verging on eighty (which I very muchdoubted), I thought he might not improbably live to be a hundredand ten and even a hundred and twenty. He drank nothing, whatever,neither tea, coffee, cocoa, nor any other beverage, neither waternor wine, always quenching his thirst with fruit, of which he atelargely. So far as I knew, the only liquid that ever passed hislips was an occasional liquor-glass of a mysterious decoction whichhe prepared himself and kept always under lock and key. Hisbreakfast, which he took every morning at seven, consisted of breadand fruit.

He ate very little animal food, limiting himself for the mostpart to fish and fowl, and invariably spent eight or nine hours ofthe twenty-four in bed. We often discussed physiology,therapeutics, and kindred subjects, of which his knowledge was soextensive as to make me suspect that some time in his life he hadbelonged to the medical profession.

“The best physicians I ever met,” he once observed,“are the Callavayas of the Andes—if the preservationand prolongation of human life is the test of medical skill. Amongthe Callavayas the period of youth is thirty years; a man is notheld to be a man until he reaches fifty, and he only begins to beold at a hundred.”

“Was it among the Callavayas that you learned the secretof long life, Mr. Fortescue?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” he answered, with one of his peculiarsmiles; and then he started me by saying that he would never be a“lean and slippered pantaloon.” When health andstrength failed him he should cease to live.

“You surely don’t mean that you will commitsuicide?” I exclaimed, in dismay.

“You may call it what you like. I shall do as the FijiIslanders and some tribes of Indians do, in similarcirc*mstances—retire to a corner and still the beatings of myheart by an effort of will.”

“But is that possible?”

“I have seen it done, and I have done it myself—not,of course, to the point of death, but so far as to simulate death.I once saved my life in that way.”

“Was that when you were hunted, Mr. Fortescue?”

“No, it was not. Let us go to the stables. I want to seeyou ride Regina over the jumps.”

Mr. Fortescue had caused to be arranged in the park a miniaturesteeple-chase course about a mile round, on which newly-acquiredhunters were always tried, and the old ones regularly exercised. Hegenerally made a point of being present on these occasions,sometimes riding over the course himself. If a horse, bought as ahunter, failed to justify its character by its performance it wasinvariably returned.

Sometimes Ramon gave us an exhibition of his skill as a gaucho.One of the wildest of the horses would be let loose in the park,and the old soldier, armed with a lasso and mounted on an animaltrained by himself, and equipped with a South American saddle,would follow and try to “rope” the runaway, Mr.Fortescue, Rawlings, and myself riding after him. It was“good fun,” but I fancy Mr. Fortescue regarded thissport, as he regarded hunting, less as an amusem*nt than as a meansof keeping him in good health and condition.

Regina (a recent purchase) was tried and, I think, foundwanting. I recall the instance merely because it is associated inmy mind with an event which, besides affecting a momentous changein my relations with Mr. Fortescue and greatly influencing my ownfortune, rendered possible the writing of this book.

The trial over, Mr. Fortescue told me, somewhat abruptly, thathe intended to leave home in an hour, and should be away forseveral days. As he walked toward the house, I inquired if therewas anything he would like me to look after during his absence,whereupon he mentioned several chemical and electrical experiments,which he wished me to continue and note the results. He requestedme, further, to open all letters—save such as were markedprivate or bore foreign postmarks—and answer so many of themas, without his instructions, I might be able to do. For the rest,I was to exercise a general supervision, especially over thestables and gardens. As for purely domestic concerns, Geist was soexcellent a manager that his master trusted him withoutreserve.

When Mr. Fortescue came down-stairs, equipped for his journey, Iinquired when he expected to return, and on what day he would likethe carriage to meet him at the station. I thought he might tell mewhere he was going; but he did not take the hint.

“If it rains I will telegraph,” he said; “iffine, I shall probably walk; it is only a couple ofmiles.”

Mr. Fortescue, as he always did when he went outside his park(unless he was mounted), took with him a sword-stick, a habit whichI thought rather ridiculous, for, though he was an essentially saneman, I had quite made up my mind that his fear of assassination waseither a fancy or a fad.

After my patron’s departure I worked for a while in thelaboratory; and an hour before dinner I went for a stroll in thepark, making, for no reason in particular, toward the principalentrance. As I neared it I heard voices in dispute, and on reachingthe gates I found the lodge-keeper engaged in a somewhat warmaltercation with an Italian organ-grinder and another fellow of thesame kidney, who seemed to be his companion.

The lodge-keepers had strict orders to exclude from the park allbeggars without exception, and all and sundry who produced music byturning a handle. Real musicians, however, were freely admitted,and often generously rewarded.

The lodge-keeper in question (an old fellow with a wooden leg)had not been able to make the two vagabonds in question understandthis. They insisted on coming in, and the lodge-keeper said that ifI had not appeared he verily believed they would have entered inspite of him. They seemed to know very little English; but as Iknew a little Italian, which I eked out with a few significantgestures, I speedily enlightened them, and they sheered off,looking daggers, and muttering what sounded like curses.

The man who carried the organ was of the usual type—short,thick-set, hairy, and unwashed. His companion, rather to mysurprise, was just the reverse—tall, shapely, well set up,and comparatively well clad; and with his dark eyes, blackmustache, broad-brimmed hat, and red tie loosely knotted round hisbrawny throat, he looked decidedly picturesque.

On the following day, as I was going to the stables (which werea few hundred yards below the house) I found my picturesque Italianin the back garden, singing a barcarole to the accompaniment of aguitar. But as he had complied with the condition of which I hadinformed him, I made no objection. So far from that I gave him ashilling, and as the maids (who were greatly taken with hisappearance) got up a collection for him and gave him a feed, he didnot do badly.

A few days later, while out riding, I called at the station foran evening paper, and there he was again, “touching hisguitar,” and singing something that sounded verysentimental.

“That fellow is like a bad shilling,” I said to oneof the porters—“always turning up.”

“He is never away. I think he must have taken it into hishead to live here.”

“What does he do?”

“Oh, he just hangs about, and watches the trains, as if hehad never seen any before. I suppose there are none in the countryhe comes from. Between whiles he sometimes plays on his banjo andsings a bit for us. I cannot quite make him out; but as he is veryquiet and well-behaved, and never interferes with nobody, it is nobusiness of mine.”

Neither was it any business of mine; so after buying my paper Idismissed the subject from my mind and rode on to Kingscote.

As a rule, I found the morning papers quite as much as I couldstruggle with; but at this time a poisoning case was being triedwhich interested me so much that while it lasted I sent for orfetched an evening paper every afternoon. The day after myconversation with the porter I adopted the former course, the dayafter that I adopted the latter, and, contrary to my usualpractice, I walked.

There were two ways from Kingscote to the station; one by theroad, the other by a little-used footpath. I went by the road, andas I was buying my paper at Smith’s bookstall thestation-master told me that Mr. Fortescue had returned by a trainwhich came in about ten minutes previously.

“He must be walking home by the fields, then, or we shouldhave met,” I said; and pocketing my paper, I set off with theintention of overtaking him.

As I have already observed, the field way was little frequented,most people preferring the high-road as being equally direct and,except in the height of summer, both dryer and less lonesome.

After traversing two or three fields the foot-path ran through athick wood, once part of the great forest of Essex, then descendinginto a deep hollow, it made a sudden bend and crossed a ramblingold brook by a dilapidated bridge.

As I reached the bend I heard a shout, and looking down I sawwhat at first sight (the day being on the wane and the wood gloomy)I took to be three men amusing themselves with a littlecudgel-play. But a second glance showed me that something much morelike murder than cudgel-play was going on; and shortening my Irishblackthorn, I rushed at breakneck speed down the hollow.

I was just in time. Mr. Fortescue, with his back against thetree, was defending himself with his sword-stick against the twoItalians, each of whom, armed with a long dagger, was doing hisbest to get at him without falling foul of the sword.

The rascals were so intent on their murderous business that theyneither heard nor saw me, and, taking them in the rear, I fetchedthe guitar-player a crack on his skull that stretched him senselesson the ground, whereupon the other villain, without more ado, tookto his heels.

“Thank you,” said Mr. Fortescue, quietly, as he putup his weapon. “I don’t think I could have kept thebrigands at bay much longer. A sword-stick is no match for a pairof Corsican daggers. The next time I take a walk I must have arevolver. Is that fellow dead, do you think? If he is, I shall bestill more in your debt.”

I looked at the prostrate man’s face, then at his head.“No,” I said, “there is no fracture. He is onlystunned.” My diagnosis was verified almost as soon as it wasspoken. The next moment the Italian opened his eyes and sat up, andhad I not threatened him with my blackthorn would have sprung tohis feet.

“You have to thank this gentleman for saving yourlife,” said Mr. Fortescue, in French.

“How?” asked the fellow in the same language.

“If you had killed me you would have been hanged. If Ihand you over to the police you will get twenty years at the hulksfor attempted murder, and unless you answer my questions truly Ishall hand you over to the police. You are a Griscelli.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which of them?”

“I am Giuseppe, the son of Giuseppe.”

“In that case you are his grandson. How did youfind me out?”

“You were at Paris last summer.”

“But you did not see me there.”

“No, but Giacomo did; and from your name and appearance wefelt sure you were the same.”

“Who is Giacomo—your brother?”

“No, my cousin, the son of Luigi.”

“What is he?”

“He belongs to the secret police.”

“So Giacomo put you on the scent?”

“Yes, sir. He ascertained that you were living in England.The rest was easy.”

“Oh, it was, was it? You don’t find yourself verymuch at ease just now, I fancy. And now, my young friend, I amgoing to treat you better than you deserve. I can afford to do so,for, as you see, and, as your grandfather and your fatherdiscovered to their cost, I bear a charmed life. You cannot killme. You may go. And I advise you to return to France or Corsica, orwherever may be your home, with all speed, for to-morrow I shalldenounce you to the police, and if you are caught you know what toexpect. Who is your accomplice—a kinsman?”

“No, only compatriot, whose acquaintance I made in London.He is a coward.”

“Evidently. One more question and I have done. Have youany brothers?”

“Yes, sir; two.”

“And about a dozen cousins, I suppose, all of whom wouldbe delighted to murder me—if they could. Now, give thatgentleman your dagger, and march, au pasgymnastique.”

With a very ill grace, Giuseppe Griscelli did as he was bid, andthen, rising to his feet, he marched, not, however, at the pasgymnastique, but slowly and deliberately; and as he reached abend in the path a few yards farther on, he turned round and castat Mr. Fortescue the most diabolically ferocious glance I ever sawon a human countenance.

Chapter V.

Thereby Hangs a Tale.

Return to Table ofContents

“You believe now, I hope,” said Mr. Fortescue, as wewalked homeward.

“Believe what, sir?”

“That I have relentless enemies who seek my life. When Ifirst told you of this you did not believe me. You thought I wasthe victim of an hallucination, else had I been more frank withyou.”

“I am really very sorry.”

“Don’t protest! I cannot blame you. It is hard forpeople who have led uneventful lives and seen little of the seamyside of human nature to believe that under the veneer ofcivilization and the mask of convention, hatreds are still asfierce, men still as revengeful as ever they were in oldentimes…. I hope I did not make a mistake in sparing youngGriscelli’s life.”

“Sparing his life! How?”

“He sought my life, and I had a perfect right to takehis.”

“That is not a very Christian sentiment, Mr.Fortescue.”

“I did not say it was. Do you always repay good for eviland turn your check to the smiter, Mr. Bacon?”

“If you put it in that way, I fear Idon’t.”

“Do you know anybody who does?”

After a moment’s reflection I was again compelled toanswer in the negative. I could not call to mind a singleindividual of my acquaintance who acted on the principle ofreturning good for evil.

“Well, then, if I am no better than other people, I am noworse. Yet, after all, I think I did well to let him go. Had Ikilled the brigand, there would have been a coroner’sinquest, and questions asked which might have been troublesome toanswer, and he has brothers and cousins. If I could destroy theentire brood! Did you see the look he gave me as he went away? Itmeant murder. We have not seen the last of Giuseppe Griscelli, Mr.Bacon.”

“I am afraid we have not. I never saw such an expressionof intense hatred in my life! Has he cause for it?”

“I dare say he thinks so. I killed his father and hisgrand-father.”

This, uttered as indifferently as if it were a question ofkilling hares and foxes, was more than I could stand. I am notstrait-laced, but I draw the line at murder.

“You did what?” I exclaimed, as, horror-struck andindignant, I stopped in the path and looked him full in theface.

I thought I had never seen him so Mephistopheles-like. Asinister smile parted his lips, showing his small white teethgleaming under his gray mustache, and he regarded me with a look ofcynical amusem*nt, in which there was perhaps a slight touch ofcontempt.

“You are a young man, Mr. Bacon,” he observed,gently, “and, like most young men, and a great many old men,you make false deductions. Killing is not always murder. If itwere, we should consign our conquerors to everlasting infamy,instead of crowning them with laurels and erecting statues to theirmemory. I am no murderer, Mr. Bacon. At the same time I do notcherish illusions. Unpremeditated murder is by no means the worstof crimes. Taking a life is only anticipating the inevitable; andof all murderers, Nature is the greatest and the cruellest. Ihave—if I could only tell you—make you see what I haveseen—Even now, O God! though half a century has run itscourse—”

Here Mr. Fortescue’s voice failed him; he turned deadlypale, and his countenance took an expression of the keenestanguish. But the signs of emotion passed away as quickly as theyhad appeared. Another moment and he had fully regained hiscomposure, and he added, in his usual self-possessed manner:

“All this must seem very strange to you, Mr. Bacon. Isuppose you consider me somewhat of a mystery.”

“Not somewhat, but very much.”

Mr. Fortescue smiled (he never laughed) and reflected amoment.

“I am thinking,” he said, “how strangelythings come about, and, so to speak, hang together. The greatest ofall mysteries is fate. If that horse had not run away with you,these rascals would almost certainly have made away with me; andthe incident of to-day is one of the consequences of that which Imentioned at our first interview.”

“When we had that good run from Latton. I remember it verywell. You said you had been hunted yourself.”

“Yes.”

“How was it, Mr. Fortescue?”

“Ah! Thereby hangs a tale.”

“Tell it me, Mr. Fortescue,” I said, eagerly.

“And a very long tale.”

“So much the better; it is sure to beinteresting.”

“Ah, yes, I dare say you would find it interesting. Mylife has been stirring and stormy enough, in allconscience—except for the ten years I spent in heaven,”said Mr. Fortescue, in a voice and with a look of intensesadness.

“Ten years in heaven!” I exclaimed, as muchastonished as I had just been horrified. Was the man mad, afterall, or did he speak in paradoxes? “Ten years inheaven!”

Mr. Fortescue smiled again, and then it occurred to me that histen years of heaven might have some connection with the veiledportrait and the shrine in his room up-stairs.

“You take me too literally,” he said. “I spokemetaphorically. I did not mean that, like Swedenborg and Mohammed,I have made excursions to Paradise. I merely meant that I oncespent ten years of such serene happiness as it seldom falls to thelot of man to enjoy. But to return to our subject. You would liketo know more of my past; but as it would not be satisfactory totell you an incomplete history, and to tell you all—Yet whynot? I have done nothing that I am ashamed of; and it is well youshould know something of the man whose life you have saved once,and may possibly save again. You are trustworthy, straightforward,and vigilant, and albeit you are not overburdened withintelligence—”

Here Mr. Fortescue paused, as if to reflect; and, though theobservation was not very flattering—hardly civil,indeed—I was so anxious to hear this story that I took it ingood part, and waited patiently for his decision.

“To relate it viva voce” he went on,thoughtfully, “would be troublesome to both of us.”

“I am sure I should find it anything buttroublesome.”

“Well, I should. It would take too much time, and I hatetravelling over old ground. But that is a difficulty which I thinkwe can get over. For many years I have made a record of theprincipal events of my life, in the form of a personal narrative;and though I have sometimes let it run behind for a while, I havealways written it up.”

“That is exactly the thing. As you say, telling a longstory is troublesome. I can read it.”

“I am afraid not. It is written in a sort of stenographiccipher of my own invention.”

“That is very awkward,” I said, despondently.“I know no more of shorthand than of Sanskrit, and though Ionce tried to make out a cipher, the only tangible result was asplitting headache.”

“With the key, which I will give you, a little instructionand practice, you should have no difficulty in making out mycipher. It will be an exercise for yourintelligence”—smiling. “Will you try?”

“My very best.”

“And now for the conditions. In the first place, you must,in stenographic phrase, ‘extend’ my notes, write outthe narrative in a legible hand and good English. If there be anyblanks, I will fill them up; if you require explanations, I willgive them. Do you agree?”

“I agree.”

“The second condition is that you neither make use of thenarrative for any purpose of your own, nor disclose the whole orany part of it to anybody until and unless I give you leave. Whatsay you?”

“I say yes.”

“The third and last condition is, that you engage to staywith me in your present capacity until it pleases me to give youyour congé. Again what say you?”

This was rather a “big order,” and very one-sided.It bound me to remain with Mr. Fortescue for an indefinite period,yet left him at liberty to dismiss me at a moment’s notice;and if he went on living, I might have to stay at Kingscote till Iwas old and gray. All the same, the position was a good one. I hadfour hundred a year (the price at which I had modestly appraised myservices), free quarters, a pleasant life, and lots ofhunting—all I could wish for, in fact; and what can a manhave more? So again I said, “Yes.”

“We are agreed in all points, then. If you will come intomy room “—we were by this time arrived at thehouse—“you shall have your first lesson incryptography.”

I assented with eagerness, for I was burning to begin, and, fromwhat Mr. Fortescue had said, I did not anticipate any greatdifficulty in making out the cipher.

But when he produced a specimen page of his manuscript, myconfidence, like Bob Acre’s courage, oozed out at myfinger-ends, or rather, all over me, for I broke out into a coldsweat.

The first few lines resembled a confused array of algebraicformula. (I detest algebra.) Then came several lines that seemed tohave been made by the crawlings of tipsy flies with inky legs,followed by half a dozen or so that looked like the ravings of alunatic done into Welsh, while the remainder consisted of Romannumerals and ordinary figures mixed up, higgledy-piggledy.

“This is nothing less than appalling,” I almostgroaned. “It will take me longer to learn than two or threelanguages.”

“Oh, no! When you have got the clew, and learned thesigns, you will read the cipher with ease.”

“Very likely; but when will that be?”

“Soon. The system is not nearly so complicated as itlooks, and the language being English—”

“English! It looks like a mixture of ancient Mexican andmodern Chinese.”

“The language being English, nothing could be easier for aman of ordinary intelligence. If I had expected that my manuscriptwould fall into the hands of a cryptographist, I should havecontrived something much more complicated and written it in severallanguages; and you have the key ready to your hand. Come, let usbegin.”

After half an hour’s instruction I began to see daylight,and to feel that with patience and practice I should be able towrite out the story in legible English. The little I had read withMr. Fortescue made me keen to know more; but as the cryptographicnarrative did not begin at the beginning, he proposed that I shouldwrite this, as also any other missing parts, to his dictation.

“Who knows that you may not make a book of it?” hesaid.

“Do you think I am intelligent enough?” I asked,resentfully; for his uncomplimentary references to my mentalcapacity were still rankling in my mind.

“I should hope so. Everybody writes in these days.Don’t worry yourself on that score, my dear Mr. Bacon. Eventhough you may write a book, nobody will accuse you of beingexceptionally intelligent.”

“But I cannot make a book of your narrative without yourleave,” I observed, with a painful sense of having gainednothing by my motion.

“And that leave may be sooner or later forthcoming, onconditions.”

As the reader will find in the sequel, the leave has been givenand the conditions have been fulfilled, and Mr. Fortescue’spersonal narrative—partly taken down from his own dictation,but for the most part extended from his manuscript—beginswith the following chapter.

Chapter VI.

The Tale Begins.

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The morning after the battle of Salamanca (through which Ipassed unscathed) the regiment of dragoons to which I belonged(forming part of Anson’s brigade), together with Bock’sGermans, was ordered to follow on the traces of the flying French,who had retired across the River Tormes. Though we started atdaylight, we did not come up with their rear-guard until noon. Itconsisted of a strong force of horse and foot, and made a standnear La Serna; but the cavalry, who had received a severe lesson onthe previous day, bolted before we could cross swords with them.The infantry, however, remained firm, and forming square, faced uslike men. The order was then given to charge; and when the twobrigades broke into a gallop and thundered down the slope, theyraised so thick a cloud of dust that all we could see of the enemywas the glitter of their bayonets and the flash of theirmusket-fire. Saddles were emptied both to the right and left of me,and one of the riderless horses, maddened by a wound in the head,dashed wildly forward, and leaping among the bayonets and lashingout furiously with his hind-legs, opened a way into the square. Iwas the first man through the gap, and engaged the French colonelin a hand-to-hand combat. At the very moment just as I gave him thepoint in his throat he cut open my shoulder, my horse, mortallyhurt by a bayonet thrust, fell, half rolling over me and crushingmy leg.

As I lay on the ground, faint with the loss of blood and unableto rise, some of our fellows rode over me, and being hit on thehead by one of their horses, I lost consciousness. When I came tomyself the skirmish was over, nearly the whole of the Frenchrear-guard had been taken prisoners or cut to pieces, and a surgeonwas dressing my wounds. This done, I was removed in an ambulance toSalamanca.

The historic old city, with its steep, narrow streets, numerousconvents, and famous university, had been well-nigh ruined by theFrench, who had pulled down half the convents and nearly all thecolleges, and used the stones for the building of forts, which, afew weeks previously, Wellington had bombarded with red-hotshot.

The hospitals being crowded with sick and wounded, I wasbilleted in the house of a certain Señor Don AlbertoZamorra, which (probably owing to the fact of its having been thequarters of a French colonel) had not taken much harm, eitherduring the French occupation of the town or the subsequent siege ofthe forts.

Don Alberto gave me a hearty, albeit a dignified welcome, andbeing a Spanish gentleman of the old school, he naturally placedhis house, and all that it contained, at my disposal. I did not, ofcourse, take this assurance literally, and had I not been on theright side, I should doubtless have met with a very differentreception. All the same, he made a very agreeable host, and beforeI had been his guest many days we became fast friends.

Don Zamorra was old, nearly as old as I am now; and as Ispeedily discovered, he had passed the greater part of his life inSpanish America, where he had held high office under the crown. Hecould hardly talk about anything else, in fact, and once he beganto discourse about his former greatness and the marvels of theIndies (as South and Central America were then sometimes called) henever knew when to stop. He had crossed the Andes and seen theAmazon, sailed down the Orinoco and visited the mines of Potosi andGuanajuata, beheld the fiery summit of Cotopaxi, and peeped downthe smoky crater of Acatenango. He told of fights with Indians andwild animals, of being lost in the forest, and of perilousexpeditions in search of gold and precious stones. When Zamorraspoke of gold his whole attitude changed, the fires of his youthblazed up afresh, his face glowed with excitement, and his eyessparkled with greed. At these times I saw in him a true type of theold Spanish Conquestadores, who would baptize a cacique to save himfrom hell one day, and kill him and loot his treasure the next.

Don Alberto had, moreover, a firm belief in the existence of thefabled El Dorado, and of the city of Manoa, with its resplendenthouse of the sun, its hoards of silver and gold, and its gildedking. Thousands of adventurers had gone forth in search of thesewonders, and thousands had perished in the attempt to find them.Señor Zamorra had sought El Dorado on the banks of theOrinoco and the Rio Negro; others, near the source of the RioGrande and the Marañon; others, again, among the volcanoesof Salvador and the canons of the Cordilleras. Zamorra believedthat it lay either in the wilds of Guiana, or the unexploredconfines of Peru and the Brazils.

He had heard of and believed even greater wonders—of astream on the Pacific coast of Mexico, whose pebbles were silver,and whose sand was gold; of a volcano in the Peruvian Cordillera,whose crater was lined with the noblest of metals, and which oncein every hundred years ejected, for days together, diamonds, andrubies, and dust of gold.

“If that volcano could only be found,” said the don,with a convulsive clutching of his bony fingers, and a greedy glarein his aged eyes. “If that volcano could only be found! Why,it must be made of gold, and covered with precious stones! The manwho found it would be the richest in all the world—richerthan all the people in the world put together!”

“Did you ever see it, Don Alberto?” I asked.

“Did I ever see it?” he cried, uplifting hiswithered hands. “If I had seen that volcano you would neverhave seen me, but you would have heard of me. I had it from anIndio whose father once saw it with his own eyes; but I was tooold, too old”—sighing—“to go on the quest.To undertake such an enterprise a man should be in the prime oflife and go alone. A single companion, even though he were your ownbrother, might be fatal; for what virtue could be proof against sogreat a temptation—millions of diamonds and a mountain ofgold?”

All this roused my curiosity and fired my imagination—notthat I believed it all, for Zamorra was evidently a visionary witha fixed idea, and as touching his craze, credulous as a child; butin those days South America had been very little written about andnot half explored; for me it had all the charm and fascination ofthe unknown—a land of romance and adventure, abounding ingrand scenery, peopled by strange races, and containing themightiest rivers, the greatest forests, and highest mountains inthe world.

When my host dismounted from his hobby he was an intelligenttalker, and told me much that was interesting about Mexico, Peru,Guatemala, and the Spanish Main. He had several books on thesubject which I greedily devoured. The expedition of Piedro deUrsua and Lope de Aguirre in search of El Dorado and Omagua;“History of the Conquest of Mexico,” by Don Antonio deSolis; Piedrolieta’s “General History of the Conquestof the New Kingdom of Grenada,” and others; and before weparted I had resolved that, so soon as the war was over, I wouldmake a voyage to the land of the setting sun, and see for myselfthe wonders of which I had heard.

“You are right,” said Señor Zamorra, when Itold him of my intention. “America is the country of thefuture. Ah, if I were only fifty years younger! You will, ofcourse, visit Venezuela; and if you visit Venezuela you are sure togo to Caracas. I will give you a letter of introduction to a friendof mine there. He is a man in authority, and may be of use to you.I should much like you to see him and greet him on mybehalf.”

I thanked my host, and promised to see his friend and presentthe letter. It was addressed to Don Simon de Ulloa. Little did Ithink how much trouble that letter would give me, and how near itwould come to being my death-warrant.

Zamorra then besought me, with tears in his eyes, to go insearch of the Golden Volcano.

“If you could give me a more definite idea of itswhereabouts I might possibly make the attempt,” I answered,with intentional vagueness; for though I no more believed in theobjective existence of the Golden Volcano than in Aladdin’slamp, I did not wish to hurt the old man’s feelings by anavowal of my skepticism.

“Ah, my dear sir,” he said, with a gesture ofdespair, “if I knew the whereabouts of the Golden Volcano, Ishould go thither myself, old as I am. I should have gone long ago,and returned with a hoard of wealth that would make me the masterof Europe—wealth that would buy kingdoms. I can tell you nomore than that it is somewhere in the region of the Peruvian Andes.It may be that by cautious inquiry you may light on an Indio whowill lead you to the very spot. It is worth the attempt, and if bythe help of St. Peter and the Holy Virgin you succeed, and I amstill alive, send me out of your abundance a few arrobas(twenty-five pounds) of gold and a handful of diamonds. It is all Iask.”

It was all he asked.

“When I find that volcano, Don Alberto,” I said,“not a mere handful of diamonds, but a bucketful.”

This was almost our last talk, for the very same day news wasbrought that Lord Wellington, having been forced to raise the siegeof Burgos, was retreating toward the Portuguese frontier, and thatSalamanca would almost inevitably be recaptured by the French.Orders were given for the removal of the wounded to the Coa, wherethe army was to take up its winter quarters, and Zamorra and I hadto part. We parted with mutual expressions of good-will, and in thehope, destined never to be realized, that we might soon meet again.I had seen Don Alberto for the last time.

A few weeks later I was sufficiently recovered from my hurts touse my bridle-arm, and before the opening of the next campaign Iwas fit for the field and eager for the fray. It was the campaignof Vittoria, one of the most brilliant episodes in the militaryhistory of England. Even now my heart beats faster and the bloodtingles in my veins when I think of that time, so full ofexcitement, adventure, and glory—the forcing of the Pyrenees,the invasion of France, the battles of Bayonne, Orthes, andToulouse, and the march to Paris.

But as I am not relating a history of the war, I shall mentiononly one incident in which I was concerned at this period—anincident that brought me in contact with a man who was destined toexercise a fateful influence on my career.

It occurred after the battle of Vittoria. The French were makingfor the Pyrenees, laden with the loot of a kingdom and encumberedwith a motley crowd of non-combatants—the wives and familiesof French officers, fair señoritas flying with their lovers,and traitorous Spaniards, who, by taking sides with the invaders,had exposed themselves to the vengeance of the patriots. Sooverwhelming was the defeat of the French, that they were forced toabandon nearly the whole of their plunder and the greater part oftheir baggage, and leave the fugitives and camp-followers to theirfate.

Never was witnessed so strange a sight as the valley of Vittoriapresented at the close of that eventful day. The broken remains ofthe French army hurrying toward the Pamplona road, eighty pieces ofartillery, served with frantic haste, covering their retreat;thousands of wagons and carriages jammed together and unable tomove; the red-coated infantry of England, marching steadily acrossthe plain; the boom of the cannon, the rattle of musketry, thescream of women as the bullets whistled through the air and shellsburst over their heads—all this made up a scene, dramatic andpicturesque, it is true, yet full of dire confusion and Dantesquehorror; for death had reaped a rich harvest, and thousands ofwounded lay writhing on the blood-stained field.

Owing to the bursting of packages, the overturning of wagons,and the havoc wrought by shot and shell, valuable effects, coin,gems, gold and silver candlesticks and vessels, pricelesspaintings, the spoil of Spanish churches and convents, were strewedover the ground. There was no need to plunder; our men picked upmoney as they matched, and it was computed that a sum equal to amillion sterling found its way into their knapsacks andpockets.

Our Spanish allies, officers as well as privates, were lessscrupulous. They robbed like highwaymen, and protested that theywere only taking their own.

While riding toward Vittoria to execute an order of thecolonel’s, I passed a carriage which a moment or twopreviously had been overtaken by several of Longa’s dragoons,with the evident intention of overhauling it. In the carriage weretwo ladies, one young and pretty the other good-looking and mature;and, as I judged from their appearance, both being well dressed,the daughter and wife of a French officer of rank. They appealed tome for help.

“You are an English officer,” said the elder inFrench; “all the world knows that your nation is aschivalrous as it is brave. Protect us, I pray you, from theseruffians.”

I bowed, and turning to the Spaniards, one of whom was anofficer, spoke them fair; for my business was pressing, and I hadno wish to be mixed up in a quarrel.

“Caballeros,” I said, “we do not make war onwomen. You will let these ladies go.”

“Carambo! We shall do nothing of the sort,”returned the officer, insolently. “These ladies are ourprisoners, and their carriage and all it contains ourprize.”

“I beg your pardon, Señor Capitan, but you are,perhaps not aware that Lord Wellington has given strict orders thatprivate property is to be respected; and no true caballero molestswomen.”

“Hijo de Dios! Dare you say that I am no truecaballero? Begone this instant, or—”

The Spaniard drew his sword; I drew mine; his men began to lookto the priming of their pistols, and had General Anson not chancedto come by just in the nick of time, it might have gone ill withme. On learning what had happened, he said I had acted veryproperly and told the Spaniards that if they did not promptlydepart he would hand them over to the provost-marshal.

“We shall meet again, I hope, you and I,” said theofficer, defiantly, as he gathered up his reins.

“So do I, if only that I may have an opportunity ofchastising you for your insolence,” was my equally defiantanswer.

“A thousand thanks, monsieur! You have done me and mydaughter a great service,” said the elder of the ladies.“Do me the pleasure to accept this ring as a slight souvenirof our gratitude, and I trust that in happier times we may meetagain.”

I accepted the souvenir without looking at it; reciprocated thewish in my best French, made my best bow, and rode off on myerrand. By the same act I had made one enemy and two friends;therefore, as I thought, the balance was in my favor. But I waswrong, for a wider experience of the world than I then possessedhas taught me that it is better to miss making a hundred ordinaryfriends than to make one inveterate enemy.

Chapter VII.

In Quest of Fortune.

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When the war came to an end my occupation was gone, for bothcirc*mstances and my own will compelled me to leave the army. Myallowance could no longer be continued. At the best, the life of alieutenant of dragoons in peace time would have been little to myliking; with no other resource than my pay, it would have beenintolerable. So I sent in my papers, and resolved to seek myfortune in South America. After the payment of my debts (incurredpartly in the purchase of my first commission) and the provision ofmy outfit, the sum left at my disposal was comparatively trifling.But I possessed a valuable asset in the ring given me by the Frenchlady on the field of Vittoria. It was heavy, of antique make,curiously wrought, and set with a large sapphire of incomparablebeauty. A jeweler, to whom I showed it, said he had never seen afiner. I could have sold it for a hundred guineas. But as the gemwas property in a portable shape and more convertible than a billof exchange, I preferred to keep it, taking, however, theprecaution to have the sapphire covered with a composition, inorder that its value might not be too readily apparent to covetouseyes.

At this time the Spanish colonies of Colombia (including thecountries now known as Venezuela, New Granada, and Ecuador, as alsothe present republic of southern Central America) were in fullrevolt against the mother country. The war had been going on forseveral years with varying fortunes; but latterly the Spaniards hadbeen getting decidedly the best of it. Caracas and all the seaporttowns were in their possession, and the patriot cause was onlymaintained by a few bands of irregulars, who were waging adesperate and almost hopeless contest in the forests and on thellanos of the interior.

My sympathies were on the popular side, and I might have joinedthe volunteer force which was being raised in England for servicewith the insurgents. But this did not suit my purpose. If Iaccepted a commission in the Legion I should have to go where I wasordered. I preferred to go where I listed. I had no objection tofighting, but I wanted to do it in my own way and at my own time,and rather in the ranks of the rebels themselves than as officer ina foreign force.

This view of the case I represented to SeñorMoreña, one of the “patriot” agents in London,and asked his advice.

“Why not go to Caracas?” he said.

“What would be the use of that? Caracas is in the hands ofthe Spaniards.”

“You could get from Caracas into the interior, and do thecause an important service.”

“How?”

Señor Moreña explained that the patriots of thecapital, being sorely oppressed by the Spaniards, were losingcourage, and he wished greatly to send them a message of hope andthe assurance that help was at hand. It was also most desirablethat the insurgent leaders on the field should be informed of theorganization of a British liberating Legion, and of other measureswhich were being taken to afford them relief and turn the tide ofvictory in their favor.

But to communicate these tidings to the parties concerned was byno means easy. The post was obviously quite out of the question,and no Spanish creole could land at any port held by the Royalistswithout the almost certainty of being promptly strangled or shot.“An Englishman, however—especially an Englishman whohad fought under Wellington in Spain—might undertake themission with comparative impunity,” said SeñorMoreña.

“I understand perfectly,” I answered. “I haveto go in the character of an ordinary travelling Englishman, andact as an emissary of the insurgent junta. But if my true characteris detected, what then?”

“That is not at all likely, Mr. Fortescue.”

“Yet the unlikely happens sometimes—happensgenerally, in fact. Suppose it does in the presentinstance?”

“In that case I am very much afraid that you would beshot.”

“I have not a doubt of it. Nevertheless, your proposalpleases me, and I shall do my best to carry out yourwishes.”

Whereupon Señor Moreña expressed his thanks insonorous Castilian, protested that my courage and devotion wouldearn me the eternal gratitude of every patriot, and promised tohave everything ready for me in the course of the week, a promisewhich he faithfully kept.

Three days later Moreña brought me a packet of lettersand a memorandum containing minute instructions for my guidance.Nothing could be more harmless looking than the letters. Theycontained merely a few items of general news and the recommendationof the bearer to the good offices of the recipient. But this wasonly a blind; the real letters were written in cipher, withsympathetic ink. They were, moreover, addressed to secret friendsof the revolutionary cause, who, as Señor Moreñabelieved and hoped, were, as yet, unsuspected by the Spanishauthorities, and at large.

“To give you letters to known patriots would be simply toinsure your destruction,” said the señor, “evenif you were to find them alive and at liberty.”

I had also Don Alberto’s letter, and as the old gentlemanhad once been president of the Audiencia Real (RoyalCouncil), Moreña thought it would be of great use to me, andserve to ward off suspicion, even though some of the friends towhom he had himself written should have meanwhile got intotrouble.

But as if he had not complete confidence in the efficacy ofthese elaborate precautions, Señor Moreña stronglyadvised me to stay no longer in Caracas than I could possiblyhelp.

“Spies more vigilant than those of the Inquisition arecontinually on the lookout for victims,” he said. “Aninadvertent word, a look even, might betray you; the only law isthe will of the military and police, and they make very short workof those whom they suspect. Yes, leave Caracas the moment you havedelivered your letters; our friends will smuggle you through theSpanish line and lead you to one of the patriot camps.”

This was not very encouraging; but I was at an adventurous ageand in an enterprising mood, and the creole’s warnings hadrather the effect of increasing my desire to go forward with theundertaking in which I had engaged than causing me to falter in myresolve. Like Napoleon, I believed in my star, and I had faceddeath too often on the field of battle to fear the rather remotedangers Moreña had foreshadowed, and in whose existence Ionly half believed.

The die being cast, the next question was how I should reach mydestination. The Spaniards of that age kept the trade with theircolonies in their own hands, and it was seldom, indeed, that a shipsailed from the Thames for La Guayra or any other port on the Main.I was, however, lucky enough to find a vessel in the river takingin cargo for the island of Curaçoa, which had just beenceded by England to the Dutch, from whom it was captured in 1807,and for a reasonable consideration the master agreed to fit me up acabin and give me a passage.

The voyage was rather long—something like fiftydays—yet not altogether uneventful; for in the course of itwe were chased by an American privateer, overhauled by a Spanishcruiser, nearly caught by a pirate, and almost swamped in ahurricane; but we fortunately escaped these and all other dangers,and eventually reached our haven in safety.

I had brought with me letters of credit on a Dutch merchant atCuraçoa, of the name of Van Voorst, from whom I obtained asmuch coin as I thought would cover my expenses for a few months,and left the balance in his hands on deposit. With the help of thisgentleman, moreover, I chartered a falucha for the voyageto La Guayra. Also at his suggestion, moreover, I stitched severalgold pieces in the lining of my vest and the waistband of mytrousers, as a reserve in case of accident.

We made the run in twenty-four hours, and as thefalucha let go in the roadstead I tore up my memorandum ofinstructions (which I had carefully committed to memory) and threwthe fragments into the sea.

A little later we were boarded by two revenue officers, whoseemed more surprised than pleased to see me; as, however, mypapers were in perfect order, and nothing either compromising orcontraband was found in my possession, they allowed me to land, andI thought that my troubles (for the present) were over. But I hadnot been ashore many minutes when I was met by a sergeant and afile of soldiers, who asked me politely, yet firmly, to accompanythem to the commandant of the garrison.

I complied, of course, and was conducted to the barracks, whereI found the gentleman in question lolling in a chinchura(hammock) and smoking a cigar. He eyed me with great suspicion, andafter examining my passport, demanded my business, and wanted toknow why I had taken it into my head to visit Colombia at a timewhen the country was being convulsed with civil war.

Thinking it best to answer frankly (with one or tworeservations), I said that, having heard much of South Americawhile campaigning in Spain, I had made up my mind to voyage thitheron the first opportunity.

“What! you have served in Spain, in the army of LordWellington!” interposed the commandant with greatvivacity.

“Yes; I joined shortly before the battle of Salamanca,where I was wounded. I was also at Vittoria, and—”

“So was I. I commanded a regiment in Murillo’scorps d’armée, and have come out with him toColombia. We are brothers in arms. We have both bled in the sacredcause of Spanish independence. Let me embrace you.”

Whereupon the commandant, springing from his hammock, put hisarms round my neck and his head on my shoulders, patted me on theback, and kissed me on both cheeks, a salute which I thought itexpedient to return, though his face was not overclean and hesmelled abominably of garlic and stale tobacco.

“So you have come to see South America—only to seeit!” he said. “But perhaps you are scientific; you havethe intention to explore the country and write a book, like theillustrious Humboldt?”

The idea was useful. I modestly admitted that I did cultivate alittle science, and allowed my “brother-in-arms” toremain in the belief that I proposed to follow in the footsteps ofthe author of “Cosmos”—at a distance.

“I have an immense respect for science,” continuedthe commandant, “and I doubt not that you will write a bookwhich will make you famous. My only regret is, that in the presentstate of the country you may find going about rather difficult. Butit won’t be for long. We have well-nigh got this accursedrebellion under. A few weeks more, and there will not be a rebelleft alive between the Andes and the Atlantic. The Captain-Generalof New Granada reports that he has either shot or hanged everyknown patriot in the province. We are doing the same here inVenezuela. We give no quarter; it is the only way with rebels.Guerra a la muerte!”

After this the commandant asked me to dinner, and insisted on mybecoming his guest until the morrow, when he would provide me withmules for myself and my baggage, and give me an escort to Caracas,and letter of introduction to one of his friends there. So greatwas his kindness, indeed, that only the ferocious sentiments whichhe had avowed in respect of the rebels reconciled me to thedeception which I was compelled to practise. I accepted hishospitality and his offer of mules and an escort, and the nextmorning I set out on the first stage of my inland journey. Beforeparting he expressed a hope—which I deemed it prudent toreciprocate—that we should meet again.

Nothing can be finer than the ride to Caracas by the old Spanishroad, or more superb than its position in a magnificent valley,watered by four rivers, surrounded by a rampart of lofty mountains,and enjoying, by reason of its altitude, a climate of perpetualspring. But the city itself wore an aspect of gloom and desolation.Four years previously the ground on which it stood had been tornand rent by a succession of terrible earthquakes in which hundredsof houses were levelled with the earth, and thousands of its peoplebereft of their lives. Since that time two sieges, and wholesaleproscription and executions, first by one side and then by theother, had well-nigh completed its destruction. Its principalbuildings were still in ruins, and half its population had eitherperished or fled. Nearly every civilian whom I met in the streetswas in mourning. Even the Royalists (who were more numerous than Iexpected) looked unhappy, for all had suffered either in person orin property, and none knew what further woes the future might bringthem.

Chapter VIII.

In the King’s Name.

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I put up at the Posado de los Generales (recommended by thecommandant), and the day after my arrival I delivered the lettersconfided to me by Señor Moreño. This done, I feltsafe; for (as I thought) there was nothing else in my possession bywhich I could possibly be compromised. I did not deliver theletters separately. I gave the packet, just as I had received it,to a certain Señor Carera, the secret chief of the patriotparty in Caracas. I also gave him a long verbal message fromMoreño, and we discussed at length the condition of thecountry and the prospects of the insurrection. In the interior, hesaid, there raged a frightful guerilla warfare, and Caracas wasunder a veritable reign of terror. Of the half-dozen friends forwhom I had brought letters, one had been garroted; another was inprison, and would almost certainly meet the same fate. It was onlyby posing as a loyalist and exercising the utmost circ*mspectionthat he had so far succeeded in keeping a whole skin; and if hewere not convinced that he could do more for the cause where he wasthan elsewhere, he would not remain in the city another hour. Asfor myself, he was quite of Moreño’s opinion, that thesooner I got away the better.

“I consider it my duty to watch over your safety,”he said. “I should be sorry indeed were any harm to befall anEnglish caballero who has risked his life to serve us and broughtus such good news.”

“What harm can befall me, now that I have got rid of thatpacket?” I asked.

“In a city under martial law and full of spies, there isno telling what may happen. Being, moreover, a stranger, you are amarked man. It is not everybody who, like the commandant of LaGuayra, will believe that you are travelling for your own pleasure.What man in his senses would choose a time like this for ascientific ramble in Venezuela?”

And then Señor Carera explained that he could arrange forme to leave Caracas almost immediately, under excellent guidance.The teniente of Colonel Mejia, one of the guerillaleaders, was in the town on a secret errand, and would set out onhis return journey in three days. If I liked I might go with him,and I could not have a better guide or a more trustworthycompanion.

It was a chance not to be lost. I told Señor Carera thatI should only be too glad to profit by the opportunity, and that onany day and at any hour which he might name I would be ready.

“I will see the teniente, and let you knowfurther in the course of to-morrow,” said Carera, after amoment’s thought. “The affair will require nicemanagement. There are patrols on every road. You must be wellmounted, and I suppose you will want a mule for yourbaggage.”

“No! I shall take no more than I can carry in mysaddle-bags. We must not be incumbered with pack-mules on anexpedition of this sort. We may have to ride for ourlives.”

“You are quite right, Señor Fortescue; so you may.I will see that you are well mounted, and I shall be delighted totake charge of your belongings until the patriots again, and forthe last time, capture Caracas and drive those thrice-accursedSpaniards into the sea.”

Before we separated I invited Señor Carera toalmuerzo (the equivalent to the Continental secondbreakfast) on the following day.

After a moment’s reflection he accepted the invitation.“But we shall have to be very cautious,” he added.“The posada is a Royalist house, and theposadero (innkeeper) is hand and glove with the police. Ifwe speak of the patriots at all, it must be only to abusethem…. But our turn will come, and—porDios!—then—”

The fierce light in Carera’s eyes, the gesture by whichhis words were emphasized, boded no good for the Royalists if thepatriots should get the upper hand. No wonder that a war in whichmen like him were engaged on the one side, and men like elCommandant Castro on the other, should be savage, merciless, and“to the death.”

As I had decided to quit Caracas so soon, it did not seem worthwhile presenting the letter to one of his brother officers which Ihad received from Commandant Castro. I thought, too, that inexisting circ*mstances the less I had to do with officers thebetter. But I did not like the idea of going away withoutfulfilling my promise to call on Zamorra’s old friend, DonSeñor Ulloa.

So when I returned to the posada I asked theposadero (innkeeper), a tall Biscayan, with an immenselylong nose, a cringing manner, and an insincere smile, if he wouldkindly direct me to Señor Ulloa’s house.

“Si, señor,” said theposadero, giving me a queer look, and exchangingsignificant glances with two or three of his guests who were withinearshot. “Si, señor, I can direct you to thehouse of Señor Ulloa. You mean Don Simon, ofcourse?”

“Yes. I have a letter of introduction to him.”

“Oh, you have a letter of introduction to Don Simon! ifyou will come into the street I will show you the way.”

Whereupon we went outside, and the posadero, pointingout the church of San Ildefonso, told me that the large house overagainst the eastern door was the house I sought.

“Gracias, señor,” I said, as Istarted on my errand, taking the shady side of the street andwalking slowly, for the day was warm.

I walked slowly and thought deeply, trying to make out whatcould be the meaning of the glances which the mention ofSeñor Ulloa’s name had evoked, and there was anameless something in the posadero’s manner I didnot like. Besides being cringing, as usual, it was half mocking,half menacing, as if I had said, or he had heard, something thatplaced me in his power.

Yet what could he have heard? What could there be in the name ofUlloa to either excite his enmity or rouse his suspicion? As a manin authority, and the particular friend of an ex-president of theAudiencia Real, Don Simon must needs be abovereproach.

Should I turn back and ask the posadero what he meant?No, that were both weak and impolitic. He would either answer mewith a lie, or refuse to answer at all, qui s’excuses’accuse. I resolved to go on, and see what came of it.Don Simon would no doubt be able to enlighten me.

I found the place without difficulty. There could be nomistaking it—a large house over against the eastern door ofthe church of San Ildefonso, built round a patio, orcourtyard, after the fashion of Spanish and South Americanmansions. Like the church, it seemed to have been much damaged bythe earthquake; the outer walls were cracked, and the gateway wasencumbered with fallen stones.

This surprised me less than may be supposed. Creoles are notremarkable for energy, and it was quite possible that SeñorUlloa’s fortunes might have suffered as severely from the waras his house had suffered from the earthquake. But when I enteredthe patio I was more than surprised. The only visiblesigns of life were lizards, darting in and out of their holes, anda huge rattlesnake sunning himself on the ledge of a brokenfountain. Grass was growing between the stones; rotten doors hungon rusty hinges; there were great gaps in the roof and hugefissures in the walls, and when I called no one answered.

“Surely,” I thought, “I have made somemistake. This house is both deserted and ruined.”

I returned to the street and accosted a passer-by.

“Is this the house of Don Simon Ulloa?” I askedhim.

“Si, Señor,” he said; and thenhurried on as if my question had half-frightened him out of hiswits.

I could not tell what to make of this; but my first idea wasthat Señor Ulloa was dead, and the house had the reputationof being haunted. In any case, the innkeeper had evidently playedme a scurvy trick, and I went back to the posada with thefull intention of having it out with him.

“Did you find the house of Don Simon, SeñorFortescue?” he asked when he saw me.

“Yes, but I did not find him. The house is empty anddeserted. What do you mean by sending me on such a fool’serrand?”

“I beg your pardon, señor. You asked me to directyou to Señor Ulloa’s house, and I did so. What could Ido more?” And the fellow cringed and smirked, as if it wereall a capital joke, till I could hardly refrain from pulling hislong nose first and kicking him afterwards, but I listened to thevoice of prudence and resisted the impulse.

“You know quite well that I sought Señor Ulloa. DidI not tell you that I had a letter for him? If you were a caballeroinstead of a wretched posadero, I would chastise yourtrickery as it deserves. What has become of Señor Ulloa, andhow comes it that his house is deserted?”

“Señor Ulloa is dead. He was garroted.”

“Garroted! What for?”

“Treason. There was discovered a compromisingcorrespondence between him and Bolivar. But why ask me? As a friendof Señor Ulloa, you surely know all this?”

“I never was a friend of his—never even saw him! Ihad merely a letter to him from a common friend. But how happenedit that Señor Ulloa, who, I believe, was acorrejidor, entered into a correspondence with thearch-traitor?”

“That made it all the worse. He richly deserved his fate.His eldest son, who was privy to the affair, was strangled at thesame time as his father; his other children fled, and SeñoraUlloa died of grief.”

“Poor woman! No wonder the house is deserted. What afrightful state of things!”

And then, feeling that I had said enough, and fearing that Imight say more, I turned on my heel, lighted a cigar, and, while Ipaced to and fro in the patio, seriously considered myposition, which, as I clearly perceived, was beginning to be ratherprecarious.

As likely as not the innkeeper would denounce me, and then itwould, of course, be very absurd, for I was utterly ignorant, andZamorra, a Royalist to the bone, must have been equally ignorantthat his friend Ulloa had any hand in the rebellion. The mere factof carrying a harmless letter of introduction from a well-knownloyalist to a friend whom he believed to be still a loyalist, couldsurely not be construed as an offense. At any rate it ought not tobe. But when I recalled all I had heard from Moreña, and thestories told me but an hour before by Carera, I thought itextremely probable that it would be, and bitterly regretted that Ihad not mentioned to the latter Ulloa’s name. He would haveput me on my guard, and I should not have so fatally committedmyself with the posadero.

But regrets are useless and worse. They waste time and weakenresolve. The question of the moment was, What should I do? Howavoid the danger which I felt sure was impending? There seemed onlyone way—immediate flight. I would go to Carera, tell him allthat had happened, and ask him to arrange for my departure fromCaracas that very night. I could steal away unseen when all wasquiet.

“At once,” I said to myself—“at once. IfI exaggerate, if the danger be not so pressing as I fear, he isjust the man to tell me; but, first of all, I will go into my roomand destroy this confounded letter. The posadero did notsee it. All that he can say is—”

“In the king’s name!” exclaimed a rough voicebehind me; and a heavy hand was laid on my arm.

Turning sharply round, I found myself confronted by an officerof police and four alguazils, all armed to the teeth.

“I arrest you in the king’s name,” repeatedthe officer.

“On what charge?” I asked.

“Treason. Giving aid and comfort to the king’senemies, and acting as a medium of communication between rebelsagainst his authority.”

“Very well; I am ready to accompany you,” I said,seeing that, for the moment at least, resistance and escape wereequally out of the question; “but the charge isfalse.”

“That I have nothing to do with. The case is one for themilitary tribunal. Before we go I must search your room.”

He did so, and, except my passport, found nothing whatever of adocumentary, much less of a compromising character. He thensearched me, and took possession of Zamorra’s unlucky letterto Ulloa and my memorandum-book, in which, however, there weremerely a few commonplace notes and scientific jottings.

This done he placed two of his alguazils on either side of me,telling them to run me through with their bayonets if I attemptedto escape, and then, drawing his sword and bringing up the rear,gave the order to march.

As we passed through the gateway I caught sight of theposadero, laughing consumedly, and pointing at me thefinger of scorn and triumph. How sorry I felt that I had not kickedhim when I was in the humor and had the opportunity!

Chapter IX.

Doomed to Die.

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My captors conducted me to a dilapidated building near the PlazaMajor, which did duty as a temporary jail, the principal prison ofCaracas having been destroyed by the earthquake and left as itfell. Nevertheless, the room to which I was taken seemed quitestrong enough to hold anybody unsupplied with housebreakingimplements or less ingenious than Jack Sheppard. The door was thickand well bolted, the window or grating (for it was, of course,destitute of glass) high and heavily barred, yet not too high to bereached with a little contrivance. Mounting the single chair(beside a hammock the only furniture the room contained), I grippedthe bars with my hands, raised myself up, and looked out. Below mewas a narrow, and, as it might appear, a little-frequented street,at the end of which a sentry was doing his monotonous spell ofduty.

The place was evidently well guarded, and from the number ofsoldiers whom I had seen about the gateway and in thepatio, I concluded that, besides serving as a jail, it wasused also as a military post. Even though I might get out, I shouldnot find it very easy to get away. And what were my chances ofgetting out? As yet they seemed exceedingly remote. The onlypossible exits were the door and the window. The door was bothlocked and bolted, and either to open or make an opening in it Ishould want a brace and bit and a saw, and several hours freedomfrom intrusion. It would be easier to cut the bars—if Ipossessed a file or a suitable saw. I had my knife, and with timeand patience I might possibly fashion a tool that would answer thepurpose.

But time was just what I might not be able to command. I hadheard that the sole merit of the military tribunal was itspromptitude; it never kept its victims long in suspense; they wereeither quickly released or as quickly despatched—the latterbeing the alternative most generally adopted. It was for thisreason that, the moment I was arrested, I began to think how Icould escape. As neither opening the door nor breaking the barsseemed immediately feasible, the idea of bribing the turnkeynaturally occurred to me. Thanks to the precaution suggested by Mr.Van Voorst, I had several gold pieces in my belt. But though thefellow would no doubt accept my money, what security had I that hewould keep his word? And how, even if he were to leave the dooropen, should I evade the vigilance of the sentries and the soldierswho were always loitering in the patio?

On the whole, I thought the best thing I could do was to waitquietly until the morrow. The night is often fruitful in ideas. Imight be acquitted, after all, and if I attempted to bribe theturnkey before my examination, and he should betray me to hissuperiors, my condemnation would be a foregone conclusion. The mereattempt would be regarded as an admission of guilt.

A while later, the zambo turnkey (half Indian, half negro)brought me my evening meal—a loaf of bread and a small bottleof wine—and I studied his countenance closely. It was bothtreacherous and truculent, and I felt that if I trusted him hewould be sure to play me false.

As it was near sunset I asked for a light, and tried to engagehim in conversation. But the attempt failed. He answered surlily,that a dark room was quite good enough for a damned rebel, and leftme to myself.

When it became too dark to walk about, I lay down in the hammockand was soon in the land of dreams; for I was young and sanguine,and though I could not help feeling somewhat anxious, it was notthe sort of anxiety which kills sleep. Only once in my life have Itasted the agony of despair. That time was not yet.

When I awoke the clock of a neighboring church was strikingthree, and the rays of a brilliant tropical moon were streamingthrough the barred window of my room, making it hardly less lightthan day.

As the echo of the last stroke dies away, I fancy that I hearsomething strike against the grating.

I rise up in my hammock, listening intently, and at the sameinstant a small shower of pebbles, flung by an unseen hand, fallsinto the room.

A signal!

Yes, and a signal that demands an answer. In less time than ittakes to tell I slip from my hammock, gather up the pebbles, climbup to the window, and drop them into the street. Then, looking out,I can just discern, deep in the shadow of the building opposite,the figure of a man. He raises his arm; something white flies overmy head and falls on the floor. Dropping hurriedly from thegrating, I pick up the message-bearing missile—a pebble towhich is tied a piece of paper. I can see that the paper containswriting, and climbing a second time up to the grating, I make outby the light of the moonbeams the words:

“If you are condemned, ask for apriest.”

My first feeling was one of bitter disappointment. Why should Iask for a priest? I was not a Roman Catholic; I did not want toconfess. If the author of the missive was Carera—and who elsecould it be?—why had he given himself so much trouble to makeso unpleasantly suggestive a recommendation? A priest, forsooth! Afile and a cord would be much more to the purpose…. Butmight not the words mean more than appeared? Could it be thatCarera desired to give me a friendly hint to prepare for theworst?… Or was it possible that the ghostly man would bringme a further message and help me in some way to escape? At anyrate, it was a more encouraging theory than the other, and Iresolved to act on it. If the priest did me no good, he could, atleast, do me no harm.

After tearing up the bit of paper and chewing the fragments, Ireturned to my hammock and lay awake—sleep being now out ofthe question—until the turnkey brought me a cup of chocolate,of which, with the remains of the loaf, I made my first breakfast.About the middle of the day he brought me something moresubstantial. On both occasions I pressed him with questions as towhen I was to be examined, and what they were going to do with me,to all of which he answered “No se” (“Idon’t know”), and, probably enough, he told the truth.However, I was not kept long in suspense. Later on in the afternoonthe door opened for the third time, and the officer who hadarrested me, followed by his alguazils, appeared at the thresholdand announced that he had been ordered to escort me to thetribunal.

We went in the same order as before; and a walk of less thanfifteen minutes brought us to another tumble-down building, whichappeared to have been once a court-house. Only the lower rooms werehabitable, and at a door, on either side of which stood a sentry,my conductor respectfully knocked.

“Adelante!” said a rough voice; and weentered accordingly.

Before a long table at the upper end of a large,barely-furnished room, with rough walls and a cracked ceiling, satthree men in uniform. The one who occupied the chief seat, andseemed to be the president, was old and gray, with hard, suspiciouseyes, and a long, typical Spanish face, in every line of which Iread cruelty and ruthless determination. His colleagues, who calledhim “marquis,” treated him with great deference, andhis breast was covered with orders.

It was evident that on this man would depend my fate. The otherswere there merely to register his decrees.

After leading me to the table and saluting the tribunal, theofficer of police, whose sword was still drawn, placed himself in aconvenient position for running me through, in the event of mybehaving disrespectfully to the tribunal or attempting toescape.

The president, who had before him the letter to SeñorUlloa, my passport, and a document that looked like a brief,demanded my name and quality.

I told him.

“What was your purpose in coming to Caracas?” heasked.

“Simply to see the country.”

He laughed scornfully.

“To see the country! What nonsense is this? How cananybody see a country which is ravaged by brigands and convulsedwith civil war? And where is your authority?”

“My passport.”

“A passport such as this is only available in a time ofpeace. No stranger unprovided with a safe conduct from thecapitan-general is allowed to travel in the province ofCaracas. It is useless trying to deceive us, señor. Yourpurpose is to carry information to the rebels, probably to jointhem, as is proved by your possession of a letter to so base atraitor as Señor Ulloa.”

On this I explained how I had obtained the letter, and pointedout that the very fact of my asking the posadero to directme to Ulloa’s house, and going thither openly, was proofpositive of my innocence. Had my purpose been that which he imputedto me, I should have shown more caution.

“That does not at all follow,” rejoined thepresident. “You may have intended to disarm suspicion by apretence of ignorance. Moreover, you expressed to theseñor posadero sentiments hostile to the Governmentof his Majesty the King.”

“It is untrue. I did nothing of the sort,” Iexclaimed, impetuously.

“Mind what you say, prisoner. Unless you treat thetribunal with due respect you shall be sent back to thecarcel and tried in your absence.”

“Do you call this a trial?” I exclaimed,indignantly. “I am a British subject. I have committed nooffence; but if I must be tried I demand the right of being triedby a civil tribunal.”

“British subjects who venture into a city under martiallaw must take the consequences. We can show them no moreconsideration than we show Spanish subjects. They deserve muchless, indeed. At this moment a force is being organized in England,with the sanction and encouragement of the British Government, toserve against our troops in these colonies. This is an act of war,and if the king, my master, were of my mind, he would declare waragainst England. Better an open foe than a treacherous friend. Doyou hold a commission in the Legion, señor?”

“No.”

“Know you anybody who does?”

“Yes; I believe that several men with whom I served inSpain have accepted commissions. But you will surely not hold meresponsible for the doings of others?”

“Not at all. You have quite enough sins of your own toanswer for. You may not actually hold a commission in this force offilibusters, but you are acquainted with people who do; and fromyour own admission and facts that have come to our knowledge, webelieve that you are acting as an intermediary between the rebelsin this country and their agents in England. It is an insult to ourunderstanding to tell us that you have come here out of idlecuriosity. You have come to spy out the nakedness of the land, andbeing a soldier you know how spies are dealt with.”

Here the president held a whispered consultation with hiscolleagues. Then he turned to me, and continued:

“We are of opinion that the charges against you have beenfully made out, and the sentence of the court is that you bestrangled on the Plaza Major to-morrow morning at seven by theclock.”

“Strangled! Surely, señores, you will not commit sogreat an infamy? This is a mere mockery of a trial. I have neitherseen an indictment nor been confronted by witnesses. Call this asentence! I call it murder.”

“If you do not moderate your language, prisoner, you willbe strangled to-night instead of to-morrow. Remove him,capitan“—to the officer of police. “Letthis be your warrant”—writing.

“Grant me at least one favor,” I asked, smotheringmy indignation, and trying to speak calmly. “I have foughtand bled for Spain. Let me at least die a soldier’s death,and allow me before I die to see a priest.”

“So you are a Christian!” returned the president,almost graciously. “I thought all Englishmen were heretics. Ithink señores, we may grant Señor Fortescue’srequest. Instead of being strangled, you shall be shot by a firingparty of the regiment of Cordova, and you may see a priest. Wewould not have you die unshriven, and I will myself see that yourbody is laid in consecrated ground. When would you like the priestto visit you?”

“This evening, señor president. There will not bemuch time to-morrow morning.”

“That is true. See to it, capitan. Tell them atthe carcel that Señor Fortescue may see a priest inhis own room this evening. Adios señor!”

And with that my three judges rose from their seats and bowed aspolitely as if they were parting with an honored guest. Though thisproceeding struck me as being both ghastly and grotesque, Ireturned the greeting in due form, and made my best bow. I learnedafterward that I had really been treated with exceptionalconsideration, and might esteem myself fortunate in not beingcondemned without trial and strangled without notice.

Chapter X.

Salvador.

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Now that I knew beyond a doubt what would be my fate unless Icould escape before morning, I became decidedly anxious as to theoutcome of my approaching interview with the ghostly comforter forwhom I had asked. It was my last chance. If it failed me, or theman turned out to be a priest and nothing more, my hours werenumbered. The time was too short to arrange any other plan. Wouldhe bring with him a file and a cord? Even if he did, we couldhardly hope to cut through the bars before daylight. And, mostimportant consideration of all, how would Carera contrive to sendme the right man?

The mystery was solved more quickly than I expected.

After leaving the tribunal, my escort took me back by the way wehad come, the police captain, who was showing himself much morefriendly (probably because he looked on me as a good“Christian” and a dying man), walking beside instead ofbehind me; and when we were within a hundred yards or so of thecarcel I observed a Franciscan friar pacing slowly towardus.

I felt intuitively that this was my man; and when he drew nearera slight movement of his eyebrows and a quick look of intelligencetold me that I was right.

“I have no acquaintance among the clergy ofCaracas,” I said to my conductor. “This friar willserve my purpose as well as a regular priest.”

“As you like, señor. Shall I ask him to seeyou?”

“Gracias señor capitan, if youplease.”

Whereupon the officer respectfully accosted the friar, and aftertelling him that I had been condemned to die at sunrise on themorrow, asked if he would receive my confession and give me suchreligious consolation as my case required.

“Con mucho gusto, capitan,” answered thefriar. “When would the señor like me to visithim?”

“At once, father. My hours are numbered, and I would fainspend the night in meditation and prayer.”

“Come with us, father,” said the captain. “Theseñor has the permission of the tribunal to see a priest inhis own room.”

So we entered the prison together, and the captain, having giventhe necessary instructions to the turnkey, we were conducted to myroom.

“When you have done,” he said, “knock at thedoor, and I will come and let you out.”

“Good! But you need not wait. I shall not be ready forhalf an hour or more.”

As the key turned in the lock, the soi-disant friarthrew back his cowl. “Now, Señor Fortescue,” hesaid, with a laugh, “I am ready to hear yourconfession.”

“I confess that I feel as if I were in purgatory already,and I shall be uncommonly glad if you can get me out ofit.”

“Well, purgatory is not the pleasantest of places by allaccounts, and I am quite willing to do whatever I can for you. Byway of beginning, take this ointment and smear your face and handstherewith.”

“Why?”

“To make you look swart and ugly, like thezambo.”

“And then?”

“And then? When the turnkey comes back we shall overpower,bind, and gag him—if he resists, strangle him. Then you willput on his clothes and don his sombrero, and as the moon riseslate, and the prison is badly lighted, I have no doubt we shall runthe gauntlet of the guard without difficulty…. That is asplendid ointment. You are almost as dark as a negro. Now for yourfeet.”

“My feet! I see! I must go out barefoot.”

“Of course. Who ever heard of a zambo turnkey wearingshoes? I will hide yours under my habit, and you can put them onafterward.”

“You are a friend of Carera’s, of course?”

“Yes; I am Salvador Carmen, the teniente ofColonel Mejia, at your service.”

“Salvador Carmen! A name of good omen. You are savingme.”

“I will either save you or perish with you. Take thisdagger. Better to die fighting than be strangled on theplaza.”

“Is this your plan or Carera’s?” I asked, as Iput the dagger in my belt.

“Partly his and partly mine, I think. When he heard ofyour arrest, he said that it concerned our honor to effect yourrescue. The idea of throwing a stone through the window wasCarera’s; that of personating a priest was mine.”

“But how did Carera find out where I was? and whatassurance had you that when I asked for a priest they would bringyou?”

“That was easy enough. This is a small military post aswell as an occasional prison, some of the soldiers are alwaysdrinking at the pulperia round the corner, and they talkin their cups. I even know the countersign for to-night. It is‘Baylen.’ I saw them take you to the tribunal, and as Iknew that when you asked for a priest they would call in the firstwhom they saw, just to save themselves the trouble of goingfarther, I took care to be hereabout in this guise as you returned.I was fortunate enough to meet you face to face, and you were sharpenough to detect my true character at a glance.”

“I am greatly indebted to you and SeñorCarera—more than I can say. You are risking your lives tosave mine.”

“That is nothing, my dear sir. I often risk my life twentytimes in a day. And what matters it? We are all under sentence ofdeath. A few years and there will be an end of us.”

Salvador Carmen may have been twenty-six or twenty-eight yearsold. He was of middle height and athletic build, yet wiry withal,in splendid condition, and as hard as nails. Though darker than theaverage Spaniard, his short, wavy hair and powerful, clear-cutfeatures showed that his blood was free from negro or Indian taint.His face bespoke a strange mixture of gentleness and resolution,melancholy and ferocity, as if an originally fine nature had beenannealed by fiery trials, and perhaps perverted by some terriblewrong.

“Yes, señor, we carry our lives in our hands inthis most unhappy country,” he continued, after a shortpause. “Three years ago I was one of a family of eight, andno happier family could be found in the wholecapitanio-general of Caracas…. Of those eight,seven are gone; I am the only one left. Four were killed in thegreat earthquake. Then my father took part in the revolutionarymovement, and to save his life had to leave his home. One night hereturned in disguise to see my mother. I happened to be away at thetime; but my brother Tomas was there, and the police getting windof my father’s arrival, arrested both them and him. My fatherwas condemned as a rebel; my mother and brother were condemned forharboring him, and all were strangled together on the plazathere.”

“Good heaven! Can such things be?” I said, as muchmoved by his grief as by his tale of horror.

“I saw them die. Oh, my God! I saw them die, and yet Ilive to tell the tale!” exclaimed Carmen, in a tone ofintense sadness. “But”—fiercely—“Ihave taken a terrible revenge. With my own hand have I slain morethan a hundred European Spaniards, and I have sworn to slay as manyas there were hairs on my mother’s head…. But enoughof this! The night is upon us. It is time to make ready. When thezambo comes in, I shall seize him by the throat and threaten himwith my dagger. While I hold him you must stuff this cloth into hismouth, take off his shirt and trousers—he has no othergarments—and put them on over your own. That done, we willbind him with this cord, and lock him in with his own key. Are youready?”

“I am ready.”

Carmen knocked loudly at the door.

Two minutes later the door opens, and as the zambo closes itbehind him, Carmen seizes him by the throat and pushes him againstthe wall.

“A word, a whisper, and you are a dead man!” hehisses, sternly, at the same time drawing his dagger. “Openyour mouth, or, per Dios—The cloth, señor.Now, off with your shirt and trousers.”

The turnkey obeys without the least attempt at resistance. Theshaking of his limbs as I help him to undress shows that he is halffrightened to death.

Then Carmen, still gripping the man’s throat andthreatening him with his dagger, makes him lie down, and I bind hisarms with the cord.

That done, I slip the man’s trousers and shirt over myown, don his sombrero, and take his key.

“So far, well,” says Carmen, “if we only getsafely through the patio and pass the guard! Put thesombrero over your face, imitate the zambo’s shuffling gait,and walk carelessly by my side, as if you were conducting me to thegate and a short way down the street. Have you your dagger! Good!Open the door and let us go forth. One word more! If it comes to afight, back to back. Try to grasp the muskets with your left andstab with your right—upward!”

Chapter XI.

Out of the Lion’s Mouth.

Return to Table ofContents

As the short sunset of the tropics had now merged into completedarkness, we crossed the patio without being noticed; butnear the gateway several soldiers of the guard were seated round asmall table, playing at cards by the light of a flickeringlamp.

“Hello! Who goes there?” said one of them, lookingup. “Pablo, the turnkey, and a friar! Won’t you take ahand, Pablo? You won a real from me last night; I want myrevenge.”

“He is going with me as far as the plaza. It is dark, andI am very near-sighted,” put in Carmen, with ready presenceof mind. “He will be back in a few minutes, and then he willgive you your revenge, won’t you, Pablo?”

“Si, padre, con mucho gusto,” I answered,mimicking the deep guttural of the zambo.

“Good! I shall expect you in a few minutes,” saidthe soldier. “Buene noche, padre!”

“Good-night, my son.”

“Now for the sentry,” murmured Carmen;“luckily we have the password, otherwise it might beawkward.”

“We must try to slip past him.”

But it was not to be. As we step through the gateway into thestreet, the man turns right about face and we are seen.

“Halte! Quien vive?” he cried.

“Friends.”

“Advance, friends, and give the countersign.”

“As you see, I am a friar. I have been shriving acondemned prisoner. You surely do not expect me to give thecountersign!” said Carmen, going close up to him.

“Certainly not, padre. But who is that withyou?”

“Pablo, the turnkey.”

“Advance and give the countersign, Pablo.”

“Baylen.”

“Wrong; it has been changed within the last ten minutes.You must go back and get it, friend Pablo.”

“It is not worth the trouble. He is only seeing me to theend of the street,” pleaded Carmen.

“I shall not let him go another step without thecountersign,” returned the sentry, doggedly. “I am notsure that I ought to let you go either, father. He has only toask—”

A sudden movement of Carmen’s arm, a gleam of steel in thedarkness, the soldier’s musket falls from his grasp, and witha deep groan he sinks heavily on the ground.

“Quick, señor, or we shall be taken! Round thecorner! We must not run; that would attract attention. A sharpwalk. Good! Keep close to the wall. Two minutes more and we shallbe safe. A narrow escape! If the sentry had made you go back orcalled the guard, all would have been lost.”

“How was it? Did you stab him?”

“To the heart. He has mounted guard for the last time. Somuch the better. It is an enemy and a Spaniard the less.”

“All the same, Señor Carmen, I would rather kill myenemies in fair fight than in cold blood.”

“I also; but there are occasions. As likely as not thissoldier would have been in the firing party told off to shoot youto-morrow morning. There would not have been much fair fight inthat. And had I not killed him, we should both have been tried bydrum-head court-martial, and shot or strangled to-night. This way.Now, I defy them to catch us.”

As he spoke, Carmen plunged into a heap of ruins by the wayside,with the intricacies of which, despite the darkness, he appeared tobe quite familiar.

“Nobody will disturb us here,” he said at length,pausing under the shadow of a broken wall. “These are theruins of the Church of Alta Gracia, which, in its fall during thegreat earthquake, killed several hundred worshippers. People saythey are haunted; after dark nobody will come near them. But wemust not stay many minutes. Take off the zambo’s shirt andtrousers, and put on your shoes and stockings—there theyare—and I shall doff my cloak of religion.”

“What next?”

“We must make off with all speed and by deviousways—though I think we have quite thrown our pursuers off thescent—to a house in the outskirts belonging to a friend ofthe cause, where we shall find horses, and start for the llanosbefore the moon rises, and the hue and cry can beraised.”

“What is the journey?”

“That depends on circ*mstances. Four or five days,perhaps. Vamanos! Time presses.”

We left the ruins at the side opposite to that at which we hadentered them, and after traversing several by-streets and narrowlanes reached the open country, and walked on rapidly till we cameto a lonesome house in a large garden.

Carmen went up to the door, whistled softly, and knockedthrice.

“Who is there?” asked a voice from within.

“Salvador.”

On this the gate of the patio, wide enough to admit aman on horseback, was thrown open, and the next moment I was in thearms of Señor Carera.

“Out of the lion’s mouth!” he exclaimed, as hekissed me on both cheeks. “I was dying of anxiety. But, thankHeaven and the Holy Virgin, you are safe.”

“I have also to thank you and Señor Carmen; and Ido thank you with all my heart.”

“Say no more. We could not have done less. You were ourguest. You rendered us a great service. Had we let you perishwithout an effort to save you, we should have been eternallydisgraced. But come in and refresh yourselves. Your stay here mustbe brief, and we can talk while we eat.”

As we sat at table, Carmen told the story of my rescue.

“It was well done,” said our host, thoughtfully,“very well done. Yet I regret you had to kill the sentry. Butfor that you might have had a little sleep, and started aftermidnight. As it is, you must set off forthwith and get well on theroad before the news of the escape gets noised abroad. Andeverything is ready. All your things are here, SeñorFortescue. You can select what you want for the journey and leavethe rest in my charge.”

“All my things here! How did you manage that, SeñorCarera?”

“By sending a man, whom I could trust, in the character ofa messenger from the prison with a note to the posadero,as from you, asking him to deliver your baggage and receipt yourbill.”

“That was very good of you, Señor Carera. Athousand thanks. How much—”

“How much! That is my affair. You are my guest, remember.Your baggage is in the next room, and while you make yourpreparations, I will see to the saddling of the horses.”

A very few minutes sufficed to put on my riding boots, get mypistols, and make up my scanty kit. When I went outside, the horseswere waiting in the patio, each of them held by a blackgroom. Everything was in order. A cobija was strappedbehind either saddle, both of which were furnished with holstersand bags.

“I have had some tasajo (dried beef) put in thesaddle-bags, as much as will keep you going three or fourdays,” said Señor Carera. “You won’t findmany hotels on the road. And you will want a sword, Mr. Fortescue.Do me the favor to accept this as a souvenir of our friendship. Itis a fine Toledo blade, with a history. An ancestor of mine wore itat the battle of Lepanto. It may bend but will never break, and hasan edge like a razor. I give it to you to be used against mycountry’s enemies, and I am sure you will never draw itwithout cause, nor sheathe it without honor.”

I thanked my host warmly for his timely gift, and, as I buckledthe historic weapon to my side, glanced at the horse which he hadplaced at my disposal. It was a beautiful flea-bitten gray, with asmall, fiery head, arched neck, sloping shoulders, deep chest,powerful quarters, well-bent hocks, and “clean” shapelylegs—a very model of a horse, and as it seemed, in perfectcondition.

“Ah, you may look at Pizarro as long as you like,Señor Fortescue, and he is well worth looking at; but youwill never tire him,” said Carera. “What will you do ifyou meet the patrol, Salvador?”

“Evade them if we can, charge them if wecannot.”

“By all means the former, if possible, and then you maynot be pursued. And now, Señor, I trust you will not hold mewanting in hospitality if I urge you to mount; but your lives arein jeopardy, and there may be death in delay. Put out the lights,men, and open the gates. Adios, Señor Fortescue!Adios, my dear Salvador. We shall meet again in happiertimes. God guard you, and bring you safe to your journey’send.”

And then we rode forth into the night.

“We had better take to the open country at once, andstrike the road about a few miles farther on. It is rather risky,for we shall have to get over several rifts made by the earthquakeand cross a stream with high banks. But if we take to the roadstraightway, we are almost sure to meet a patrol. We may meet onein any case; but the farther from the city the encounter takesplace, the greater will be our chance of gettingthrough.”

“You know best. Lead on, and I will follow. Are theserifts you speak of wide?”

“They are easily jumpable by daylight; but how we shall dothem in the dark, I don’t know. However, these horses are asnimble as cats, and almost as keen-sighted. I think, if we leave itto them, they will carry us safely over. The sky is a littleclearer, too, and that will count in our favor. Thisway!”

We sped on as swiftly and silently as the spectre horseman ofthe story, for Venezuelan horses being unshod and their favoritepace a gliding run (much less fatiguing for horse and rider thanthe high trot of Europe) they move as noiselessly over grass as aman in slippers.

“Look out!” cried Carmen, reining in his horse.“We are not far from the first grip. Don’t you seesomething like a black streak running across the grass? That isit.”

“How wide, do you suppose?”

“Eight or ten feet. Don’t try to guide your horse.He won’t refuse. Let him have his head and take it in his ownway. Go first; my horse likes a lead.”

Pizarro went to the edge of the rift, stretched out his head asif to measure the distance, and then, springing over as lightly asa deer, landed safely on the other side. The next moment Carmen waswith me. After two or three more grips (all of unknown depth, andone smelling strongly of sulphur) had been surmounted in the sameway, we came to the stream. The bank was so steep and slippery thatthe horses had to slide down it on their haunches (after the mannerof South American horses). But having got in, we had to get out.This proved no easy task, and it was only after we had flounderedin the brook for twenty minutes or more, that Carmen found a placewhere he thought it might be possible to make our exit. And such aplace! We were forced to dismount, climb up almost on our hands andknees, and let the horses scramble after us as they best could.

“That is the last of our difficulties,” said Carmen,as we got into our saddles. “In ten minutes we strike theroad, and then we shall have a free course for severalhours.”

“How about the patrols? Do you think we have given themthe slip?”

“I do. They don’t often come as far asthis.”

We reached the road at a point where it was level with thefields; and a few miles farther on entered a defile, bounded on theleft by a deep ravine, on the right by a rocky height.

And then there occurred a startling phenomenon. As the moon roseabove the Silla of Caracas, the entire savanna below us seemed totake fire, streams as of lava began to run up (not down) the sidesof the hills, throwing a lurid glare over the sleeping city, andbringing into strong relief the rugged mountains which walled inthe plain.

“Good heavens, what is that!” I exclaimed.

“It is the time of drought, and the peons are firing thegrass to improve the land,” said Carmen. “I wish theyhad not done it just now, though. However, it is, perhaps, quite aswell. If the light makes us more visible to others, it also makesothers more visible to us. Hark! What is that? Did you not hearsomething?”

“I did. The neighing of a horse. Halt! Let uslisten.”

“The neighing of a horse and something more.”

“Men’s voices and the rattle of accoutrements. Thepatrol, after all. What shall we do? To turn back would be fatal.The ravine is too deep to descend. Climbing those rocks is out ofthe question. There is but one alternative—we must chargeright through them.”

“How many men does a patrol generally consistof?”

“Sometimes two, sometimes four.”

“May it not be a squadron on the march?”

“It may. No matter. We must charge them, all the same.Better die sword in hand than be garroted on the plaza. We have onegreat advantage. We shall take these fellows by surprise. Let uswait here in the shade, and the moment they round that corner, goat them, full gallop.”

The words were scarcely spoken, when two dragoons came in sight,then two more.

“Four!” murmured Carmen. “The odds are not toogreat. We shall do it. Are you ready? Now!”

The dragoons, surprised by our sudden appearance, pulled up andstood stock-still, as if doubtful whether our intentions werehostile or friendly; and we were at them almost before they haddrawn their swords.

As I charged the foremost Spaniard, his horse swerved from theroad, and rolled with his rider into the ravine. The second,profiting by his comrade’s disaster, gave us the slip andgalloped toward Caracas. This left us face to face with the othertwo, and in little more than as many minutes I had run my manthrough, and Carmen had hurled his to the ground with a cleftskull.

“I thought we should do it,” he said as he sheathedhis sword. “But before we ride on let us see who the fellowsare, for, ’pon my soul, they have not the looks of a patrolfrom Caracas.”

As he spoke, Carmen dismounted and closely examined theprostrate men’s facings.

“Caramba! They belong to the regiment ofIrun.”

“I remember them. They were in Murillo’s corpd’armée at Vittoria.”

“I wish they were at Vittoria now. Their headquarters areat La Victoria! Worse luck!”

“Why?”

“Because there may be more of them. You suggested just nowthe possibility of a squadron. How if we meet aregiment?”

“We should be in rather a bad scrape.”

“We are in a bad scrape, amigo mio. Unless, I amgreatly mistaken the regiment of Irun, or, at any rate, a squadronof it is on the march hitherward. If they started at sunrise andrested during the heat of the day, this is about the time theadvance-guard would be here. Having no enemy to fear in theseparts, they would naturally break up into small detachments; therehas been no rain for weeks, and the dust raised by a large body ofhorsem*n is simply stifling. However, we may as well go forward tocertain death as go back to it. Besides, I hate going back in anycirc*mstances. And we have just one chance. We must hurry on andride for our lives.”

“I don’t quite see that. We shall meet them all thesooner.”

Carmen made some reply which I failed to catch, and as the waywas rough and Pizarro required all my attention, I did not repeatthe question.

We passed rapidly up the brow, and when we reached more evenground, put our horses to the gallop and went on, up hill and downdale, until Carmen, uttering an exclamation, pulled his horse intoa walk.

“I think we can get down here,” he said.

We had reached a place where, although the mountain to our rightwas still precipitous, the ravine seemed narrower and the sidesless steep.

“I think we can,” repeated Carmen. “At anyrate, we must try.”

And with that he dismounted, and leading his horse to the brinkof the ravine, incontinently disappeared.

“Come on! It will do!” he cried, dragging his horseafter him.

I followed with Pizarro, who missing his footing landed on hishead. As for myself, I rolled from top to bottom, the descent beingmuch steeper than I had expected.

Chapter XII.

Between Two Fires.

Return to Table ofContents

The ravine was filled with shrubs and trees, through which wepartly forced, partly threaded our way, until we reached a spotwhere we were invisible from the road.

“Now off with your cobija and throw it over yourhorse’s head,” said Carmen. “If they don’thear they won’t neigh, and a single neigh might be ourruin.”

“You mean to stay here until the troops have gonepast?”

“Exactly, I knew there was a good hiding-place hereabout,and that if we reached it before the troops came up we should besafe. If there be any more of them they will pass us in a fewminutes. Now, if you will hitch Pizarro to that tree—oh, youhave done so already. Good! Well, let us return to the road andwatch. We can hide in the grass, or behind the bushes.”

We returned accordingly, and choosing a place where we could seewithout being seen, we lay down and listened, exchanging now andthen a whispered remark.

“Hist!” said Carmen, presently, putting his ear tothe ground. He had been so long on the war-path and lived so muchin the open air, that his senses were almost as acute as those of awild animal.

“They are coming!”

Soon the hum of voices, the neighing of steeds, and the clang ofsteel fell on my ear, and peering between the branches I could seea group of shadows moving toward us. Then the shadows, taking formand substance, became six horsem*n. They passed within a few feetof our hiding-place. We heard their talk, saw their faces in themoonlight, and Carmen whispered that he could distinguish thefacings of their uniforms.

“It is as I feared,” he muttered, “the entireregiment of Irun, shifting their quarters to Caracas. We areprisoners here for an hour or two. Well, it is perhaps better tohave them behind than before us.”

“What will happen when they find the bodies of the twotroopers?”

“That is precisely the question I am asking myself. Butnot having met us they will naturally conclude that we have gone ontoward Caracas.”

“Unless they are differently informed by the man whoescaped us.”

“I don’t think he would be in any hurry to turnback. He went off at a devil of a pace.”

“He might turn back for all that, when he recovered fromhis scare. He could not help seeing that we were only two, and ifhe informs the others they will know of a surety that we are hidingin the ravine.”

“And then there would be a hunt. However, at the speedthey are riding it will take them an hour or more to reach thescene of our skirmish, and then there is coming back. Everythingdepends on how soon the last of them go by. If we have only a fewminutes start they will never overtake us, and once on the otherside of Los Teycos we shall be safe both from discovery andpursuit. European cavalry are of no use in a Venezuelan forest; andI don’t think these Irun fellows have anyblood-hounds.”

“Blood-hounds! You surely don’t mean to say that theSpaniards use blood-hounds?”

“I mean nothing else. General Griscelli, who holds thechief command in the district of San Felipe, keeps a pack ofblood-hounds, which he got from Cuba. But, though a Spanishgeneral, Griscelli is not a Spaniard born. He is either a Corsicanor an Italian. I believe he was originally in the French army, andwhen Dupont surrendered at Baylen he went over to the other side,and accepted a commission from the King of Spain.”

“Not a very good record, that.”

“And he is not a good man. He outvies even the Spaniardsin cruelty. A very able general, though. He has given us a deal oftrouble. Down with your head! Here comes some more.”

A whole troop this time. They pass in a cloud of dust. After ashort interval another detachment sweeps by; then another andanother.

“Gracias a Dios! they are putting on more speed.At this rate we shall soon be at liberty. But, caramba,how they might have been trapped, Señor Fortescue! A few menon that height hurling down rocks, the defile lined withsharp-shooters, half a hundred of Mejia’s llanerosto cut off their retreat, and the regiment of Irun could bedestroyed to a man.”

“Or taken prisoners.”

“I don’t think there would be many prisoners,”said Carmen, grimly. “These must almost be the last, Ithink—they are. See! Here come the tag-rag andbobtail.”

The tag-rag and bob-tail consisted of a string of loaded muleswith their arrieros, a dozen women riding mules, and asmany men on foot.

“Let us get out of this hole while we may, and before anyof them come back. Once on the road and mounted, we shall at leastbe able to fight; but down here—”

“All the same, this hole has served our turn well.However, I quite agree with you that the best thing we can do is toget out of it quickly.”

This was more easily said than done. It was like climbing up aprecipice. Pizarro slipped back three times. Carmen’s maredid no better. In the end we had to dismount, fasten two lariats toeach saddle, and haul while the horses scrambled. A little helpgoes a long way in such circ*mstances.

All this both made noise and caused delay, and it was with adecided sense of relief that we found ourselves once more in thesaddle and en route.

“We have lost more time than I reckoned on,” saidCarmen, as we galloped through the pass. “If any of thedragoons had turned back—However, they did not, and, as ourhorses are both fresher than theirs and carry less weight, theywill have no chance of overtaking us if they do; and, as the wholeof the regiment has gone on, there is no chance of meeting any moreof them—Caramba! Halt!”

“What is it?” I asked, pulling up short.

“I spoke too soon. More are coming. Don’t you hearthem?”

“Yes; and I see shadows in the distance.”

“The shadows are soldiers, and we shall have to chargethem whether they be few or many, amigo mio; so say yourprayers and draw your Toledo. But first let us shake hands, we maynever—”

“I am quite ready to charge by your side, Carmen; butwould it not be better, think you, to try what a little strategywill do?”

“With all my heart, if you can suggest anything feasible.I like a fight immensely—when the odds are not toogreat—and I hope to die fighting. All the same, I have novery strong desire to die at this particular moment.”

“Neither have I. So let us go on like peaceabletravellers, and the chances are that these men, taking for grantedthat the others have let us pass, will not meddle with us. If theydo, we must make the best fight we can.”

“A happy thought! Let us act on it. If they ask anyquestions I will answer. Your English accent might excitesuspicion.”

The party before us consisted of nine horsem*n, several of whomappeared to be officers.

“Buene noche, señores,” said Carmen,so soon as we were within speaking distance.

“Buene noche, señores. You have met thetroops, of course. How far are they ahead?” asked one of theofficers.

“The main body are quite a league ahead by this time. Thepack-mules and arrieros passed us about fifteen minutesago.”

“Gracias! Who are you, and whither may you bewending, señores?”

“I am Sancho Mencar, at your service, señorcoronel, a Government messenger, carrying despatches toGeneral Salazar, at La Victoria. My companion is SeñorTesco, a merchant, who is journeying to the same place onbusiness.”

“Good! you can go on. You will meet two troopers who arebringing on a prisoner. Do me the favor to tell them to makehaste.”

“Certainly, señor coronel. Adios,señores.”

“Adio señores.”

And with that we rode on our respective ways.

“Two troopers and prisoner,” said Carmen,thoughtfully.

“So there are more of them, after all! How many, I wonder?If this prisoner be a patriot we must rescue him, señorFortescue.”

“With all my heart—if we can.”

“Only two troopers! You and I are a match forsix.”

“Possibly. But we don’t know that the two are notfollowed by a score! There seems to be no end of them.”

“I don’t think so. If there were the colonel wouldhave asked us to tell them also to hurry up. But we shall soon findout. When we meet the fellows we will speak them fair and ask a fewquestions.”

Ten minutes later we met them.

“Buene noche, señores!” said Carmen,riding forward. “We bring a message from the colonel. He bidsyou make haste.”

“All very fine. But how can we make haste when we arehampered by this rascal? I should like to blow his brainsout.”

“This rascal” was the prisoner, a big powerfulfellow who seemed to be either a zambo or a negro. His arms werebound to his side, and he walked between the troopers, to whosesaddles he was fastened by two stout cords.

“Why don’t you blow his brains out?”

“Because we should get into trouble. He is thecolonel’s slave, and therefore valuable property. We havetried dragging him along; but the villain throws himself down, andmight get a limb broken, so all we can do is prod him occasionallywith the points of our sabres; but he does not seem to mind us inthe least. We have tried swearing; we might as well whistle. Makehaste, indeed!”

“A very hard case, I am sure. I sympathize with you,señores. Is the man a runaway that you have to take suchcare of him?”

“That is just it. He ran away and rambled for months inthe forest; and if he had not stolen back to La Victoria and beenbetrayed by a woman, he would never have been caught. After that,the colonel would not trust him at large; but he thinks that atCaracas he will have him safe. And now, señores, with yourleave we must go on.”

“Ah! You are the last, I suppose?”

“We are; curse it! The main body must be a league ahead bythis time, and we shall not reach Caracas for hours.Adios!”

“Let us rescue the poor devil!” I whispered toCarmen.

“By all means. One moment, señores; I beg yourpardon—now, Fortescue!”

And with that we placed our horses across the road, whipped outour pistols and pointed them at the troopers’ heads, to theirowners’ unutterable surprise.

“We are sorry to inconvenience you, señores,”said my companion, politely; “but we are going to releasethis slave, and we have need of your horses. Unbuckle your swords,throw them on the ground, and dismount. No hesitation, or you aredead men! Shall we treat them as they proposed to treat the slave,Señor Fortescue? Blow out their brains? It will be safer,and save us a deal of trouble.”

“No! That would be murder. Let them go. They can do noharm. It is impossible for them to overtake the others onfoot.”

Meanwhile the soldiers, having the fear of being shot beforethem, had dismounted and laid down their weapons.

“Go!” said Carmen, pointing northward, and theywent.

“Your name?” (to the prisoner whose bonds I wascutting with my sword).

“Here they call me José. In my own country I wascalled Gahra—”

“Let it be Gahra, then. It is less common thanJosé. Every other peon in the country is called José.You are a native of Africa?”

“Si, señor.”

“How came you hither?”

“I was taken to Cuba in a slave-ship, brought to thiscountry by General Salazar, and sold by him to ColonelCanimo.”

“You have no great love for the Spaniards, Isuppose?”

Gahra pointed to his arms which had been chafed by the rope tillthey were raw, and showed us his back which bore the marks ofrecent stripes.

“Can you fight?”

“Against the Spaniards? Only give me the chance, and youshall see,” answered the negro in a voice of intensehate.

“Come with us, and you shall have many chances. Mount oneof those horses and lead the other.”

Gahra mounted, and we moved on.

We were now at the beginning of a stiff ascent. The road, whichthough undulating had risen almost continuously since we leftCaracas, was bordered with richly colored flowers and shrubs, andbounded on either side by deep forests. Night was made glorious bythe great tropical moon, which shone resplendent under a purple skygilding the tree-tops and lighting us on our way. Owing to thenature of the ground we could not see far before us, but thebackward view, with its wood-crowned heights, deep ravines, andsombre mountains looming in the distance, was fairy-like andfantastic, and the higher we rose the more extensive it became.

“Is this a long hill?” I asked Carmen.

“Very. An affair of half an hour, at least, at this speed;and we cannot go faster,” he answered, as he turned halfround in his saddle.

“Why are you looking backward?”

“To see whether we are followed. We lost much time in thequebrado, and we have lost more since. Have you good eyes,Gahara? Born Africans generally have.”

“Yes, sir. My name, Gahra Dahra, signifies Dahra, the keensighted!”

“I am glad to hear it. Be good enough to look roundoccasionally, and if you see anything let us know.”

We had nearly reached the summit of the rise when the negrouttered an exclamation and turned his horse completely round.

“What is it?” asked Carmen and myself, following hisexample.

“I see figures on the brow of yonder hill.”

“You see more than I can, and I have not bad eyes,”said Carmen, looking intently. “What are they like, thosefigures?”

“That I cannot make out yet. They are many; they move; andevery minute they grow bigger! That is all I can tell.”

“It is quite enough. The bodies of the two troopers havebeen found, the alarm has been given, and we are pursued. But theywon’t overtake us. They have that hill to descend, this tomount; and our horses are better than theirs.”

“Are you going far, señor?” inquiredGahra.

“To the llanos.”

“By Los Teycos?”

“Yes. We shall easily steal through Los Teycos, and I knowof a place in the forest beyond, where we can hide during theday.”

“Pardon me for venturing to contradict you, señor;but I fear you will not find it very easy to steal through LosTeycos. For three days it has been held by a company of infantryand all the outlets are strictly guarded. No civilian unfurnishedwith a safe conduct from the captain-general is allowed topass.”

“Caramba! We are between two fires, it seems.Well, we must make a dash for it. The sentries cannot stop us, andwe can gallop through before they turn out the guard.”

“The horses will be very tired by that time, señor,and the troopers can get fresh mounts at Los Teycos. But I know away—”

“The Indian trail! Do you know the Indiantrail?”

“Yes, sir. I know the Indian trail, and I can take you toa place in the forest where there is grass and water and game, andwe shall be safe from pursuit as long as we like tostay.”

“How far off?”

“About two leagues.”

“Good. Lead on in heaven’s name. You are a treasure,Gahra Dahra. In rescuing you from those ruffianly Spaniards we didourselves, as well as you, a good turn.”

Our pursuers, who numbered a full score, could now be distinctlyseen, but in a few minutes we lost sight of them. After a sharpride of half an hour, the negro called a halt.

“This is the place. Here we turn off,” he said.

“Here! I see nothing but the almost dry bed of atorrent.”

“So much the better. We shall make no footmarks,”said Carmen. “Go on, Gahra. But first of all turn that ledhorse adrift. Are you sure this place you speak of is unknown tothe Spaniards?”

“Quite. It is known only to a few wandering Indians andfugitive slaves. We can stay here till sunrise. It is impossible tofollow the Indian trail by night, even with such a moon asthis.”

After we had partly ridden, partly walked (for we were severaltimes compelled to dismount) about a mile along the bed of thestream, which was hemmed in between impenetrable walls of talltrees and dense undergrowth, Gahra, who was leading, called out:“This way!” and vanished into what looked like a hole,but proved to be a cleft in the bank so overhung by vegetation asto be well-nigh invisible.

It was the entrance to a passage barely wide enough to admit ahorse and his rider, yet as light as a star-gemmed mid-night, forthe leafy vault above us was radiant with fireflies, gleaming likediamonds in the dark hair of a fair woman.

But even with this help it was extremely difficult to force ourway through the tangled undergrowth, which we had several times toattack, sword in hand, and none of us were sorry when Gahraannounced that we had reached the end.

“Por todos los santos! But this isfairyland!” exclaimed Carmen, who was just before me.“I never saw anything so beautiful.”

He might well say so. We were on the shore of a mountain-tarn,into whose clear depths the crescent moon, looking calmly down, sawits image reflected as in a silver mirror. Lilies floated on itswaters, ferns and flowering shrubs bent over them, the air wasfragrant with sweet smells, and all around uprose giant trees withstems as round and smooth as the granite columns of a greatcathedral; and, as it seemed in that dim religious light, highenough to support the dome of heaven.

I was so lost in admiration of this marvellous scene that mycompanions had unsaddled and were leading their horses down to thewater before I thought of dismounting from mine.

Apart from the beauty of the spot, we could have found none moresuitable for a bivouac! We were in safety and our horses in clover,and, tethering them with the lariats, we left them to graze. Gahragathered leaves and twigs and kindled a fire, for the air at thatheight was fresh, and we were lightly clad. We cooked ourtasajo on the embers, and after smoking the calumet ofpeace, rolled ourselves in our cobijas, laid our heads onour saddles, and slept the sleep of the just.

Chapter XIII.

On the Llanos.

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Only a moment ago the land had been folded in the mantle ofdarkness. Now, a flaming eye rises from the ground at someimmeasurable distance, like an outburst of volcanic fire. It growsapace, chasing away the night and casting a ruddy glow on, as itseems, a vast and waveless sea, as still as the painted ocean ofthe poem, as silent as death, a sea without ships and without life,mournful and illimitable, and as awe-inspiring and impressive asthe Andes or the Alps.

So complete is the illusion that did I not know we were on theverge of the llanos I should be tempted to believe thatsupernatural agency had transported us while we slept to the coastsof the Caribbean Sea or the yet more distant shores of the PacificOcean.

Six days are gone by since we left our bivouac by themountain-tarn: three we have wandered in the woods under theguidance of Gahra, three sought Mejia and his guerillas, who, beingalways on the move, are hard to find. Last night we reached therange of hills which form, as it were, the northern coast-line ofthe vast series of savannas which stretch from the tropics to theStraits of Magellan; and it is now a question whether we shalldescend to the llanos or continue our search in the sierra.

“It was there I left him,” said Carmen, pointing toa quebrada some ten miles away.

“Where we were yesterday?”

“Yes; and he said he would be either there or hereaboutwhen I returned, and I am quite up to time. But Mejia takes suddenresolves sometimes. He may have gone to beat up Griselli’squarters at San Felipe, or be making a dash across the llanos inthe hope of surprising the fortified post of TresCruces.”

“What shall we do then; wait here until he comesback?”

“Or ride out on the llanos in the direction of TresCruces. If we don’t meet Mejia and his people we may hearsomething of them.”

“I am for the llanos.”

“Very well. We will go thither. But we shall have to bevery circ*mspect. There are loyalist as well as patriot guerillasroaming about. They say that Morales has collected a force of threeor four thousand, mostly Indios, and they are all so much alikethat unless you get pretty close it is impossible to distinguishpatriots from loyalists.”

“Well, there is room to run if we cannot fight.”

“Oh, plenty of room,” laughed Carmen. “But asfor fighting—loyalist guerillas are not quite the bravest ofthe brave, yet I don’t think we three are quite a match forfifty of them, and we are not likely to meet fewer, if we meet any.But let us adventure by all means. Our horses are fresh, and we caneither return to the sierra or spend the night on the llanos, asmay be most expedient.”

Ten minutes later we were mounted, and an hour’s easyriding brought us to the plain. It was as pathless as the ocean,yet Carmen, guided by the sun, went on as confidently as if he hadbeen following a beaten track. The grass was brown and the soilyellow; particles of yellow dust floated in the air; the few treeswe passed were covered with it, and we and our horses were soon ina like condition. Nothing altered as we advanced; sky and earthwere ever the same; the only thing that moved was a cloud, sailingslowly between us and the sun, and when Carmen called a halt on thebank of a nearly dried-up stream, it required an effort to realizethat since we left our bivouac in the hills we had ridden twentymiles in a direct line. Hard by was a deserted hatto, orcattle-keeper’s hut, where we rested while our horsesgrazed.

“No sign of Mejia yet,” observed Carmen, as helighted his cigar with a burning-glass. “Shall we go ontoward Tres Cruces, or return to our old camping-ground in thehills?”

“I am for going on.”

“So am I. But we must keep a sharp lookout. We shall be ondangerous ground after we have crossed the Tio.”

“Where is the Tio?”

“There!” (pointing to the attenuated stream nearus).

“That! I thought the Tio was a river.”

“So it is, and a big one in the rainy season, as you mayhave an opportunity of seeing. I wish we could hear something ofMejia. But there is nobody of whom we can inquire. The country isdeserted; the herdsmen have all gone south, to keep out of the wayof guerillas and brigands, all of whom look on cattle as commonproperty.”

“Somebody comes!” said Gahra, who was always on thelookout.

“How many?” exclaimed Carmen, springing to hisfeet.

“Only one.”

“Keep out of sight till he draws near, else he may sheeroff; and I should like to have a speech of him. He may be able totell us something.”

The stranger came unconcernedly on, and as he stopped in themiddle of the river to let his horse drink, we had a good look athim. He was well mounted, carried a long spear and amacheto (a broad, sword-like knife, equally useful forslitting windpipes and felling trees), and wore a broad-brimmedhat, shirt, trousers, and a pair of spurs (strapped to his nakedfeet).

As he resumed his journey across the river, we all stepped outof the hatto and gave him the traditional greeting,“Buenas dias, señor.”

The man, looking up in alarm, showed a decided disposition tomake off, but Carmen spoke him kindly, offered him a cigar, andsaid that all we wanted was a little information. We were peacefultravellers, and would much like to know whether the country beyondthe Tio was free from guerillas.

The stranger eyed us suspiciously, and then, after amoment’s hesitation, said that he had heard that Mejia was“on the war-path.”

“Where?” asked Carmen.

“They say he was at Tres Cruces three days ago; and therehas been fighting.”

“And are any of Morale’s people also on thewar-path?”

“That is more than I can tell you, señores. It isvery likely; but as you are peaceful travellers, I am sure no onewill molest you. Adoiso, señores.”

And with that the man gave his horse a sudden dig with hisspurs, and went off at a gallop.

“What a discourteous beggar he is!” exclaimedCarmen, angrily. “If it would not take too much out of mymare I would ride after him and give him a lesson inpoliteness.”

“I don’t think he was intentionally uncivil. Heseemed afraid.”

“Evidently. He did not know what we were, and feared tocommit himself. However, we have learned something. We are onMejia’s track. He was at Tres Cruces three days since, and ifwe push on we may fall in with him before sunset, or, at any rate,to-morrow morning.”

“Is it not possible that this man may have been purposelydeceiving us, or be himself misinformed?” I asked.

“Quite. But as we had already decided to go on it does notmatter a great deal whether he is right or wrong. I think,though, he knew more about the others than he cared to tell. Allthe more reason for keeping a sharp lookout and ridingslowly.”

“So as to save our horses?”

“Exactly. We may have to ride for our lives before the sungoes down. And now let us mount and march.”

Our course was almost due west, and the sun being now a littlepast the zenith, its ardent rays—which shone right in ourfaces—together with the reverberations from the ground, madethe heat almost insupportable. The stirrup-irons burned our feet;speech became an effort; we sat in our saddles, perspiring andsilent; our horses, drooping their heads, settled into a listlessand languid walk. The glare was so trying that I closed my eyes andlet Pizarro go as he would. Open them when I might, the outlook wasalways the same, the same yellow earth and blue sky, the samelifeless, interminable plain, the same solitary sombrero palmsdotting the distant horizon.

This went on for an hour or two, and I think I must have falleninto a doze, for when, roused by a shout from Gahra, I once moreopened my eyes the sun was lower and the heat less intense.

“What is it,” asked Carmen, who, like myself, hadbeen half asleep. “I see nothing.”

“A cloud of dust that moves—there!”(pointing).

“So it is,” shading his eyes and looking again.“Coming this way, too. Behind that cloud is a body ofhorsem*n. Be they friends or enemies—Mejia and his people orloyalist guerillas?”

“That is more than I can say, señor. Mejia, Ihope.”

“I also. But hope is not certainty, and until we can makesure we had better hedge away toward the north, so as to be nearerthe hills in case we have to run for it.”

“You think we had better make for the hills in thatcase?” I asked.

“Decidedly. Mejia is sure to return thither, andMorale’s men are much less likely to follow us far in thatdirection than south or east.”

So, still riding leisurely, we diverged a little to the right,keeping the cloud-veiled horsem*n to our left. By this measure weshould (if they proved to be enemies) prevent them from gettingbetween us and the hills, and thereby cutting off our best line ofretreat.

Meanwhile the cloud grew bigger. Before long we coulddistinguish those whom it had hidden, without, however, being ableto decide whether they were friends or foes.

Carmen thought they numbered at least two hundred, and theremight be more behind. But who they were he could, as yet, form noidea.

The nearer we approached them the greater became our excitementand surprise. A few minutes and we should either be riding for ourlives or surrounded by friends. We looked to the priming of ourpistols, tightened our belts and our horses’ girths, wipedthe sweat and dust from our faces, and, while hoping for the best,prepared for the worst.

“They see us!” exclaimed Carmen. “I cannotquite make them out, though. I fear…. But let us ridequietly on. The secret will soon be revealed.”

A dozen horsem*n had detached themselves from the main body withthe intention, as might appear, of intercepting our retreat inevery direction. Four went south, four north, and four moved slowlyround to our rear.

“Had we not better push on?” I asked. “Thislooks very like a hostile demonstration.”

“So it does. But we must find out—And there is nohurry. We shall only have the four who are coming this way to dealwith, the others are out of the running. All the same, we may aswell draw a little farther to the right, so as to give them alonger gallop and get them as far from the main body as maybe.”

The four were presently near enough to be distinctly seen.

“Enemies! Vamonos!” cried Carmen, after hehad scanned their faces. “But not too fast. If they think weare afraid and our horses tired they will follow us without waitingfor the others, and perhaps give us an opportunity of teaching thembetter manners. Your horse is the fleetest, señor Fortescue.You had better, perhaps, ride last.”

On this hint I acted; and when the four guerillas saw that I waslagging behind they redoubled their efforts to overtake me, butwhenever they drew nearer than I liked, I let Pizarro out, therebykeeping their horses, which were none too fresh, continually on thestretch. The others were too far in the rear to cause us concern.We had tested the speed of their horses and knew that we couldleave them whenever we liked.

After we had gone thus about a couple of miles Carmen slackenedspeed so as to let me come up with him and Gahra.

“We have five minutes to spare,” he said.“Shall we stop them?”

I nodded assent, whereupon we checked our horses, and wheelingaround, looked our pursuers in the face. This brought them upshort, and I thought they were going to turn tail, but after amoment’s hesitation they lowered their lances and came onalbeit at no great speed, receiving as they did so a point-blankvolley from our pistols, which emptied one of their saddles. Thenwe drew our swords and charged, but before we could get to closequarters the three men sheered off to the right and left, leavingtheir wounded comrade to his fate. It did not suit our purpose tofollow them, and we were about to go on, when we noticed that theother guerillas, who a few minutes previously were riding hotlyafter us, had ceased their pursuit, and were looking round inseeming perplexity. The main body had, moreover, come to a halt,and were closing up and facing the other way. Something hadhappened. What could it be?

“Another cloud of dust,” said Gahra, pointing to thenorth-west.

So there was, and moving rapidly. Had our attention been lesstaken up with the guerillas this new portent would not so long haveescaped us.

“Mejia! I’ll wager ten thousand piasters that behindthat cloud are Mejia and his braves,” exclaimed Carmen,excitedly. Hijo de Dios! Won’t they make mince-meatof the Spaniard? How I wish I were with them! Shall we go backSeñor Fortescue?”

“If you think—”

“Think! I am sure. I can see the gleam of their spearsthrough the dust. By all means, let us join them. The Spaniardshave too much on their hands just now to heed us. But I must have aspear.”

And with that Carmen slipped from his horse and picked up thelance of the fallen guerilla.

“Do you prefer a spear to a sword?” I asked, as werode on.

“I like both, but in a charge on the llanos I prefer aspear decidedly. Yet I dare say you will do better with the weaponto which you have been most accustomed. If you ward off or evadethe first thrust and get to your opponent’s left rear youwill have him at your mercy. Our llaneros are indifferentswordsmen; but once turn your back and you are doomed. Hurrah!There is Mejia, leading his fellows on. Don’t you see him?The tall man on the big horse. Forward, señors! We may be intime for the encounter even yet.”

Chapter XIV.

Caught.

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A smart gallop of a few minutes brought us near enough to seewhat was going on, though as we had to make a considerabledétour in order to avoid the Spaniards, we werejust too late for the charge, greatly to Carmen’sdisappointment.

In numbers the two sides were pretty equal, the strength of eachbeing about a thousand men. Their tactics were rather those ofIndian braves than regular troops. The patriots were, however, bothbetter led and better disciplined than their opponents, and foughtwith a courage and a resolution that on their native plains wouldhave made them formidable foes for the “crackest” ofEuropean cavalry.

The encounter took place when we were within a few hundred yardsof Mejia’s left flank. It was really a charge in line, albeita very broken line, every man riding as hard as he could andfighting for his own land. All were armed with spears, the longest,as I afterward learned, being wielded by Colombiangauchos. These portentous weapons, fully fourteen feetlong, were held in both hands, the reins being meanwhile placed onthe knees, and the horses guided by voice and spur. The Spaniardsseemed terribly afraid of them, as well they might be, for theColombian spears did dire execution. Few missed their mark, and Isaw more than one trooper literally spitted and lifted clean out ofhis saddle.

Mejia, distinguishable by his tall stature, was in the thick ofthe fray. After the first shock he threw away his spear, anddrawing a long two-handed sword, which he carried at his back, laidabout like a coeur-de-lion. The combat lasted only a fewminutes, and though we were too late to contribute to the victorywe were in time to take part in the pursuit.

It was a scene of wild confusion and excitement; the Spaniardsgalloping off in all directions, singly and in groups, making noattempt to rally, yet when overtaken, fighting to the last,Mejia’s men following them with lowered lances and wildcries, managing their fiery little horses with consummate ease, andmaking no prisoners.

“Here is a chance for us; let us charge thesefellows!” shouted Carmen, as eight or nine of the enemy rodepast us in full retreat; and without pausing for a reply he wentoff at a gallop, followed by Gahra and myself; for although I hadno particular desire to attack men who were flying for their livesand to whom I knew no quarter would be given, it was impossible tohold back when my comrades were rushing into danger. Had theSpaniards been less intent on getting away it would have fared illwith us. As it was, we were all wounded. Gahra got a thrust throughthe arm, Carmen a gash in the thigh; and as I gave one fellow thepoint in his throat his spear pierced my hat and cut my head. Ifsome of the patriots had not come to the rescue our lives wouldhave paid the forfeit of our rashness.

The incident was witnessed by Mejia himself, who, when herecognized Carmen, rode forward, greeted us warmly and remarkedthat we were just in time.

“To be too late,” answered Carmen, discontentedly,as he twisted a handkerchief round his wounded thigh.

“Not much; and you have done your share. That was a boldcharge you made. And your friends? I don’t think I have thepleasure of knowing them.”

Carmen introduced us, and told him who I was.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance,señor,” he said, graciously, “and I will giveyou of my best; but I can offer you only rough fare and plenty offighting. Will that content you?”

I bowed, and answered that I desired nothing better. Theguerilla leader was a man of striking appearance, tall, spare, andlong limbed. The contour of his face was Indian; he had thedeep-set eyes, square jaws, and lank hair of the abonguil race. Buthis eyes were blue, his hair was flaxen, and his skin as fair asthat of a pure-blooded Teuton. Mejia, as I subsequently heard, wasthe son of a German father and a mestizma mother, and prouder ofhis Indian than his European ancestry. It was probably for thisreason that he preferred being called Mejia rather than Morgensterny Mejia, his original appellation. His hereditary hatred of theSpaniards, inflamed by a sense of personal wrong, was his rulingpassion. He spared none of the race (being enemies) who fell intohis hands. Natives of the country, especially those with Indianblood in their veins, he treated more mercifully—when his menwould let him, for they liked killing even more than they likedfighting, and had an unpleasant way of answering a remonstrancefrom their officers with a thrust from their spears.

Mejia owed his ascendancy over them quite as much to his goodfortune in war as to his personal prowess and resolutecharacter.

“If I were to lose a battle they would probably take mylife, and I should certainly have to resign my command,” heobserved, when we were talking the matter over after the pursuit(which, night being near, was soon abandoned); “and allanero leader must lead—no playing the general orwatching operations from the rear—or it will be the worse forhim.”

“I understand; he must be first or nowhere.”

“Yes, first or nowhere; and they will brook no punishmentsave death. If a man disobeys me I either let it pass or shoot himout of hand, according to circ*mstances. If I were to strike a manor order him under arrest, the entire force would either mutiny ordisband. Si señor, my llaneros are wildfellows.”

They looked it. Most of them wore only a ragged shirt overequally ragged trousers. Their naked feet were thrust into rustystirrups. Some rode bare-backed, and there were among them men ofevery breed which the country produced; mestizoes, mulattoes,zambos, quadroons, negroes, and Indios, but all borngauchos and llaneros, hardy and in highcondition, and well skilled in the use of lasso and spear. Theywere volunteers, too, and if their chief failed to provide themwith a sufficiency of fighting and plunder, they had no hesitationin taking themselves off without asking for leave of absence.

When Mejia heard that a British force was being raised forservice against the Spaniards, he was greatly delighted, andoffered me on the spot a command in his “army,” or,alternatively, the position of his principal aide-de-camp. Ipreferred the latter.

“You have decided wisely, and I thank you,señor coronel. The advice and assistance of asoldier who has seen so much of war as you have will be veryvaluable and highly esteemed.”

I reminded the chief that, in the British army, I had held nohigher rank than that of lieutenant.

“What matters that? I have made myself a general, and Imake you a colonel. Who is there to say me nay?” he demanded,proudly.

Though much amused by this summary fashion of conferringmilitary rank, I kept a serious countenance, and, aftercongratulating General Mejia on his promotion and thanking him formine, I said that I should do my best to justify hisconfidence.

We bivouacked on the banks of a stream some ten miles from thescene of our encounter with the loyalists. On our way thither,Mejia told us that he had taken and destroyed Tres Cruces, and wasnow contemplating an attack on General Griscelli at San Felipe, asto which he asked my opinion.

I answered that, as I knew nothing either of the defense of SanFelipe or of the strength and character of the force commanded byGeneral Griscelli, I could give none. On this, Mejia informed methat the place was a large village and military post, defended byearthworks and block-houses, and that the force commanded byGriscelli consisted of about twenty-five hundred men, of whom abouthalf were regulars, half native auxiliaries.

“Has he any artillery?” I asked.

“About ten pieces of position, but nofield-guns.”

“And you?”

“I have none whatever.”

“Nor any infantry?”

“Not here. But my colleague, General Estero, is at presentorganizing a force which I dare say will exceed two thousand men,and he promises to join me in the course of a week ortwo.”

“That is better, certainly. Nevertheless, I fear that withone thousand horse and two thousand foot, and without artillery,you will not find it easy to capture a strong place, armed with tenguns and held by twenty-five hundred men, of whom half areregulars. If I were you I would let San Felipe alone.”

Mejia frowned. My advice was evidently not to his liking.

“Let me tell you, señor coronel” hesaid, arrogantly, “our patriot soldiers are equal to any inthe world, regular or irregular. And, don’t you see that thevery audacity of the enterprise counts in our favor? The last thingGriscelli expects is an attack. We shall find him unprepared andtake him by surprise. That man has done us a great deal of harm. Hehangs every patriot who falls into his hands, and I have made up mymind to hang him!”

After this there was nothing more to be said, and I held mypeace. I soon found, moreover, that albeit Mejia often made a showof consulting me he had no intention of accepting my advice, andthat all his officers (except Carmen) and most of his men regardedme as a gringo (foreign interloper) and were envious of mypromotion, and jealous of my supposed influence with thegeneral.

We bivouacked in a valley on the verge of the llanos, and thenext few days were spent in raiding cattle and preparingtasajo. We had also another successful encounter with aparty of Morale’s guerillas. This raised Mejia’sspirits to the highest point, and made him more resolute than everto attack San Felipe. But when I saw General Estero’sinfantry my misgivings as to the outcome of the adventure wereconfirmed. His men, albeit strong and sturdy and full of fight,were badly disciplined and indifferently armed, their officersextremely ignorant and absurdly boastful and confident. Esterohimself, though like Mejia, a splendid patriotic leader, was nogeneral, and I felt sure that unless we caught Griscelli asleep weshould find San Felipe an uncommonly hard nut to crack. I needhardly say, however, that I kept this opinion religiously tomyself. Everybody was so confident and co*ck-sure, that the meresuggestion of a doubt would have been regarded as treason andprobably exposed me to danger.

A march of four days partly across the llanos, partly among thewooded hills by which they were bounded, brought us one morning toa suitable camping-ground, within a few miles of San Felipe, andMejia, who had assumed the supreme command, decided that the attackshould take place on the following night.

“You will surely reconnoitre first, General Mejia,”I ventured to say.

“What would be the use? Estero and I know the place.However, if you and Carmen like to go and have a look youmay.”

Carmen was nothing loath, and two hours before sunset we saddledour horses and set out. I could speak more freely to him than toany of the others, and as we rode on I remarked how carelessly thecamp was guarded. There were no proper outposts, and instead ofbeing kept out of sight in the quebrado, the men wereallowed to come and go as they liked. Nothing would be easier thanfor a treacherous soldier to desert and give information to theenemy which might not only ruin the expedition but bringdestruction on the army.

“No, no, Fortescue, I cannot agree to that. There are notraitors among us,” said my companion, warmly.

“I hope not. Yet how can you guarantee that among two orthree thousand men there is not a single rascal! In war, you shouldleave nothing to chance. And even though none of the fellows desertit is possible that some of them may wander too far away and gettaken prisoners, which would be quite as bad.”

“You mean it would give Griscelli warning?”

“Exactly, and if he is an enterprising general he wouldnot wait to be attacked. Instead of letting us surprise him hewould surprise us.”

“Caramba! So he would. And Griscelli is anenterprising general. We must mention this to Mejia when we getback, amigo mio.”

“You may, if you like. I am tired of giving advice whichis never heeded,” I said, rather bitterly.

“I will, certainly, and then whatever befalls I shall havea clear conscience. Mejia is one of the bravest men I know. It is apity he is so self-opinionated.”

“Yes, and to make a general a man must have something morethan bravery. He must have brains.”

Carmen knew the country we were in thoroughly, and at hissuggestion we went a roundabout way through the woods in order toavoid coming in contact with any of Griscelli’s people. Onreaching a hill overlooking San Felipe we tethered our horses in agrove of trees where they were well hidden, and completed theascent on foot. Then, lying down, and using a field-glass lent usby Mejia, we made a careful survey of the place and itssurroundings.

San Felipe, a picturesque village of white houses with thatchedroofs, lay in a wide well-cultivated valley, looking south, andwatered by a shallow stream which in the rainy season was probablya wide river. At each corner of the village, well away from thehouses, was a large block-house, no doubt pierced for musketry.From one block-house to another ran an earthen parapet with aditch, and on each parapet were mounted three guns.

“Well, what think you of San Felipe, and our chances oftaking it?” asked Carmen, after a while.

“I don’t think its defences are very formidable. Asingle mortar on that height to the east would make the placeuntenable in an hour; set it on fire in a dozen places. It is allwood. But to attempt its capture with a force of infantrynumerically inferior to the garrison will be a very hazardousenterprise indeed, and barring miraculously good luck on the oneside or miraculously ill luck on the other cannot possibly succeed,I should say. No, Carmen, I don’t think we shall be in SanFelipe to-morrow night, or any night, just yet.”

“But how if a part of the garrison be absent? Hist! Didnot you hear something?”

“Only the crackling of a branch. Some wild animal,probably. I wonder whether there are any jaguarshereabout—”

“Oh, if the garrison be weak and the sentries sleep it isquite possible we may take the place by a rush. But, on the otherhand, it is equally possible that Griscelli may have got wind ofour intention, and—”

“There it is again! Something more than a wild animal thistime, Fortescue,” exclaims Carmen, springing to his feet.

I follow his example; but the same instant a dozen men springfrom the bushes, and before we can offer any resistance, or evendraw our swords, we are borne to the ground and despite ourstruggles, our arms pinioned to our sides.

Chapter XV.

An Old Enemy.

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Our captors were Spanish soldiers.

“Be good enough to rise and accompany us to San Felipe,señores,” said the non-commissioned officer in commandof the detachment, “and if you attempt to escape I shall blowyour brains out.”

“Dios mio! It serves us right for not keeping abetter lookout,” said Carmen, with a laugh which I thoughtsounded rather hollow. “We shall be in San Felipe sooner thanwe expected, that is all. Lead on, sergeant; we have a dozen goodreasons for not trying to escape, to say nothing of our straitwaistcoats.”

Whereupon we were marched down the hill and taken to San Felipe,two men following with our horses, from which and othercirc*mstances I inferred that we had been under observation eversince our arrival in the neighborhood. The others were doubtlessunder observation also; and at the moment I thought less of our ownpredicament (in view of the hanging propensities of GeneralGriscelli, a decidedly unpleasant one) than of the terriblesurprise which awaited Mejia and his army, for, as I quicklyperceived, the Spaniards were quite on the alert, and fullyprepared for whatever might befall. The place swarmed withsoldiers; sentries were pacing to and fro on the parapets, gunnersfurbishing up their pieces, and squads of native auxiliaries beingdrilled on a broad savanna outside the walls.

Many of the houses were mere huts—roofs on stilts; others,“wattle and dab;” a few, brown-stone. To the mostimposing of these we were conducted by our escort. Above thedoorway, on either side of which stood a sentry, was aninscription: “Headquarters: General Griscelli.”

The sergeant asked one of the sentries if the general was in,and receiving an answer in the affirmative he entered, leaving usoutside. Presently he returned.

“The general will see you,” he said; “be goodenough to come in.”

We went in, and after traversing a wide corridor were usheredinto a large room, where an officer in undress uniform sat writingat a big table. Several other officers were lounging ineasy-chairs, and smoking big cigars.

“Here are the prisoners, general,” announced ourconductor.

The man at the table, looking up, glanced first at Carmen, thenat me.

“Caramba!” he exclaimed, with a stare ofsurprise, “you and I have met before, I think.”

I returned the stare with interest, for though I recognized himI could hardly believe my own eyes.

“On the field of Salamanca?”

“Of course. You are the English officer who behaved soinsolently and got me reprimanded.” (This in French.)

“I did no more than my duty. It was you that behavedinsolently.”

“Take care what you say, señor, or porDios—There is no English general to whom you can appealfor protection now. What are you doing here?”

“Not much good, I fear. Your men brought me: I had not theleast desire to come, I assure you.”

“You were caught on the hill yonder, surveying the townthrough a glass, and Sergeant Prim overheard part of a conversationwhich leaves no doubt that you are officers in Mejia’s army.Besides, you were seen coming from the quarter where he encampedthis morning. Is this so?”

Carmen and I exchanged glances. My worst fears wereconfirmed—we had been betrayed.

“Is this so? I repeat.”

“It is.”

“And have you, an English officer who has fought forSpain, actually sunk so low as to serve with a herd of ruffianlyrebels?”

“At any rate, General Griscelli, I never deserted to theenemy.”

The taunt stung him to the quick. Livid with rage he sprung fromhis chair and placed his hand on his sword.

“Do you know that you are in my power?” heexclaimed. “Had you uttered this insult in Spanish instead ofin French, I would have strung you up without more ado.”

“You insulted me first. If you are a true caballero giveme the satisfaction which I have a right to demand.”

“No, señor; I don’t meet rebels on the fieldof honor. If they are common folk I hang them; if they aregentlemen I behead them.”

“Which is in store for us, may I ask?”

“Por Dios! you take it very coolly. Perhapsneither.”

“You will let me go, then?”

“Let you go! Let you go! Yes, I will let yougo,” laughing like a man who has made a telling joke, orconceived a brilliant idea.

“When?”

“Don’t be impatient, señor; I should like tohave the pleasure of your company for a day or two before we part.Perhaps after—What is the strength of Mejia’sarmy?”

“I decline to say.”

“I think I could make you say, though, if it were worththe trouble. As it happens, I know already. He has about twothousand infantry and one thousand cavalry. What has he come herefor? Does the fool actually suppose that with a force like that hecan capture San Felipe? Such presumption deserves punishment, and Ishall give him a lesson he will not easily forget—if he livesto remember it. Your name and quality, señor” (toCarmen).

“Salvador Carmen, teniente in the patriotarmy.”

“I suppose you have heard how I treat patriots?”

“Yes, general, and I should like to treat you in the sameway.”

“You mean you would like to hang me. In that case youcannot complain if I hang you. However I won’t hangyou—to-day. I will either send you to the next world in thecompany of your general, or let you go with—”

“Señor Fortescue?”

“Thank you—with Señor Fortescue. That is all,I think. Take him to the guard-house, sergeant—Stay! If youwill give me your parole not to leave the town without mypermission, or make any attempt to escape, you may remain at large,Señor Fortescue.”

“For how long?”

“Two days.”

As the escape in the circ*mstances seemed quite out of thequestion, I gave my parole without hesitation, and asked the samefavor for my companion.

“No” (sternly). “I could not believe a rebelCreole on his oath. Take him away, sergeant, and see that he iswell guarded. If you let him escape I will hang you in hisstead.”

Despite our bonds Carmen and I contrived to shake hands, orrather, touch fingers, for it was little more.

“We shall meet again.” I whispered. “If I hadknown that he would not take your parole I would not have givenmine. Let courage be our watchword. Hastamañana!”

“Pray take a seat, Señor Fortescue, and we willhave a talk about old times in Spain. Allow me to offer you acigar—I beg your pardon, I was forgetting that my fellows hadtied you up. Captain Guzman (to one of the loungers), will youkindly loose Mr. Fortescue? Gracias! Now you can take acigar, and here is a chair for you.”

I was by no means sure that this sudden display of urbanityboded me good, but being a prisoner, and at Griscelli’smercy, I thought it as well to humor him, so accepted the cigar andseated myself by his side.

After a talk about the late war in Spain, in the course of whichGriscelli told some wonderful stories of the feats he had performedthere (for the man was egregiously vain) he led the conversation tothe present war in South America, and tried to worm out of me whereI had been and what I had done since my arrival in the country. Ianswered him courteously and diplomatically, taking good care totell him nothing that I did not want to be known.

“I see,” he said, “it was a love of adventurethat brought you here—you English are always running afteradventures. A caballero like you can have no sympathy with theserascally rebels.”

“I beg your pardon; I do sympathize with the rebels; not,I confess, as warmly as I did at first, and if I had known as muchas I know now, I think I should have hesitated to jointhem.”

“How so?”

“They kill prisoners in cold blood, and conduct war morelike savages than Christians.”

“You are right, they do. Yes, killing prisoners in coldblood is a brutal practice! I am obliged to be severe sometimes,much to my regret. But there is only one way of dealing with arebellion—you must stamp it out; civil war is not as otherwars. Why not join us, Señor Fortescue? I will give you acommand.”

“That is quite out of the question, General Griscelli; Iam not a mere soldier of fortune. I have eaten these people’ssalt, and though I don’t like some of their ways, I wish wellto their cause.”

“Think better of it, señor. The alternative mightnot be agreeable.”

“Whatever the alternative may be, my decision isirrevocable. And you said just now you would let me go.”

“Oh, yes, I will let you go, since you insist on it”(smiling). “All the same, I think you will regret yourdecision—Mejia, of course, means to attack us. He can havecome with no other object—by your advice?”

“Certainly not.”

“That means he is acting against your advice. The man ismad. He thought of taking us by surprise, I suppose. Why, I knew hewas on his way hither two days ago! And if he does not attack usto-night—and we are quite ready for him—I shall capturehim and the whole of his army to-morrow. I want you to go with usand witness the operation—in the character of aspectator.”

“And a prisoner?”

“If you choose to put it so.”

“In that case, there is no more to be said, though forchoice, I would rather not witness the discomfiture of myfriends.”

Griscelli gave an ironical smile, which I took to mean that itwas precisely for this reason that he asked me to accompanyhim.

“Will you kindly receive Señor Fortescue, as yourguest, Captain Guzman,” he said, “take him to yourquarters, give him his supper, and find him a bed.”

“Con mucho gusto. Shall we go now, SeñorFortescue?”

I went, and spent a very pleasant evening with Captain Guzman,and several of his brother-officers, whom he invited to join us,for though the Spaniards of that age were frightfully cruel totheir enemies, they were courteous to their guests, and as a guestI was treated. As, moreover, most of the men I met had served inthe Peninsular war, we had quite enough to talk about withouttouching on topics whose discussion might have been incompatiblewith good fellowship.

When, at a late hour, I turned into the hammock provided for meby Guzman, it required an effort to realize that I was a prisoner.Why, I asked myself, had Griscelli, who was never known to spare aprisoner, whose face was both cruel and false, and who could bearme no good-will—why had this man treated me so courteously?Did he really mean to let me go, and if so, why; or was the promisemade to the ear merely to be broken to the hope?

“Perhaps to-morrow will show,” I thought, as I fellasleep; and I was not far out, for the day after did. Guzman, whoseroom I shared, wakened me long before daylight.

“The bugle has sounded the reveille, and the troops aremustering on the plaza,” he said. “You had better riseand dress. The general has sent word that you are to go with us,and our horses are in the patio.”

I got up at once, and after drinking a hasty cup of coffee, wemounted and joined Griscelli and his staff.

The troops were already under arms, and a few minutes later wemarched, our departure being so timed, as I heard the generalobserve to one of his aides-de-camp, that we might reach theneighborhood of the rebel camp shortly before sunrise. His plan waswell conceived, and, unless Mejia had been forewarned or waskeeping a sharper lookout than he was in the habit of doing, Ifeared it would go ill with him.

The camping-ground was much better suited for concealment thandefence. It lay in a hollow in the hills, in shape like ahorse-shoe, with a single opening, looking east, and was commandedin every direction by wooded heights. Griscelli’s plan was tooccupy the heights with skirmishers, who, hidden behind the treesand bushes, could shoot down the rebels with comparative security.A force of infantry and cavalry would meanwhile take possession ofthe opening and cut off their retreat. In this way, thoughtGriscelli, the patriots would either be slaughtered to a man, orcompelled to surrender at discretion.

I could not deny (though I did not say so) that he had goodgrounds for this opinion. The only hope for Mejia was that, alarmedby our disappearance, he had stationed outposts on the heights anda line of vedettes on the San Felipe road, and fortified theentrance to the quebrada. In that case the attack might berepulsed, despite the superiority of the Spanish infantry and thedisadvantages of Mejia’s position. But the probabilities wereagainst his having taken any of these precautions; the last thinghe thought of was being attacked, and I could hardly doubt that hewould be fatally entangled in the toils which were being laid forhim.

While these thoughts were passing through my mind we weremarching rapidly and silently toward our destination, lighted onlyby the stars. The force consisted of two brigades, the second ofwhich, commanded by General Estero, had gone on half an hourpreviously. I was with the first and rode with Griscelli’sstaff. So far there had not been the slightest hitch, and theSpaniards promised themselves an easy victory.

It had been arranged that the first brigade should wait, about amile from the entrance to the valley until Estero opened fire, andthen advance and occupy the outlet. Therefore, when we reached thepoint in question a halt was called, and we all listened eagerlyfor the preconcerted signal.

And then occurred one of those accidents which so often mar thebest laid plans. After we had waited a full hour, and just as daybegan to break, the rattle of musketry was heard on the heights,whereupon Griscelli, keenly alive to the fact that every moment ofdelay impaired his chances of success, ordered his men to fall inand march at the double. But, unfortunately for the Spaniards, theshots we had heard were fired too soon. The way through the woodswas long and difficult, Estero’s men got out of hand; some ofthem, in their excitement, fired too soon, with the result that,when the first division appeared in the valley, the patriots,rudely awakened from their fancied security, were getting underarms, and Mejia saw at a glance into what a terrible predicamenthis overconfidence had led him. He saw also (for though anindifferent general he was no fool) that the only way of saving hisarmy from destruction, was to break out of the valley at allhazards, before the Spaniards enclosed him in a ring of fire.

Mejia took his measures accordingly. Placing hisllaneros and gauchos in front and the infantry inthe rear, he advanced resolutely to the attack; and though it iscontrary to rule for light cavalry to charge infantry, this order,considering the quality of the rebel foot, was probably the bestwhich he could adopt.

On the other hand, the Spanish position was very strong,Griscelli massed his infantry in the throat of thequebrada, the thickets on either side of it being occupiedin force. The reserve consisted exclusively of horse, an arm inwhich he was by no means strong. Mejia was thus encompassed onthree sides, and had his foes reserved their fire and stood theirground, he could not possibly have broken through them. But theSpaniards opened fire as soon as the rebels came within range.Before they could reload, the gauchos charged, and thoughmany saddles were emptied, the rebel horse rode so resolutely andtheir long spears looked so formidable, that the Spaniards gave wayall along the line, and took refuge among the trees, therebyleaving the patriots a free course.

This was the turning-point of the battle, and had the rebelinfantry shown as much courage as their cavalry the Spaniards wouldhave been utterly beaten; but their only idea was to get away; theybolted as fast as their legs could carry them, an example which waspromptly imitated by the Spanish cavalry, who instead of chargingthe rebel horse in flank as they emerged from the valley, gallopedoff toward San Felipe, followed nolens volens by Griscelliand his staff.

It was the only battle I ever saw or heard of in which bothsides ran away. If Mejia had gone to San Felipe he might have takenit without striking a blow, but besides having lost many of hisbrave llaneros, he had his unfortunate infantry to rallyand protect, and the idea probably never occurred to him.

As for the Spanish infantry, they stayed in the woods till thecoast was clear, and then hied them home.

Griscelli was wild with rage. To have his well-laid plansthwarted by cowardice and stupidity, the easy victory he hadpromised himself turned into an ignominious defeat at the verymoment when, had his orders been obeyed, the fortunes of the daymight have been retrieved—all this would have proved a severetrial for a hero or a saint, and certainly Griscelli bore hisreverse neither with heroic fortitude nor saintly resignation. Hecursed like the jackdaw of Rheims, threatened dire vengeance on alland sundry, and killed one of the runaway troopers with his ownhand. I narrowly escaped sharing the same fate. Happening to catchsight of me when his passion was at the height he swore that hewould shoot at least one rebel, and drawing a pistol from hisholster pointed it at my head. I owed my life to Captain Guzman,who was one of the best and bravest of his officers.

“Pray don’t do that, general,” he said.“It would be an ill requital for SeñorFortescue’s faithful observance of his parole. And youpromised to let him go.”

“Promised to let him go! So I did, and I will be as goodas my word,” returned Griscelli, grimly, as he unco*cked hispistol. “Yes, he shall go.”

“Now?”

“No. To-night. Meet me, both of you, near the oldsugar-mill on the savanna when the moon rises; and give him a goodsupper, Guzman; he will need it.”

Chapter XVI.

The Azuferales.

Return to Table ofContents

“What is General Griscelli’s game? Does he reallymean to let me go, or is he merely playing with me as a cat playswith a mouse?” I asked Guzman, as we sat at supper.

“That is just the question I have been asking myself. Inever knew him let a prisoner go before, and I know of no reasonwhy he should treat you more leniently than he treats others. Doyou?”

“No. He is more likely to bear me a grudge,” andthen I told Guzman what had befallen at Salamanca.

“That makes it still less probable that he will let you goaway quietly. Griscelli never forgives, and to-day’s fiascohas put him in a devil of a temper. He is malicious, too. We haveall to be careful not to offend him, even in trifles, or he wouldmake life very unpleasant for us, and I fear he has something veryunpleasant in store for you. You may depend upon it that he ismeditating some trick. He is quite capable of letting you go as faras the bridge, and then bringing you back and hanging you orfastening you to the tail of a wild mustang or the horns of a wildbull. That also would be letting you go.”

“So it would, in a fashion! and I should prefer it tobeing hanged.”

“I don’t think I would. The hanging would be soonerover and far less painful. And there are many other ways—hemight have your hands tied behind your back and cannon-ballsfastened to your feet, and then leave you to your owndevices.”

“That would not be so bad. We should find some good soulto release us, and I think I could contrive to untie Carmen’sbonds with my teeth.”

“Or he might cut off your ears and put out youreyes—”

“For Heaven’s sake cease these horrible suggestions!You make my blood run cold. But you cannot be serious. Is Griscelliin the habit of putting out the eyes of his prisoners?”

“Not that I am aware of; but I have heard him threaten todo it, and known him to cut off a rebel’s ears first and hanghim afterward. All the same I don’t think he is likely totreat you in that way. It might get to the ears of thecaptain-general, and though he is not very particular where rebelsare concerned, he draws the line at mutilation.”

“We shall soon see; we have to be at the old sugar-millwhen the moon rises,” I said, gloomily, for the prospect heldout by Guzman was anything but encouraging.

“And that will be soon. If I see any way of helping you,without compromising myself, I will. Hospitality has its duties,and I cannot forget that you have fought and bled for Spain. Haveanother drink; you don’t know what is before you! And takethis knife—it will serve also as a dagger—and thispocket-pistol. Put them where they will not be seen. You may findthem useful.”

“Gracias! But you surely don’t think weshall be sent adrift weaponless and on foot?”

“That is as it may be; but it is well to provide forcontingencies. And now let us start; nothing irritates Griscelli somuch as having to wait.”

So, girding on our swords (mine had been restored to me“by special favor,” when I gave my parole), we mountedour horses, which were waiting at the door, and set out.

The savanna was a wide stretch of open ground outside thefortifications, where reviews were held and the troops performedtheir evolutions; it lay on the north side of the town. Farther onin the same direction was a range of low hills, thickly wooded andill provided with roads. The country to the east and west waspretty much in the same condition. Southward it was more open, anda score of miles away merged into the llanos.

“We are in good time; the moon is only just rising, and Idon’t think there is anybody before us,” said Guzman,as we neared the old sugar-mill, a dilapidated wooden building,shaded by cebia-trees and sombrero palms.

“But there is somebody behind us,” I said, lookingback. “A squadron of cavalry at the least.”

“Griscelli, I suppose, and Carmen. But why is the generalbringing so many people with him, I wonder? And don’t I seedogs?”

“Rather! A pack of hounds, I should say.”

“You are right; they are Griscelli’s blood-hounds.Is it possible that a prisoner or a slave has escaped, andGriscelli will ask us to join in the hunt?”

“Join in the hunt! You surely don’t mean that youhunt men in this country?”

“Sometimes—when the men are slaves or rebels. It isa sport the general greatly enjoys. Yet it seems very strange; atthis time of night, too—Dios mio! can it bepossible?”

“Can what be possible, Captain Guzman?” I exclaimed,in some excitement, for a terrible suspicion had crossed mymind.

“Can what be possible? In Heaven’s name speakout!”

But, instead of answering, Guzman went forward to meetGriscelli. I followed him.

“Good-evening, gentlemen,” said the general;“I am glad you are so punctual. I have brought your friend,Señor Fortescue. As you were taken together, it seems onlyright that you should be released together. It would be a pity toseparate such good friends. You see, I am as good as my word. Youdon’t speak. Are you not grateful?”

“That depends on the conditions, general.”

“I make no conditions whatever. I let you go—neithermore nor less—whither you will. But I must warn you that,twenty minutes after you are gone, I shall lay on my hounds. If yououtrun them, well and good; if not, tant pis pour vous. Ishall have kept my word. Are you not grateful, señorFortescue?”

“No; why should I be grateful for a death more terriblethan hanging. Kill us at once, and have done with it. You are adisgrace to the noble profession of arms, general, and the timewill come—”

“Another word, and I will throw you to the hounds withoutfurther parley,” broke in Griscelli, savagely.

“Better keep quiet; there is nothing to be gained byroiling him,” whispered Carmen.

I took his advice and held my peace, all the more willingly asthere was something in Carmen’s manner which implied that hedid not think our case quite so desperate as might appear.

“Dismount and give up your weapons,” saidGriscelli.

Resistance being out of the question, we obeyed with the bestgrace we could; but I bitterly regretted having to part with thehistoric Toledo and my horse Pizarro; he had carried me well, andwe thoroughly understood each other. The least I could do was togive him his freedom, and, as I patted his neck by way of biddinghim farewell, I slipped the bit out of his mouth, and let himgo.

“Hallo! What is that—a horse loose? Catch him, someof you,” shouted Griscelli, who had been talking with hishuntsman and Captain Guzman, whereupon two of the troopers rode offin pursuit, a proceeding which made Pizarro gallop all the faster,and I knew that, follow him as long as they might, they would notovertake him.

Griscelli resumed his conversation with Captain Guzman, anopportunity by which I profited to glance at the hounds, and thoughI was unable just then to regard them with very kindly feelings, Icould not help admiring them. Taller and more strongly built thanfox-hounds, muscular and broad-chested, with pendulous ears andupper lips, and stern, thoughtful faces, they were splendidspecimens of the canine race; even sized too, well under control,and in appearance no more ferocious than other hounds. Why shouldthey be? All hounds are blood-hounds in a sense, and it is probablyindifferent to them whether they pursue a fox, a deer, or a man; itis entirely a matter of training.

“I am going to let you have more law than I mentioned justnow” said Griscelli, turning to Carmen and me. “CaptainGuzman, here, and the huntsmen think twenty minutes would not giveus much of a run—these hounds are very fast—so I shallmake it forty. But you must first submit to a little operation.Make them ready, Jose.”

Whereupon one of the attendants, producing a bottle, smeared ourshoes and legs with a liquid which looked like blood, and was, nodoubt, intended to insure a good scent and render our escapeimpossible. While this was going on Carmen and I took off our coatsand threw them on the ground.”

“When I give the word you may start,” saidGriscelli, “and forty minutes afterward the hounds will belaid on—Now!”

“This way! Toward the hills!” said Carmen.“Are you in good condition?”

“Never better.”

“We must make all the haste we can, before the hounds arelaid on. If we can keep this up we shall reach the hills in fortyminutes—perhaps less.”

“And then? These hounds will follow us for ever—nopossibility of throwing them out—unless—is there ariver?”

“None near enough, still—”

“You have hope, then—”

“Just a little—I have an idea—if we can go onrunning two hours—have you a flint and steel?”

“Yes, and a loaded pistol and a knife.”

“Good! That is better than I thought. But don’ttalk. We shall want every bit of breath in our bodies before wehave done. This way! By the cane-piece there!”

With heads erect, arms well back, and our chests expanded totheir utmost capacity we sped silently onward; and although we donot despair we realize to the full that we are running for ourlives; grim Death is on our track and only by God’s help andgood fortune can we hope to escape.

Across the savanna, past corn-fields and cane-pieces we racewithout pause—looking neither to the right norleft—until we reach the road leading to the hills. Here westop a few seconds, take a few deep breaths, and then, on again. Sofar, the road has been tolerable, almost level and free fromobstructions. But now it begins to rise, and is so rugged withalthat we have to slow our speed and pick our way. Farther on it isthe dry bed of a torrent, cumbered with loose stones and erraticblocks, among which we have to struggle painfully.

“This is bad,” gasps Carmen. “The hounds mustbe gaining on us fast.”

“Yes, but the scent will be very catching among thesestones. They won’t run fast here. Let us jump from block toblock instead of walking over the pebbles. It will make it all thebetter for us and worse for them.”

On this suggestion we straightway act, but we find the stridingand jumping so exhausting, and the risk of slipping and breaking alimb so great, that we are presently compelled to betake ourselvesonce more to the bed of the stream.

“Never mind,” says Carmen, “we shall soon beout of this valley of stones, and the hounds will not find it easyto pick up the scent hereabout. If we only keep out of their jawsanother half-hour!”

“Of course, we shall—and more—I hope for ever.We can go on for another hour. But what is your point?”

“The azuferales.”

“The azuferales! What are theazuferales”

“I cannot explain now. You will see. If we get there tenor fifteen minutes before the hounds we shall have a good chance ofescaping them.”

“And how long?”

“That depends—perhaps twenty.”

“Then, in Heaven’s name, lead on. It is life ordeath? Even five minutes may make all the difference. Whichway?”

“By this trail to the right, and through theforest.”

The trail is a broad grass-grown path, not unlike a“ride” in an English wood, bordered by trees and thickundergrowth, but fairly lighted by the moonbeams, and, fortunatelyfor us, rather downhill, with no obstacles more formidable thanfallen branches, and here and there a prostrate monarch of theforest, which we easily surmount.

As we go on I notice that the character of the vegetation beginsto change. The trees are less leafy, the undergrowth is less dense,and a mephitic odor pervades the air. Presently the foliagedisappears altogether, and the trees and bushes are as bare as ifthey had been stricken with the blast of an Arctic winter; butinstead of being whitened with snow or silvered with frost they arecovered with an incrustation, which in the brilliant moonlightmakes them look like trees and bushes of gold. Over their tops risefaint wreaths of yellowish clouds and the mephitic odor becomesmore pronounced.

“At last!” shouts Carmen, as we reach the end of thetrail. “At last! Amigo mio, we are saved!”

Before us stretches a wide treeless waste like a turf moor, witha background of sombre forest. The moor, which is broken into humpsand hillocks, smokes and boils and babbles like the hell-broth ofMacbeth’s witches, and across it winds, snake-wise, asteaming brook. Here and there is a stagnant pool, and underneathcan be heard a dull roar, as if an imprisoned ocean were beating ona pebble-strewed shore. There is an unmistakable smell of sulphur,and the ground on which we stand, as well as the moor itself, is ofa deep-yellow cast.

This, then, is the azuferales—a region of sulphursprings, a brimstone inferno, a volcano in the making. No houndswill follow us over that hideous heath and through that Stygianstream.

“Can we get across and live?” I ask. “Will itbear?”

“I think so. But out with your knife and cut some twigs;and where are your flint and steel?”

“What are you going to do ?”

“Set the forest on fire—the wind is fromus—and instead of following us farther—and who knowsthat they won’t try?—instead of following us fartherthey will have to hark back and run for their lives.”

Without another word we set to work gathering twigs, which weplace among the trees. Then I dig up with my knife and add to theheap several pieces of the brimstone impregnated turf. This done, Istrike a light with my flint and steel.

“Good!” exclaims Carmen. “In five minutes itwill be ablaze; in ten, a brisk fire;” and with that we throwon more turf and several heavy branches which, for the moment,almost smother it up.

“Never mind, it still burns, and—hark! What isthat?”

“The baying of the hounds and the cries of the hunters.They are nearer than I thought. To the azuferales for ourlives!”

The moor, albeit in some places yielding and in otherstreacherous, did not, as I feared, prove impassable. By threadingour way between the smoking sulphur heaps and carefully avoidingthe boiling springs we found it possible to get on, yet slowly andwith great difficulty; and it soon became evident that, long beforewe gain the forest the hounds will be on the moor. Theirdeep-throated baying and the shouts of the field grow every momentlouder and more distinct. If we are viewed we shall be lost; for ifthe blood-hounds catch sight of us not even the terrors of theazuferales will balk them of their prey. And to our dismaythe fire does not seem to be taking hold. We can see nothing of itbut a few faint sparks gleaming through the bushes.

But where can we hide? The moor is flat and treeless, the foresttwo or three miles away in a straight line, and we can go neitherstraight nor fast. If we cower behind one of the smoking brimstonemounds we shall be stifled; if we jump into one of the boilingsprings we shall be scalded.

“Where can we hide?” I ask.

“Where can we hide?” repeated Carmen.

“That pool! Don’t you see that, a little farther on,the brook forms a pool, and, though it smokes, I don’t thinkit is very hot.”

“It is just the place,” and with that Carmen runsforward and plunges in.

I follow him, first taking the precaution to lay my pistol andknife on the edge. The water, though warm, is not uncomfortablyhot, and when we sit down our heads are just out of the water.

We are only just in time. Two minutes later the hounds, with agreat crash, burst out of the forest, followed at a short intervalby half a dozen horsem*n.

“Curse this brimstone! It has ruined the scent,” Iheard Griscelli say, as the hounds threw up their heads and came toa dead stop. “If I had thought those ladrones wouldrun hither I would not have given them twenty minutes, much lessforty. But they cannot be far off; depend upon it, they are hidingsomewhere.—Por Dios, Sheba has it! Good dog! Hark toSheba! Forward, forward!”

It was true. One of the hounds had hit off the line, thenfollowed another and another, and soon the entire pack was oncemore in full cry. But the scent was very bad, and seemed to growworse; there was a check every few yards, and when they got to thebrook (which had as many turns and twists as a coiled rope), theywere completely at fault. Nevertheless, they persevered, questingabout all over the moor, except in the neighborhood of the sulphurmounds and the springs.

While this was going on the horsem*n had tethered their steedsand were following on foot, riding over the azuferalesbeing manifestly out of the question. Once Griscelli and Sheba, whoappeared to be queen of the pack, came so near the pool that if wehad not promptly lowered our heads to the level of the water theywould certainly have seen us.

“I am afraid they have given us the slip,” I heardGriscelli say. “There is not a particle of scent. But if theyhave not fallen into one of those springs and got boiled,I’ll have them yet—even though I stop all night, orcome again to-morrow.”

“Mira! Mira! General, the forest is onfire!” shouted somebody. “And the horses—see,they are trying to get loose!”

Then followed curses and cries of dismay, the huntsman soundedhis horn to call off the hounds and Carmen and I, raising ourheads, saw a sight that made us almost shout for joy.

The fire, which all this time must have been smouldering unseen,had burst into a great blaze, trees and bushes were wrapped insulphurous flames, which, fanned by the breeze, were spreadingrapidly. The very turf was aglow; two of the horses had brokenloose and were careering madly about; the others were tuggingwildly at their lariats.

Meanwhile Griscelli and his companions, followed by the hounds,were making desperate haste to get back to the trail and reach thevalley of stones. But the road was rough, and in attempting to takeshort cuts several of them came to grief. Two fell into a deep pooland had to be fished out. Griscelli put his foot into one of theboiling springs, and, judging from the loud outcry he made, gotbadly scalded.

By the time the hunters were clear of the moor the loose horseshad disappeared in the forest, and the trees on either side of thetrail were festooned with flames. Then there was mounting in hothaste, and the riders, led by Griscelli (the two dismounted menholding on to their stirrup leathers), and followed by the howlingand terrified hounds, tore off at the top of their speed.

“They are gone, and I don’t think they will be inany hurry to come back,” said Carmen, as he scrambled out ofthe pool. “It was a narrow shave, though.”

“Very, and we are not out of the wood yet. Suppose thefire sweeps round the moor and gains the forest on the otherside?”

“In that case we stand a very good chance of being eitherroasted or starved, for we have no food, and there is not a livingthing on the moor but ourselves.”

Chapter XVII.

A Timely Warning.

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The involuntary bath which saved our lives served also torestore our strength. When we entered it we were well-nigh spent;we went out of it free from any sense of fatigue, a result whichwas probably as much due to the chemical properties of the water asto its high temperature.

But though no longer tired we were both hungry and thirsty, andour garments were wringing wet. Our first proceeding was to takethem off and wring them; our next, to look for freshwater—for the azuferales was like the ocean-water,water everywhere and not a drop to drink.

As we picked our way over the smoking waste by the light of thefull moon and the burning forest, I asked Carmen, who knew thecountry and its ways so much better than myself, what he proposedthat we should do next.

“Rejoin Mejia.”

“But how? We are in the enemies’ country and withouthorses, and we know not where Mejia is.”

“I don’t think he is far off. He is not the man toretreat after a drawn battle. Until he has beaten Griscelli orGriscelli has beaten him, you may be sure he won’t go back tothe llanos; his men would not let him. As for horses, we mustappropriate the first we come across, either by stratagem orforce.”

“Is there a way out of the forest on this side?”

“Yes, there is a good trail made by Indian invalids whocome here to drink the waters. Our difficulty will not be so muchin finding our friends as avoiding our enemies. A few hours’walk will bring us to more open country, but we cannot well startuntil—”

“Good heavens! What is that?” I exclaimed, as aplaintive cry, which ended in a wail of anguish, such as might begiven by a lost soul in torment, rang through the forest.

“It’s an araguato, a howling monkey,”said Carmen, indifferently. “That’s only some oldfellow setting the tune; we shall have a regular choruspresently.”

And so we had. The first howl was followed by a second, then bya third, and a fourth, and soon all the araguatoes in theneighborhood joined in, and the din became so agonizing that I wasfain to put my fingers in my ears and wait for a lull.

“It sounds dismal enough, in all conscience—to us;but I think they mean it for a cry of joy, a sort of morning hymn;at any rate, they don’t generally begin until sunrise. Butthese are perhaps mistaking the fire for the sun.”

And no wonder. It was spreading rapidly. The leafless trees thatbordered the western side of the azuferales were allalight; sparks, carried by the wind, had kindled several giants ofthe forest, which, “tall as mast of some high admiral,”were flaunting their flaring banners a hundred feet above the massof the fire.

It was the most magnificent spectacle I had ever seen, somagnificent that in watching it we forgot our own danger, as, ifthe fire continued to spread, the forest would be impassable fordays, and we should be imprisoned on the azuferaleswithout either food or fresh water.

“Look yonder!” said Carmen, laying his hand on myshoulder. A herd of deer were breaking out of the thicket andbounding across the moor.

“Wild animals escaping from the fire?”

“Yes, and we shall have more of them.”

The words were scarcely spoken when the deer were followed by adrove of peccaries; then came jaguars, pumas, antelopes, andmonkeys; panthers and wolves and snakes, great and small, wrigglingover the ground with wondrous speed, and creatures the like ofwhich I had never seen before—a regular stampede of all sortsand conditions of reptiles and beasts, and all too much frightenedto meddle either with us or each other.

Fortunately for us, moreover, we were not in their line ofmarch, and there lay between us and them a line of hot springs andsmoking sulphur mounds which they were not likely to pass.

The procession had been going on about half an hour when,happening to cast my eye skyward, I saw that the moon haddisappeared; overhead hung a heavy mass of cloud, the middle of itreddened by the reflection from the fire to the color of blood,while the outer edges were as black as ink. It was almost as granda spectacle as the burning forest itself.

“We are going to have rain,” said Carmen.

“I hope it will rain in bucketfuls,” was my answer,for I had drunk nothing since we left San Felipe, and the run,together with the high temperature and the heat of the fire, hadgiven me an intolerable thirst. I spoke with difficulty, my swollentongue clove to the roof of my mouth, and I would gladly have giventen years of my life for one glass of cold water.

Carmen, whose sufferings were as great as my own, echoed myhope. And it was not long in being gratified, for even as we gazedupward a flash of lightning split the clouds asunder; peal ofthunder followed on peal, the rain came down not in drops norbucketfuls but in sheets, and with weight and force sufficient tobeat a child or a weakling to the earth, It was a veritablegodsend; we caught the beautiful cool water in our hands and drankour fill.

In less than an hour not a trace of the fire could beseen—nor anything else. The darkness had become so dense thatwe feared to move lest we might perchance step into one of theboiling springs, fall into the jaws of a jaguar, or set foot on apoisonous snake. So we stayed where we were, whiles lying on theflooded ground, whiles standing up or walking a few paces in therain, which continued to fall until the rising of the sun, when itceased as suddenly as it had begun.

The moor had been turned into a smoking swamp, with a blackenedforest on one side and a wall of living green on the other. Thewild animals had vanished.

“Let us go!” said Carmen.

When we reached the trees we took off our clothes a second time,hung them on a branch, and sat in the sun till they dried.

“I suppose it is no use thinking about breakfast till weget to a house or the camp, wherever that may be?” Iobserved, as we resumed our journey.

“Well, I don’t know. What do you say about a cup ofmilk to begin with?”

“There is nothing I should like better—to beginwith—but where is the cow?”

“There!” pointing to a fine tree with oblongleaves.

“That!”

“Yes, that is the palo de vaca (cow-tree), and asyou shall presently see, it will give us a very good breakfast,though we may get nothing else. But we shall want cups. Ah, thereis a calabash-tree! Lend me your knife a minute.Gracias!”

And with that Carmen went to the tree, from which he cut a largepear-shaped fruit. This, by slicing off the top and scooping outthe pulp he converted into a large bowl. The next thing was to makea gash in the palo de vaca, whereupon there flowed fromthe wound a thick milky fluid which we caught in the bowl anddrank. The taste was agreeable and the result satisfactory, for,though a beefsteak would have been more acceptable, the drinkstayed our hunger for the time and helped us on our way.

The trail was easily found. For a considerable distance it ranbetween a double row of magnificent mimosa-trees which met overheadat a height of fully one hundred and fifty feet, making a gloriouscanopy of green leaves and rustling branches. The rain had cooledthe air and laid the dust, and but for the danger we were in(greater than we suspected) and the necessity we were under ofbeing continually on the alert, we should have had a most enjoyablewalk. Late in the afternoon we passed a hut and a maize-field, thefirst sign of cultivation we had seen since leaving theazuferales, and ascertained our bearings from an old peonwho was swinging in a grass hammock and smoking a cigar. San Felipewas about two leagues away, and he strongly advised us not tofollow a certain trail, which he described, lest haply we mightfall in with Mejia’s caballeros, some of whom he had himselfseen within the hour a little lower down the valley.

This was good news, and we went on in high spirits.

“Didn’t I tell you so?” said Carmen,complacently. “I knew Mejia would not be far off. He is likeone of your English bull-dogs. He never knows when he isbeaten.”

After a while the country became more open, with here and therepatches of cultivation; huts were more frequent and we met severalgroups of peons who, however, eyed us so suspiciously that wethought it inexpedient to ask them any questions.

About an hour before sunset we perceived in the near distance asolitary horseman; but as his face was turned the other way he didnot see us.

“He looks like one of our fellows,” observed Carmen,after scanning him closely. “All the same, he may not be. Letus slip behind this acacia-bush and watch his movements.”

The man himself seemed to be watching. After a short halt, herode away and returned, but whether halting or moving he was alwayson the lookout, and as might appear, keenly expectant.

At length he came our way.

“I do believe—Por Dios it is—GuidoPasto, my own man!” and Carmen, greatly excited, rushed fromhis hiding-place shouting, “Guido!” at the top of hisvoice.

I followed him, equally excited but less boisterous.

Guido, recognizing his master’s voice, galloped forwardand greeted us warmly, for though he acted as Carmen’sservant he was a free llanero, and expected to be treatedas a gentleman and a friend.

“Gracias a Dios!” he said; “I wasbeginning to fear that we had passed you. Gahra and I have beenlooking for you all day!”

“That was very good of you; and Señor Fortescue andI owe you a thousand thanks. But where are General Mejia and thearmy?”

“Near the old place. In a better position, though. But youmust not go there—neither of you.”

“We must not go there! But why?”

“Because if you do the general will hang you.”

“Hang us! Hang Señor Fortescue, who has come allthe way from England to help us! Hang me, Salvador Carmen!You have had a sunstroke and lost your wits; that’s what itis, Guido Pasto, you have lost your wits—but, perhaps you arejoking. Say, now, you are joking.”

“No, señor. It would ill become me to makea foolish joke at your expense. Neither have I lost my wits, as youare pleased to suggest. It is only too true; you are in deadlyperil. We may be observed, even now. Let us go behind these bushes,where we may converse in safety. It was to warn you of your dangerthat Gahra and I have been watching for you. Gahra will be herepresently, and he will tell you that what I say is true.”

“This passes comprehension. What does it all mean? Outwith it, good Guido; you have always been faithful, and Idon’t think you are a fool.”

“Thanks for your good opinion, señor. Well, it isvery painful for me to have to say it; but the general believes,and save your own personal friends, all the army believes, that youand señor Fortescue are traitors—that you betrayedthem to the enemy.”

“On what grounds?” asked Carmen, highlyindignant.

“You went to reconnoitre; you did not come back; the nextmorning we were attacked by Griscelli in force, and SeñorFortescue was seen among the enemy, seen by General Mejia himself.It was, moreover, reported this morning in the camp that Griscellihad let you go.”

“So he did, and hunted us with his infernal blood-hounds,and we only escaped by the skin of our teeth. We were surprised andtaken prisoners. Señor Fortescue was a prisoner on parolewhen the general saw him. I believe Griscelli obtained his paroleand took him to the quebrada for no other purpose than tocompromise him with the patriots. And that I, who have killed morethan a hundred Spaniards with my own hand, should be suspected ofdeserting to the enemy is too monstrous for belief.”

“Of course, it is an absurd mistake. Appearances arecertainly rather against us—at any rate, against me; but aword of explanation will put the matter right. Let us go to thecamp at once and have it out.”

“Not so fast, Señor Fortescue. I should like tohave it out much. But there is one little difficulty in the waywhich you may not have taken into account. Mejia never listens toexplanations, and never goes back on his word. If he said he wouldhang us he will. He would be very sorry afterward, I have no doubt;but that would not bring us back to life, and it would be ratherridiculous to escape Griscelli’s blood-hounds, only to behanged by our own people.”

“And that is not the worst,” put in Guido.

“Not the worst! Why what can be worse than beinghanged?”

“I mean that even if the general did not carry out histhreat you would be killed all the same. The Colombian gauchosswear that they will hack you to pieces wherever they find you.When Gahra comes he will tell you the same.”

“You have heard; what do you say?” asked Carmen,turning to me.

“Well, as it seems so certain that if we return to thecamp we shall either be hanged or hacked to pieces, I am decidedlyof opinion that we had better not return.”

“So am I. At the same time, it is quite evident that wecannot remain here, while every man’s hand is against us. Isthere any possibility of procuring horses, Guido?”

“Yes, sir. I think Gahra and I will be able to bring youhorses and arms after nightfall.”

“Good! And will Gahra and you throw in your lot withus?”

“Where you go I will go, señor. Let Gahra speak forhimself. He will be here shortly. He is coming now. I will showmyself that he may know we are here” (stepping out of thethicket).

When the negro arrived he expressed great satisfaction atfinding us alive and well. He did not think there would be anygreat difficulty in getting away and bringing us horses. Thelleranos were still allowed to come and go pretty much asthey liked, and if awkward questions were asked it would be easy toinvent excuses. The best time to get away would be immediatelyafter nightfall, when most of the foraging parties would havereturned to camp and the men be at supper.

It was thereupon agreed that the attempt should be made, andthat we should stay where we were until we heard the howl of anaraguato, which Guido could imitate to perfection. Thiswould signify that all was well, and the coast clear.

Then, after giving us a few pieces of tasajo and ahandful of cigars, the two men rode off; for the night was at hand,and if we did not escape before light of moon, the chances werevery much against our escaping at all.

Chapter XVIII.

A New Departure.

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“We seem always to be escaping, amigo mio,”said Carmen, as we sat in the shade, eating our tasajo.“We got out of one scrape only to get into another. Yourexperience of the country so far has not been happy.”

“Well, I certainly have had rather a lively time of itsince I landed at La Guayra, if that is what you mean.”

“Very. And I should almost advise you to leave thecountry, if that were possible. But reaching the coast in presentcirc*mstances is out of the question. All the ports are inpossession of the Spaniards, and the roads thither beset byguerillas. I see nothing for it but to go on the llanos and form aguerilla band of our own.”

“Isn’t guerilla merely another name forbrigand?”

“Too often. You must promise the fellowsplunder.”

“And provide it.”

“Of course, or pay them out of your own pocket.”

“Well, I am not disposed to become a brigand chief; and Icould not keep a band of guerillas at my own charge even if I weredisposed. As we cannot get out of the country either by the northor east, what do you say to trying south?”

“How far? To the Brazils?”

“Farther. Over the Andes to Peru.”

“Over the Andes to Peru? That is a big undertaking. Do youthink we could find that mountain of gold and precious stones youwere telling me about?”

“I never entertained any idea so absurd. I merelymentioned poor old Zamorra’s crank as an instance of howcredulous people could be.”

“Well, perhaps the idea is not quite so absurd as yousuppose. Even stranger things have happened; and we do know thatthere is gold pretty nearly everywhere on this continent, to saynothing of the treasure hidden in times past by Indians andSpaniards, and we might find both gold and diamonds.”

“Of course we might; and as we cannot stay here, we may aswell make the attempt.”

“You are not forgetting that it will be very dangerous? Weshall carry our lives in our hands.”

“That will be nothing new; I have carried my life in myhands ever since I came to Venezuela.”

“True, and if you are prepared to encounter the risk andthe hardship—As for myself, I must confess that the ideapleases me. But have you any money? We shall have to equip ourexpedition. If there are only four of us we shall not get beyondthe Rio Negro. The Indians of that region are as fierce asalligators.”

“I have a few maracotes in the waistband of mytrousers and this ring.”

“That ring is worth nothing, my friend; at any rate notmore than a few reals.”

“A few reals! It contains a ruby, though you don’tsee it, worth fully five hundred piasters—if I could find acustomer for it.”

“I don’t think you will easily find a customer for aruby ring on the llanos. However, I’ll tell you what. An oldfriend of mine, a certain Señor Morillones, has a largeestate at a place called Naparima on the Apure. Let us go there tobegin with. Morillones will supply us with mules, and we maypossibly persuade some of his people to accompany us.Treasure-hunting is always an attraction for the adventurous. Whatsay you?”

“Yes. By all means let us go.”

“We may regard it as settled, then, that we make in thefirst instance for Naparima.”

“Certainly.”

“That being the case the best thing we can do is to have asleep. We got none last night, and we are not likely to get anyto-night.”

As Carmen spoke he folded his arms and shut his eyes. I followedhis example, and we knew no more until, as it seemed in about fiveminutes, we were roused by a terrific howl.

We jumped up at once and ran out of the thicket. Gahra and Guidowere waiting for us, each with a led horse.

“We were beginning to think you had been taken, or goneaway,” said Guido, hoarsely. “I have howled six timesin succession. My voice will be quite ruined.”

“It did not sound so just now. We were fastasleep.”

“Pizarro!” I exclaimed, greatly delighted by thesight of my old favorite. “You have brought Pizarro! How didyou manage that, Gahra?”

“He came to the camp last night. But mount at once,señor. We got away without difficulty—stole off whilethe men were at supper. But we met an officer who asked us aquestion; and though Guido said we were taking the horses by orderof General Mejia himself, he did not appear at all satisfied, andif he should speak to the general something might happen,especially as it is not long since we left the camp, and we havebeen waiting here ten minutes. Here is a spear for you, and thepistols in your holsters are loaded and primed.”

I mounted without asking any more questions. Gahra’s newswas disquieting, and we had no time to lose; for, in order to reachthe llanos without the almost certainty of falling into the handsof our friend Griscelli, we should have to pass within a mile ofthe patriot camp, and if an alarm were given, our retreat might becut off. This, however, seemed to be our only danger; our horseswere fleet and fresh, and the llanos near, and, once fairly away,we might bid defiance to pursuit.

“Let us push on,” said Carmen. “If anybodyaccosts us don’t answer a word, and fight only at the lastextremity, to save ourselves from capture or death; and, above allthings, silence in the ranks.”

The night was clear, the sky studded with stars, and, exceptwhere trees overhung the road, we could see some little distanceahead, the only direction in which we had reason to apprehenddanger.

Carmen and I rode in front; Gahra and Guido a few yards in therear.

We had not been under way more than a few minutes when Gahrauttered an exclamation.

“Hist, señores! Look behind!” he said.

Turning half round in our saddles and peering intently into thegloom we could just make out what seemed like a body of horsem*nriding swiftly after us.

“Probably a belated foraging party returning tocamp,” said Carmen. “Deucedly awkward, though! But theyhave, perhaps, no desire to overtake us. Let us go on just fastenough to keep them at a respectful distance.”

But it very soon became evident that the foraging party—ifit were a foraging party—did desire to overtake us. They puton more speed; so did we. Then came loud shouts of“Halte!” These producing no effect, severalpistol shots were fired.

“Dios mio!” said Carmen; “they willrouse the camp, and the road will be barred. Look here, Fortescue;about two miles farther on is an open glade which we have to cross,and which the fellows must also cross if they either meet orintercept us. The trail to the left leads to the llanos. It runsbetween high banks, and is so narrow that one resolute man may stopa dozen. If any of the gauchos get there before us we arelost. Your horse is the fleetest. Ride as for your life and hold ittill we come.”

Before the words were well out of Carmen’s mouth, I letPizarro go. He went like the wind. In six minutes I had reached mypoint and taken post in the throat of the pass, well in the shade.And I was none too soon, for, almost at the same instant, threellaneros dashed into the clearing, and then, as ifuncertain what to do next, pulled up short.

“Whereabout was it? What trail shall we take?” askedone.

“This” (pointing to the road I had justquitted).

“Don’t you hear the shouts?—and there goesanother pistol shot!”

“Better divide,” said another. “I will stayhere and watch. You, José, go forward, and you, Sanchez,reconnoitre the llanos trail.”

José went his way, Sanchez came my way.

Still in the shade and hidden, I drew one of my pistols andco*cked it, fully intending, however, to reserve my fire till thelast moment; I was loath to shoot a man with whom I had served onlya few days before. But when he drew near, and, shouting my name,lowered his lance, I had no alternative; I fired, and as he fellfrom his horse, the others galloped into the glade.

“Forward! To the llanos!” cried Carmen; “theyare close behind us. A fellow tried to stop me, but I rode himdown.”

And then followed a neck-or-nothing race through the pass, whichwas more like a furrow than a road, steep, stony, and full ofholes, and being overshadowed by trees, as dark as chaos. Only bythe marvellous cleverness of our unshod horses and almostmiraculous good luck did we escape dire disaster, if not utterdestruction, for a single stumble might have been fatal.

But Carmen, who made the running, knew what he was about. Hisseeming rashness was the truest prudence. Our pursuers would eitherride as hard as we did or they would not; in the latter event weshould have a good start and be beyond their ken before theyemerged from the pass; in the former, there was always the offchance of one of the leading horsem*n coming to grief and some ofthe others falling over him, thereby delaying them past thepossibility of overtaking us.

Which of the contingencies came to pass, or whether theguerillas, not having the fear of death behind them, rode lessrecklessly than we did, we could form no idea. But their shoutsgradually became fainter; when we reached the llanos they were nomore to be heard, and when the moon rose an hour later none of ourpursuers were to be seen. Nevertheless, we pushed on, and exceptonce, to let our animals drink and (relieved for a moment of theirsaddles) refresh themselves with a roll, after the want ofVenezuelan horses, we drew not rein until we had put fifty milesbetween ourselves and Generals Mejia and Griscelli.

Chapter XIX.

Don Esteban’s Daughter.

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Ten days after our flight from San Felipe we were on the banksof the Apure. We received a warm welcome from Carmen’sfriend, Señor Morillones, a Spanish creole of the antiquetype, grave, courtly, and dignified, the owner of many square milesof fertile land and hundreds of slaves, and as rich in flocks andherds as Job in the heyday of his prosperity. He had a large house,fine gardens, and troops of servants. A grand seigneur in everysense of the word was Señor Don Esteban Morillones. Hisassurance that he placed himself and his house and all that was hisat our disposal was no mere phrase. When he heard of ourcontemplated journey, he offered us mules, arms, and whatever elsewe required and he possessed, and any mention of payment on ourpart would, as Carmen said, and I could well see, have given ourgenerous host dire offense.

We found, moreover, that we could easily engage as many men aswe wanted, on condition of letting them be our co-adventurers andshare in the finds which they were sure we should make; for nobodybelieved that we would undertake so long and arduous a journey withany other purpose than the seeking of treasure. Our business beingthus satisfactorily arranged, we might have started at once, but,for some reason or other—probably because he found ourquarters so pleasant—Carmen held back. Whenever I pressed thepoint he would say: “Why so much haste, my dear fellow? Letus stay here awhile longer,” and it was not until Ithreatened to go without him that he consented to “name theday.”

Now Don Esteban had a daughter, by name Juanita, a beautifulgirl of seventeen, as fresh as a rose, and as graceful as agazelle, a girl with whom any man might be excused for falling inlove, and she showed me so much favor, and, as it seemed, took somuch pleasure in my company, that only considerations of prudenceand a sense of what was due to my host, and the laws ofhospitality, prevented me from yielding myself a willing captive toher charms. But as the time fixed for our departure drew near, thispolicy of renunciation grew increasingly difficult. Juanita was toounsophisticated to hide her feelings, and I judged from her waysthat, without in the least intending it, I had won her heart. Shebecame silent and preoccupied. When I spoke of our expedition thetears would spring to her eyes, and she would question me about itsdangers, say how greatly she feared we might never meet again, andhow lonely she should feel when we were gone.

All this, however flattering to my amour propre, wasboth embarrassing and distressing, and I began seriously to doubtwhether it was not my duty, the laws of hospitality to the contrarynotwithstanding, to take pity on Juanita, and avow the affectionwhich was first ripening into love. She would be my advocate withDon Esteban, and seeing how much he had his daughter’shappiness at heart, there could be little question that he wouldpardon my presumption and sanction our betrothal.

Nevertheless, the preparations for our expedition went on, andthe time for our departure was drawing near, when one evening, as Ireturned from a ride, I found Juanita alone on the veranda, gazingat the stars, and looking more than usually pensive anddepressed.

“So you are still resolved to go, SeñorFortescue?” she said, with a sigh.

“I must. One of my principal reasons for coming to SouthAmerica is to make an expedition to the Andes, and I want much totravel in parts hitherto unexplored. And who knows? We may makegreat discoveries.”

“But you might stay with us a little longer.”

“I fear we have trespassed too long on your hospitalityalready.”

“Our hospitality is not so easily exhausted. But, Oseñor, you have already stayed too long for myhappiness.”

“Too long, for your happiness, señorita! If Ithought—would you really like me to stay longer, to postponethis expedition indefinitely, or abandon it altogether?”

“Oh, so much, señor, so much. The mere suggestionmakes me almost happy again.”

“And if I make your wish my law, and say that it isabandoned, how then?”

“You will make me happier than I can tell you, and yourdebtor for life.”

“And why would it make you so happy, dear Juanita?”I asked, tenderly, at the same time looking into her beautiful eyesand taking her unresisting hand.

“Why! Oh, don’t you know? Have you notguessed?”

“I think I have; all the same, I should like the avowalfrom your own lips, dear Juanita.”

“Because—because if you stay, dear,” shemurmured, lowering her eyes, and blushing deeply, “if youstay, dear Salvador will stay too.”

“Dear Salvador! Dear Salvador! How—why—when?I—I beg your pardon, señorita. I had no idea,” Istammered, utterly confounded by this surprising revelation of hersecret and my own stupidity.

“I thought you knew—that you had guessed.”

“I mean I had no idea that it had gone so far,” Isaid, recovering my self-possession with a great effort. “Soyou and Carmen are betrothed.”

“We love. But if he goes on this dreadful expedition I amsure my father would not consent, and Salvador says that as he haspromised to take part in it he cannot go back on his word. And Isaid I would ask you to give it up—Salvador did notlike—he said it would be such a great disappointment; and Iam so glad you have consented.”

“I beg your pardon, señorita, I have notconsented.”

“But you said only a minute ago that you would do as Idesired, and that my will should be your law.”

“Nay, señorita, I put it merely as a supposition, Isaid if I did make your wish my law, how then? Less than ever can Irenounce this expedition.”

“Then you were only mocking me! Cruel, cruel!”

“Less than ever can I renounce this expedition. But I willdo what will perhaps please you as well. I will release Carmen fromhis promise. He has found his fortune; let him stay. I have mine tomake; I must go.”

“O señor, you have made me happy again. I thank youwith all my heart. We can now speak to my father. But you aremistaken; it is not the same to me whether you go or stay so longas you release Salvador from his promise. I would have you staywith us, for I know that he and you are great friends, and that itwill pain you to part.”

“It will, indeed. He is a true man and one of the bravestand most chivalrous I ever knew. I can never forget that he riskedhis life to save mine. To lose so dear a friend will be a greatgrief, even though my loss be your gain,señorita.”

“No loss, Señor Fortescue. Instead of one friendyou will have two. Your gain will be as great as mine.”

My answer to these gracious words was to take her proffered handand press it to my lips.

“Caramba! What is this? Juanita? And you,señor, is it the part of a friend? Do you know?”

“Don’t be jealous, Salvador,” said Juanita,quietly to her lover, who had come on the balcony unperceived.“Señor Fortescue is a true friend. He is very good; hereleases you from your promise. And he seemed so sorry and spoke sonobly that the least I could do was to let him kiss myhand.”

“You did right, Juanita. I was hasty; I crypeccavi and ask your forgiveness. And you really give upthis expedition for my sake, dear friend? Thanks, a thousandthanks.”

“No; I absolve you from your promise. But I shall go, allthe same.”

Carmen looked very grave.

“Think better of it, amigo mio,” he said.“When we formed this project we were both in a reckless mood.Much of the country you propose to explore has never been troddenby the white man’s foot. It is a country of impenetrableforests, fordless rivers, and unclimbable mountains. You will haveto undergo terrible hardships, you may die of hunger or of thirst,and escape the poisoned arrows of wild Indians only to fall avictim to the malarious fevers which none but natives of thecountry can resist.”

“When did you learn all this? You talked very differentlya few days ago.”

“I did, but I have been making inquiries.”

“And you have fallen in love.”

“True, and that has opened my eyes to manythings.”

“To the dangers of this expedition, for instance; likewiseto the fact that fighting Spaniards is not the only thing worthliving for.”

“Very likely; love is always stronger than hate, and Iconfess that I hate the Spaniards much less than I did. Yet, inthis matter, I assure you that I do not in the least exaggerate.You must remember that your companions will be half-breeds, men whohave neither the stamina nor the courage for really rough work.When the hardships begin they are almost sure to desert you. If wewere going together we might possibly pull through, as we havealready pulled through so many dangers.”

“Yes, I shall miss you sorely. All the same, I am resolvedto go, even were the danger tenfold greater than you say itis.”

“I feared as much. Well, if I cannot dissuade you fromattempting this enterprise, I must e’en go with you, as I ampledged to do. To let you undertake it alone, after agreeing tobear you company were treason to our friendship. It would be likedeserting in the face of the enemy.”

“Not so, Carmen. The agreement has been cancelled bymutual consent, and to leave Juanita after winning her heart wouldbe quite as bad as deserting in face of the enemy. And I have aright to choose my company. You shall not go with me.”

Juanita again gave me her hand, and from the look thataccompanied it I thought that, had I spoken first—but it wastoo late; the die was cast.

“You will not go just yet,” she murmured; “youwill stay with us a little longer.”

“As you wish, señorita. A few days more or lesswill make little difference.”

Several other attempts were made to turn me from my purpose. DonEsteban himself (who was greatly pleased with his daughter’sbetrothal to Carmen), prompted thereto by Juanita, entered thelists. He expressed regret that he had not another daughter whom hecould bestow upon me, and went even so far as to offer me land andto set me up as a Venezuelan country gentleman if I would consentto stay.

But I remained firm to my resolve. For, albeit, none perceivedit but myself I was in a false position. Though I was not hopelessly inlove with Juanita I liked her so well that the contemplation ofCarmen’s happiness did not add to my own. I thought, too,that Juanita guessed the true state of the case; and she was sokind and gentle withal, and her gratitude at times was sodemonstrative that I feared if I stayed long at Naparima theremight be trouble, for like all men of Spanish blood, Carmen wasquite capable of being furiously jealous.

I left them a month before the day fixed for their marriage. Mycompanions were Gahra, and a dozen Indians and mestizoes, to eachof whom I was enabled, by Don Esteban’s kindness, to give ahandsome gratuity beforehand.

To Juanita I gave as a wedding-present my ruby-ring, to Carmenmy horse Pizarro.

Our parting was one of the most painful incidents of my long andcheckered life. I loved them both and I think they loved me.Juanita wept abundantly; we all embraced and tried to consoleourselves by promising each other that we should meet again; butwhen or where or how, none of us could tell, and in our hearts weknew that the chances against the fruition of our hopes were toogreat to be reckoned.

Then, full of sad thoughts and gloomy forebodings, I set out onmy long journey to the unknown.

Chapter XX.

The Happy Valley.

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My gloomy forebodings were only too fully realized. Never was amore miserably monotonous journey. After riding for weeks, throughsodden, sunless forests and trackless wastes we had to abandon ourmules and take to our feet, spend weeks on nameless rivers, polingand paddling our canoe in the terrible heat, and tormented almostto madness by countless insects. Then the rains came on, and wewere weather-stayed for months in a wretched Indian village. Butfor the help of friendly aborigines—and fortunately the fewwe met, being spoken fair showed themselves friendly—we mustall have perished. They gave us food, lent us canoes, served us aspilots and guides, and thought themselves well paid with a piece ofscarlet cloth or a handful of glass beads.

My men turned out quite as ill as I had been led to expect.Several deserted at the outset, two or three died of fever, twowere eaten by alligators, and when we first caught sight of theAndes, Gahra was my sole companion.

We were in a pitiful plight. I was weak from the effects of afever, Gahra lame from the effects of an accident. My money wasnearly all gone, my baggage had been lost by the upsetting of acanoe, and our worldly goods consisted of two sorry mules, ourarms, the ragged clothes on our backs, and a few pieces of silver.How we were to cross the Andes, and what we should do when wereached Peru was by no means clear. As yet, the fortune which I hadset out to seek seemed further off than ever. We had found neithergold nor silver nor precious stones, and all the coin I had in mywaist-belt would not cover the cost of a three days’ sojournat the most modest of posaderos.

But we have left behind us the sombre and rain-saturated forestsof the Amazon and the Orinoco, and the fine country around us andthe magnificent prospect before us made me, at least, forget forthe moment both our past privations and our present anxieties. Weare on the montaña of the eastern Cordillera, amountain land of amazing fertility, well wooded, yet not so thicklyas to render progress difficult; the wayside is bordered withbrilliant flowers, cascades tumble from rocky heights, and far awayto the west rise in the clear air the glorious Andes, alps on alps,a vast range of stately snow-crowned peaks, endless and solemn,veiled yet not hidden by fleecy clouds, and as cold and mysteriousas winter stars looking down on a sleeping world.

For a long time I gaze entranced at the wondrous scene, andshould probably have gone on gazing had not Gahra reminded me thatthe day was well-nigh spent and that we were still, according tothe last information received, some distance from the mission ofSan Andrea de Huanaco, otherwise Valle Hermoso, or HappyValley.

One of our chief difficulties had been to find our way; maps wehad none, for the very sufficient reason that maps of the region wehad traversed did not at that time exist; our guides had not alwaysproved either competent or trustworthy, and I had only the vaguestidea as to where we were. Of two things only was I certain, that wewere south of the equator and within sight of the Andes of Peru(which at that time included the countries now known as Ecuador andBolivia).

A few days previously I had fallen in with an old half-castepriest, from whom I had heard of the Mission of San Andrea deHuanaco, and how to get there, and who drew for my guidance a roughsketch of the route. The priest in charge, a certain Fray Ignacio,a born Catalan, would, he felt sure, be glad to find me quartersand give me every information in his power.

And so it proved. Had I been his own familiar friend FrayIgnacio could not have welcomed me more warmly or treated me morekindly. A European with news but little above a year old was aperfect godsend to him. When he heard that I had served in hisnative land and the Bourbons once more ruled in France and Spain,he went into ecstasies of delight, took me into his house, and gaveme of his best.

San Andrea was well named Valle Hermoso. It was like an alpinevillage set in a tropical garden. The mud houses were overgrownwith greenery, the rocks mantled with flowers, the nearer heightscrested with noble trees, whose great white trunks, as smooth andround as the marble pillars of an eastern palace, were roofed withdomes of purple leaves.

Through the valley and between verdant banks and bloomingorchards meandered a silvery brook, either an affluent or a sourceof one of the mighty streams which find their homes in the greatAtlantic.

The mission was a village of tame Indians, whose ancestors hadbeen “Christianized,” by Fray Ignacio’s Jesuitpredecessor. But the Jesuits had been expelled from South Americanearly half a century before. My host belonged to the order of St.Francis. The spiritual guide, as well as the earthly providence ofhis flock, he managed their affairs in this world and prepared themfor the next. And they seemed nothing loath. A more listless,easy-going community than the Indians of the Happy Valley it weredifficult to imagine. The men did little but smoke, sleep, andgamble. All the real work was done by the women, and even they tookcare not to over-exert themselves. All were short-lived. The womenbegan to age at twenty, the men were old at twenty-five andgenerally died about thirty, of general decay, said the priest. Inmy opinion of pure laziness. Exertion is a condition of healthyexistence; and the most active are generally the longest lived.

Nevertheless, Fray Ignacio was content with his people. Theywere docile and obedient, went regularly to church, had a greatcapacity for listening patiently to long sermons, and if they diedyoung they got so much the sooner to heaven.

All the same, Fray Ignacio was not so free from care as might besupposed. He had two anxieties. The Happy Valley was so far untrueto its name as to be subject to earthquakes; but as none of a veryterrific character had occurred for a quarter of a century he wasbeginning to hope that it would be spared any further visitationsfor the remainder of his lifetime. A much more serious trouble werethe occasional visits of bands of wild Indians—Indiosmisterios, he called them; what they called themselves he hadno idea. Neither had he any definite idea whence they came; fromthe other side of the Cordilleras, some people thought. But theyneither pillaged nor murdered—except when they were resistedor in drink, for which reason the father always kept hisaguardiente carefully hidden. Their worst propensity was apassion for white girls. There were two or three mestizofamilies in the village, some of whom were whiter, or rather, lesscoppery than the others, and from these the misterioswould select and carry off the best-looking maidens; for whatpurpose Fray Ignacio could not tell, but, as he feared, tosacrifice to their gods.

When I heard that these troublesome visitors generally numberedfewer than a score, I asked why, seeing that the valley containedat least a hundred and fifty men capable of bearing arms, theraiders were not resisted. On this the father smiled and answered,that no earthly consideration would induce his tame Indians tofight; it was so much easier to die. He could not even persuade themestizoes to migrate to a safer locality. It was easier tobe robbed of their children occasionally than to move their goodsand chattels and find another home.

I asked Fray Ignacio whether he thought these robbers of whitechildren were likely to pay him a visit soon.

“I am afraid they are,” he said. “It is nearlytwo years since their last visit, and they only come in summer.Why?”

“I have a curiosity to see these; and I think I could savethe children and give these wild fellows such a lesson that theywould trouble you no more—at any rate for a long time tocome.”

“I should be inexpressibly grateful. But how,señor?”

Whereupon I disclosed my scheme. It was very simple; I proposedto turn one of the most likely houses in the village into a smallfortress which might serve as a refuge for the children and whichGahra and I would undertake to defend. We had two muskets and apair of double-barrelled pistols, and the priest possessed an oldblunderbuss, which I thought I could convert into a serviceableweapon. In this way we should be able to shoot down four or five ofthe misterios before any of them could get near us, and asthey had no firearms I felt sure that, after so warm a reception,they would let us alone and go their way. The shooting woulddemoralize them, and as we should not show ourselves they could notknow that the garrison consisted only of the negro and myself.

“Very well,” said the priest, after a moment’sthought. “I leave it to you. But remember that if you failthey will kill you and everybody else in the place. However, I daresay you will succeed, the firearms may frighten them, and, on thewhole, I think the risk is worth running!”

The next question was how to get timely warning of theenemy’s approach. I suggested posting scouts on the hillswhich commanded the roads into the valley. I thought that, albeitthe tame Indians were good for nothing else, they could at leastsit under a tree and keep their eyes open.

“They would fall asleep,” said Fray Ignacio.

So we decided to keep a lookout among ourselves, and ask thegirls who tended the cattle to do the same. They were much morewide-awake than the men, if the latter could be said to be awake atall.

The next thing was to fortify the priest’s house, whichseemed the most suitable for our purpose. I strengthened the wallwith stays, repaired the old trabuco, which was almost asbig as a small cannon, and made ready for barricading the doors andwindows on the first alarm.

This done, there was nothing for it but to wait with whatpatience I might, and kill time as I best could. I walked about,fished in the river, and talked with Fray Ignacio. I would havegone out shooting, for there was plenty of game in theneighborhood, only that I had to reserve my ammunition for moreserious work.

For the present, at least, my idea of exploring the Andesappeared to be quite out of the question. I should require bothmules and guides, and I had no money either to buy the one or topay the other.

And so the days went monotonously on until it seemed as if Ishould have to remain in this valley surnamed Happy for the term ofmy natural life, and I grew so weary withal that I should haveregarded a big earthquake as a positive god-send. I was in thismood, and ready for any enterprise, however desperate, when onemorning a young woman who had been driving cattle to an uplandpasture, came running to Fray Ignacio to say that she had seen atroop of horsem*n coming down from the mountains.

“The misterios!” said the priest, turningpale. “Are you still resolved, señor?”

“Certainly,” I answered, trying to look grave,though really greatly delighted. “Be good enough to send forthe girls who are most in danger. Gahra and I will take possessionof the house, and do all that is needful.”

It was further arranged that Fray Ignacio should remain outsidewith his tame Indians, and tell the misterios that all thegood-looking mestiza, maidens were in his house, guardedby braves from over the seas, who would strike dead with lightninganybody who attempted to lay hands on them.

By the time our preparations were completed, and the frightenedand weeping girls shut up in an inner room, the wild Indians wereat the upper end of the big, straggling village, and presentlyentered a wide, open space between the ramshackle old church andIgnacio’s house. The party consisted of fifteen or sixteenwarriors mounted on small horses. All rode bare-back, were naked tothe waist, and armed with bows and arrows and the longest spears Ihad yet seen.

The tame Indians looked stolidly on. Nothing short of anearthquake would have disturbed their self-possession. Rather to mysurprise, for he had not so far shown a super-abundance of courage,Fray Ignacio seemed equal to the occasion. He was tall, portly, andwhite-haired, and as he stood at the church door, clad in hispriestly robes, he looked venerable and dignified.

One of the misterios, whom from his remarkablehead-dress—a helmet made of a condor’s skull—Itook to be a cacique, after greeting the priest, entered intoconversation with him, the purport of which I had no difficulty inguessing, for the Indian, laughing loudly, turned to his companionsand said something that appeared greatly to amuse them. Neither henor they believed Fray Ignacio’s story of the great pale-facechief and his death-dealing powers.

The cacique, followed by a few of his men, then rode leisurelytoward the house. He was a fine-looking fellow, with cigar-coloredskin and features unmistakably more Spanish than Indian.

My original idea was to shoot the first two of them, and sostrike terror into the rest. But the cacique bore himself sobravely that I felt reluctant to kill him in cold blood; and,thinking that killing his horse might do as well, I waited untilthey were well within range, and, taking careful aim, shot itthrough the head. As the horse went down, the cacique sprang nimblyto his feet; he seemed neither surprised nor dismayed, took a longlook at the house, then waved his men back, and followed themleisurely to the other side of the square.

“What think you, Gahra? Will they go away and leave us inpeace, or shall we have to shoot some of them?” I said as Ireloaded my musket.

“I think we shall, señor. That tall man whose horseyou shot did not seem much frightened.”

“Anything but that, and—what are they aboutnow?”

The wild Indians, directed by their chief, were driving the tameIndians together, pretty much as sheep-dogs drive sheep, and soonhad them penned into a compact mass in an angle formed by thechurch and another building. Although the crowd numbered two orthree hundred, of whom a third were men, no resistance was offered.A few of exceptionally energetic character made a languid attemptto bolt, but were speedily brought back by the misterios,whose long spears they treated with profound respect.

So soon as this operation was completed the cacique beckonedperemptorily to the padre, and the two, talking earnestlythe while, came toward the house. It seemed as if the Indian chiefwanted a parley; but, not being quite sure of this, I thought itadvisable, when he was about fifty yards off, to show him themuzzle of my piece. The hint was understood. He laid his weapons onthe ground, and, when he and the padre were within speakingdistance, the padre, who appeared very much disturbed,said the cacique desired to have speech of me. Not to be outdone inmagnanimity I opened the door and stepped outside.

The cacique doffed his skull-helmet and made a low bow. Ireturned the greeting, said I was delighted to make hisacquaintance, and asked what I could do to oblige him.

“Give up the maidens,” he answered, in brokenSpanish.

“I cannot; they are in my charge. I have sworn to protectthem, and, as you discovered just now, I have the means of makinggood my word.”

“It is true. You have lightning; I have none, and I shallnot sacrifice my braves in a vain attempt to take the maidens byforce. Nevertheless, you will give them up.”

“You are mistaken. I shall not give them up.”

“The great pale-face chief is a friend of these poor tamepeople; he wishes them well?”

“It is true, and for that reason I shall not let you carryoff the seven maidens.”

“Seven?”

“Yes, seven.”

“How many men and women and maidens are there yonder,trembling before the spears of my braves like corn shaken by thewind—fifty times seven?”

“Probably.”

“Then my brother—for I also am a greatchief—my brother from over the seas holds the liberty ofseven to be of more account than the lives of fifty timesseven.”

“My brother speaks in riddles,” I said,acknowledging the cacique’s compliment and adopting hisstyle.

“It is a riddle that a child might read. Unless themaidens are given up—not to harm, but to be taken to ourcountry up there—unless they are given up the spears of mybraves will drink the blood of their kinsfolk, and my horses shalltrample their bodies in the dust.”

The cacique spoke so gravely and his air was so resolute that Ifelt sure he would do as he said, and I did not see how I couldprevent him. His men were beyond the range of our pieces, and to gooutside were to lose our lives to no purpose. We might get a coupleof shots at them, but, before we could reload, they would eithershoot us down with their bows or spit us with their spears.

Fray Ignacio, seeing the dilemma, drew me aside.

“You will have to do it,” he said. “I am verysorry. The girls will either be sacrificed or brought up asheathens; but better so than that these devils should be let looseon my poor people, for, albeit some might escape, many would beslaughtered. Why did you shoot the horse and let the savage and hiscompanion go scathless?”

“You may well ask the question, father. I see what agrievous mistake I made. When it came to the point, I did not liketo kill brave men in cold blood. I was too merciful.”

“As you say, a grievous mistake. Never repeat it,señor. It is always a mistake to show mercy to Indiosbrutos. But what will you do?”

“I suppose give up the girls; it is the smaller evil ofthe two. And yet—I promised that no evil should befallthem—no, I must make another effort.”

And with that I turned once more to the cacique.

“Do you know,” I said, laying my hand on the pistolin my belt—“do you know that your life is in myhands?”

He did not flinch; but a look passed over his face which showedthat my implied threat had produced an effect.

“It is true; but if a hair of my head be touched, allthese people will perish.”

“Let them perish! What are the lives of a few tame Indiansto me, compared with my oath? Did I not tell you that I had swornto protect the maidens—that no harm should befall them? Andunless you call your men off and promise to go quietlyaway—” Here I drew my pistol.

It was now the cacique’s turn to hesitate. After amoment’s thought he answered:

“Let the lightning kill me, then. It were better for me todie than to return to my people empty-handed; and my death will notbe unavenged. But if the pale-face chief will go with us instead ofthe maidens, he will make Gondocori his friend, and these tameIndians shall not die.”

“Go with you! But whither?”

Gondocori pointed toward the Cordillera.

“To our home up yonder, in the heart of theAndes.”

“And what will you do with me when you get methere?”

“Your fate will be decided by Mamcuna, our queen. If youfind favor in her sight, well.”

“And if not—?”

“Then it would not be well—for you. But as she hasoften expressed a wish to see a pale-face with a long beard, Ithink it will be well; and in any case I answer for yourlife.”

“What security have I for this? How do I know that when Iam in your power you will carry out the compact?”

“You have heard the word of Gondocori. See, I will swearit on the emblem you most respect.”

And the cacique pressed his lips to the cross which hung fromIgnacio’s neck. It was a strange act on the part of a wildIndian, and confirmed the suspicion I already entertained, thatCondocori was the son of a Christian mother.

“He is a heathen; his oath is worthless; don’t trusthim, let the girls go,” whispered the padre in my ear.

But I had already made up my mind. It was on my conscience tokeep faith with the girls; I wanted neither to kill the cacique norsee his men kill the tame Indians, and whatever might befall me“up yonder” I should at any rate get away from SanAndrea de Huanaco.

“The die is cast; I will go with you,” I said,turning to Gondocori.

“Now, I know, beyond a doubt, that my brother is thebravest of the brave. He fears not the unknown.”

I asked if Gahra might bear me company.

“At his own risk. But I cannot answer for his safety.Mamcuna loves not black people.”

This was not very encouraging, and after I had explained thematter to Gahra I strongly advised him to stay where he was. But hesaid he was my man, that he owed me his liberty, and would go withme to the end, even though it should cost him his life.

Chapter XXI.

A Fight for Life.

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We have left behind us the montaño, with itsverdant uplands and waving forests, its blooming valleys,flower-strewed savannas, and sunny waters, and are crawlingpainfully along a ledge, hardly a yard wide, stern gray rocks allround us, a foaming torrent only faintly visible in the prevailinggloom a thousand feet below. Our mules, obtained at the lastvillage in the fertile region, move at the speed of snails, for thepath is slippery and insecure, and one false step would mean deathfor both the rider and the ridden,

Presently the gorge widens into a glen, where forlorn flowersstruggle toward the scanty light and stunted trees find aprecarious foothold among the rocks and stones. Soon the ravinenarrows again, narrows until it becomes a mere cleft; the mule-pathgoes up and down like some mighty snake, now mounting to a dizzyheight, anon descending to the bed of the thundering torrent. Theair is dull and sepulchral, an icy wind blows in our faces, andthough I am warmly clad, and wrapped besides in a thickponcho, I shiver to the bone.

At length we emerge from this valley of the shadow of death, andafter crossing an arid yet not quite treeless plain, begin to climbby many zigzags an almost precipitous height. The mules sufferterribly, stopping every few minutes to take breath, and it is witha feeling of intense relief that, after an ascent of two hours, wefind ourselves on the cumbre, or ridge of themountain.

For the first time since yesterday we have an unobstructed view.I dismount and look round. Backward stretches an endless expanse ofbleak and stormy-swept billowy mountains; before us looms, inserried phalanx, the western Cordillera, dazzling white, all saveone black-throated colossus, who vomits skyward thick clouds ofashes and smoke, and down whose ragged flanks course streams offiery lava.

After watching this stupendous spectacle for a few minutes we goon, and shortly reach another and still loftier quebrada.Icicles hang from the rocks, the pools of the streams are frozen;we have reached an altitude as high as the summit of Mont Blanc,and our distended lips, swollen hands, and throbbing temples showhow great is the rarefaction of the air.

None of us suffer so much from the cold as poor Gahra. His ebonskin has turned ashen gray, he shivers continually, can hardlyspeak, and sits on his mule with difficulty.

The country we are in is uninhabited and the trail we arefollowing known only to a few Indians. I am the first white man,says Gondocori, by whom it has been trodden.

We pass the night in a ruined building of cyclopean dimensions,erected no doubt in the time of the Incas, either for theaccommodation of travellers by whom the road was then frequented orfor purposes of defence. But being both roofless, windowless, andfireless, it makes only a poor lodging. The icy wind blows througha hundred crevices; my limbs are frozen stiff, and when morningcomes many of us look more dead than alive.

I asked Condocori how the poor girls of San Andrea couldpossibly have survived so severe a journey.

“The weaker would have died. But I did not expect thiscold. The winter is beginning unusually early this year. Had webeen a few days later we should not have got through at all, and ifit begins to snow it may go ill with us, even yet. But to-morrowthe worst will be over.”

The cacique had so far behaved very well, treating me as afriend and an equal, and doing all he could for my comfort. His mentreated me as a superior. Gondocori said very little about hiscountry, still less about Queen Mamcuna, whom he also called“Great Mother.” To my frequent questions on thesesubjects he made always the same answer: “Patience, you willsee.”

He did, however, tell me that his people called their countryPachatupec and themselves Pachatupecs, that the Spaniards had neversubdued them or even penetrated into the fastnesses where theydwelt, and that they spoke the ancient language of Peru.

Gondocori admitted that his mother was a Christian, and to herhe no doubt owed his notions of religion and the regularity of hisfeatures. She had been carried off as he meant to carry off theseven maidens of the Happy Valley, for the misterios had atheory that a mixture of white and Indian blood made the finestchildren and the boldest warriors. But white wives being difficultto obtain, mestiza maidens had generally to be accepted,or rather, taken in their stead.

We rose before daybreak and were in the saddle at dawn. Theground and the streams are hard frozen, and the path is so slipperythat the trembling mules dare scarcely put one foot before theother, and our progress is painfully slow. We are in a broad,stone-strewed valley, partly covered with withered puma-grass, onwhich a flock of graceful vicuñas are quietlygrazing, as seemingly unconscious of our presence as the greatcondors which soar above the snowy peaks that look down on theplain.

As we leave the valley, through a pass no wider than a gateway,the cacique gives me a word of warning.

“The part we are coming to is the most dangerous ofall,” he said. “But it is, fortunately, not long. Twohours will bring us to a sheltered valley. And now leave everythingto your mule. If you feel nervous shut your eyes, but as you valueyour life neither tighten your reins nor try to guidehim.”

I repeat this caution to Gahra, and ask how he feels.

“Much better, señor; the sunshine has given me newlife. I feel equal to anything.”

And now we have to travel once more in single file, for the pathruns along a mountain spur almost as perpendicular as a wall; weare between two precipices, down which even the boldest cannot lookwithout a shudder. The incline, moreover, is rapid, and from timeto time we come to places where the ridge is so broken and insecurethat we have to dismount, let our mules go first, and creep afterthem on our hands.

At the head of the file is an Indian who rides themadrina (a mare) and acts as guide, next come Gondocori,myself and Gahra, followed by the other mounted Indians, three orfour baggage-mules, and two men on foot.

We have been going thus nearly an hour, when a sudden andportentous change sets in. Murky clouds gather round the highersummits and shut out the sun, a thick mist settles down on theridge, and in a few minutes we are folded in a gloom hardly lessdense than midnight darkness.

“Halt!” shouts the guide.

“What shall we do?” I ask the cacique, whom, thoughhe is but two yards from me, I cannot see.

“Nothing. We can only wait here till the mist clearsaway,” he shouts in a muffled voice.

“And how soon may that be?”

“Quien Sabe? Perhaps a few minutes, perhapshours.”

Hours! To stand for hours, even for one hour, immovable in thatmist on that ridge would be death. Since the sun disappeared thecold had become keener than ever. The blood seems to be freezing inmy veins, my beard is a block of ice, icicles are forming on myeyelids.

If this goes on—a gleam of light! Thank Heaven, the mistis lifting, just enough to enable me to see Gondocori and theguide. They are quite white. It is snowing, yet so softly as not tobe felt, and as the fog melts the flakes fall faster.

“Let us go on,” says Gondocori. “Better rolldown the precipice than be frozen to death. And if we stop heremuch longer, and the snow continues, the pass beyond will beblocked, and then we must die of hunger and cold, for there is nogoing back.”

So we move on, slowly and noiselessly, amid the fast-fallingsnow, like a company of ghosts, every man conscious that his lifedepends on the sagacity and sure-footedness of his mule. And it iswonderful how wary the creatures are. They literally feel theirway, never putting one foot forward until the other is firmlyplanted. But the snow confuses them. More than once my mule slipsdangerously, and I am debating within myself whether I should notbe safer on foot, when I hear a cry in front.

“What is it?” I ask Gondocori, for I cannot see pasthim.

“The guide is gone. The madrina slipped, and bothhave rolled down the precipice.”

“Shall we get off and walk?”

“If you like. You will not be any safer, though you mayfeel so. The mules are surer footed than we are, and they have fourlegs to our two. I shall keep where I am.”

Not caring to show myself less courageous than thecacique, I also keep where I am. We get down the ridgesomehow without further mishaps, and after a while find ourselvesin a funnel-shaped gully the passage of which, in ordinarycirc*mstances, would probably present no difficulty. But just nowit is a veritable battle-field of the winds, which seem to blowfrom every point of the compass at once. The snow dashes againstour faces like spray from the ocean, and whirls round us in blastsso fierce that, at times, we can neither see nor hear. The mules,terrified and exhausted, put down their heads and standstock-still. We dismount and try to drag them after us, but eventhen they refuse to move.

“If they won’t come they must die; and unless wehurry on we shall die, too. Forward!” cried Gondocori,himself setting the example.

Never did I battle so hard for very life as in that gully. Thesnow nearly blinded me, the wind took my breath away, forced mebackward, and beat me to the earth again and again. More than onceit seemed as if we should have to succumb, and then there wouldcome a momentary lull and we would make another rush and gain alittle more ground.

Amid all the hurly-burly, though I cannot think consecutively(all the strength of my body and every faculty of my mind beingabsorbed in the struggle), I have one fixed idea—not to losesight of Gondocori, and, except once or twice for a few seconds, Inever did. Where he goes I go, and when, after an unusually severebuffeting, he plunges into a snow-drift at the end of the ravine, Ifollow him without hesitation.

Side by side we fought our way through, dashing the snow asidewith our hands, pushing against it with our shoulders, beating itdown with our feet, and after a desperate struggle, which though itappeared endless could have lasted only a few minutes, the victorywas ours; we were free.

I can hardly believe my eyes. The sun is visible, the sky clearand blue, and below us stretches a grassy slope like a Swiss“alp.” Save for the turmoil of wind behind us and ourdripping garments I could believe that I had just wakened from abad dream, so startling is the change. The explanation is, however,sufficiently simple: the area of the tourmente iscirc*mscribed and we have got out of it, the gully merely a passagebetween the two mighty ramparts of rock which mark the limits ofthe tempest and now protect us from its fury.

“But where are the others?”

Up to that moment I had not given them a thought. While thestruggle lasted thinking had not been possible. After we abandonedthe mules I had eyes only for Gondocori, and never once lookedbehind me.

“Where are the others?” I asked thecacique.

“Smothered in the snow; two minutes more and we alsoshould have been smothered.”

“Let us go back and see. They may still live.”

“Impossible! We could not get back if we had ten times thestrength and were ten instead of two. Listen!”

The roar of the storm in the gully is louder than ever; thedrift, now higher than the tallest man, grows even as we look.

Fifteen men buried alive within a few yards of us, yet beyondthe possibility of help! Poor Gahra! If he had loved me less andhimself more, he would still be enjoying the dolce farniente of Happy Valley, instead of lying there, stark andstiff in his frozen winding-sheet. A word of encouragement, ahelping hand at the last moment, and he might have got through. Ifeel as if I had deserted him in his need; my conscience reproachesme bitterly. And yet—good God! What is that? A black hand inthe snow!

“With a single bound I am there. Gondocori follows, and asI seize one hand he finds and grasps the other, and we pull out ofthe drift the negro’s apparently lifeless body.

“He is dead,” says the cacique.

“I don’t think so. Raise him up, and let the sunshine on him.”

I take out my pocket-flask and pour a few drops ofaguardiente down his throat. Presently Gahra sighs andopens his eyes, and a few minutes later is able to stand up andwalk about. He can tell very little of what passed in the gully. Hehad followed Gondocori and myself, and was not far behind us. Heremembered plunging into the snow-drift and struggling on until hefell on his face, and then all was a blank. None of the Indianswere with him in the drift; he felt sure they were all behind him,which was likely enough, as Gahra, though sensitive to cold, was aman of exceptional bodily strength. It was beyond a doubt that allhad perished.

“I left Pachatupec with fifteen braves. I have lost mybraves, my mules, and my baggage, and all I have to show are twomen, a pale-face and a black-face. Not a single maiden. How willMamcuna take it, I wonder?” said Gondocari, gloomily.“Let us go on.”

“You think she will be very angry?”

“I do.”

“Is she very unpleasant when she is angry?”

“She generally makes it very unpleasant for others. Herfavorite punishment for offenders is roasting them before a slowfire.”

“And yet you propose to go on?”

“What else can we do? Going back the way we came is out ofthe question, equally so is climbing either of thosemountain-ranges. If we stay hereabout we shall starve. We have nota morsel of food, and until we reach Pachatupec we shall getnone.”

“And when may that be?”

“By this time to-morrow.”

“Well, let us go on, then; though, as between beingstarved to death and roasted alive, there is not much to choose.All the same, I should like to see this wonderful queen of whom youare so much afraid.”

“You would be afraid of her, too, and very likely will bebefore you have done with her. Nevertheless, you may find favor inher sight, and I have just bethought me of a scheme which, if youconsent to adopt it, may not only save our lives, but bring yougreat honor.”

“And what is that scheme, Gondocori?”

“I will explain it later. This is no time for talk. Wemust push on with all speed or we shall not get to the boats beforenightfall.”

“Boats! You surely don’t mean to say that we are totravel to Pachatupec by boats. Boats cannot float on a frozenmountain torrent!”

But the cacique, who was already on the march, made noanswer.

Chapter XXII.

The Cacique’s Scheme.

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Shortly before sunset we arrived at our halting-place for thenight and point of departure for the morrow—a hollow in thehills, hemmed in by high rocks, almost circular in shape and abouta quarter of a mile in diameter. The air was motionless and thetemperature mild, the ground covered with grass and shrubs andflowers, over which hovered clouds of bright-winged butterflies.Low down in the hollow was a still and silent pool, and though, sofar as I could make out, it had no exit, two large flat-bottomedboats and a couple of canoes were made fast to the side. Hard bywas a hut of sun-dried bricks, in which were slung three or fourgrass hammocks.

There was also fuel, so we were able to make a fire and have agood warming, of which we stood greatly in need. But as nothing inthe shape of food could be found, either on the premises or in theneighborhood, we had to go supperless to bed.

Before we turned in Gondocori let us into the secret of thescheme which was to propitiate Queen Mamcuna, and bring us honorand renown, instead of blame and (possibly) death.

“I shall tell her,” said the cacique, “thatthough I have lost my braves and brought no maidens, I have broughttwo famous medicine-men, who come from over the seas.”

“Very good. But how are we to keep up thecharacter?”

“You must profess your ability to heal the sick and readthe stars.”

“Nothing easier. But suppose we are put to the test? Arethere any sick in your country?”

“A few; Mamcuna herself is sick; you have only to cure herand all will be well.”

“Very likely; but how if I fail?”

“Then she would make it unpleasant for all ofus.”

“You mean she would roast us by a slow fire?”

“Probably. There is no telling, though. Our Great Motheris very ingenious in inventing new punishments, and to those whodeceive her she shows no mercy.”

“I understand. It is a case of kill or cure.”

“Exactly. If you don’t cure her she will killyou.”

“I will do my best, and as I have seen a good deal ofpractical surgery, helped to dress wounds and set broken limbs, andcan let blood, you may truthfully say that I have some slightknowledge of the healing art. But as for treating a sickwoman—However, I leave it to you, Gondocori. If you choose tointroduce me to her Majesty as a medicine-man I will act the partto the best of my ability.”

“I ask no more, señor; and if you are fortunateenough to cure Mamcuna of her sickness—”

“Or make her believe that I have cured her.”

“That would do quite as well; you will thank me forbringing you to Pachatupec, for although the queen can make thingsvery unpleasant for those who offend her, she can also make themvery pleasant for those whom she likes. And now, señores, aswe must to-morrow travel a long way fasting, let us turn into ourhammocks and compose ourselves to sleep.”

Excellent advice, which I was only too glad to follow. But wewere awake long before daylight—for albeit fatigue often actsas an anodyne, hunger is the enemy of repose—and at the firststreak of dawn wended to the silent pool.

As we stepped into the canoe selected by Gondocori (the boatswere intended for the transport of mules and horses) I found thatthe water was warm, and, on tasting it, I perceived a strongmineral flavor. The pool was a thermal spring, and its hightemperature fully accounted for the fertility of the hollow and themildness of the air. But how were we to get out of it? For look asI might, I could see no signs either of an outlet or a current.Gondocori, who acted as pilot, quickly solved the mystery. Abuttress of rock, which in the distance looked like a part of themass, screened the entrance to a narrow waterway. Down thiswaterway the cacique navigated the canoe. It ran in tortuous coursebetween rocks so high that at times we could see nothing save astrip of purple sky, studded with stars. Here and there the channelwidened out, and we caught a glimpse of the sun; and at animmeasurable height above us towered the nevados (snowyslopes) of the Cordillera.

The stream, if that can be called a stream which does not move,had many branches, and we could well believe, as Gondocori told us,that it was as easy to lose one’s self in this waterylabyrinth as in a tropical forest. In all Pachatupec there were notten men besides himself who could pilot a boat through itswindings. He told us, also, that this was the only pass between theeastern and western Cordillera in that part of the Andes, that thejourney from San Andrea to Pachatupec by any other route would bean affair not of days but of weeks. The water was always warm andnever froze. Whence it came nobody could tell. Not from the meltingof the snow, for snow-water was cold, and this was always warm,winter and summer. For his own part he thought its source was aspring, heated by volcanic fires, and many others thought the same.Its depth was unknown; he himself had tried to fathom it with thelongest line he could find, yet had never succeeded in touchingground.

Meanwhile we were making good progress, sometimes paddling,sometimes poling (where the channel was narrow) and toward eveningwhen, as I reckoned, we had travelled about sixty miles, we shotsuddenly into a charming little lake with sylvan banks and a sandybeach.

Gondocori made fast the canoe to a tree, and we steppedashore.

We are on the summit of a spur which stands out like a bastionfrom the imposing mass of the Cordillera, through the very heart ofwhich runs the mysterious waterway we have just traversed. Twothousand feet or more below is a broad plain, bounded on the westby a range of gaunt and treeless hills ribbed with contorted rocks,which stretch north and south farther than the eye can reach. Theplain is cultivated and inhabited. There are huts, fields,orchards, and streams, and about a league from the foot of thebastion is a large village.

“Pachatupec?” I asked.

“Si, señor, that is Pachatupec, a veryfair land, as you see, and yonder is Pachacamac, where dwells ourqueen,” said Gondocori, pointing to the village; and then hefell into a brown study, as if he was not quite sure what to donext.

The sight of his home did not seem to rejoice the cacique asmuch as might be supposed. The approaching interview with Mamcunawas obviously weighing heavily on his soul, and, to tell the truth,I rather shared his apprehensions. A savage queen with a sharptemper who occasionally roasted people alive was not to be trifledwith. But as delay was not likely to help us, and I detestsuspense, and, moreover, felt very hungry, I suggested that we hadbetter go on to Pachacamac forthwith.

“Perhaps we had. Yes, let us get it over,” he said,with a sigh.

After descending the bastion by a steep zigzag we turned into apleasant foot-path, shaded by trees, and as we neared ourdestination we met (among other people) two tall Indians, whosecondor-skull helmets denoted their lordly rank. On recognizingGondocori (who had lost his helmet in the snow-storm and lookedotherwise much dilapidated) their surprise was literallyunspeakable. They first stared and then gesticulated. When atlength they found their tongues they overwhelmed him withquestions, eying Gahra and me the while as if we were wild animals.After a short conversation, of which, being in their own language,I could only guess the purport, the two caciques turned back andaccompanied us to the village. Save that there was no sign of achurch, it differed little from many other villages which I had metwith in my travels. There were huts, mere roofs on stilts, cottagesof wattle and dab, and flat-roofed houses built of sun-driedbricks. Streets, there were none, the buildings being all over theplace, as if they dropped from the sky or sprung up hap-hazard fromthe ground.

About midway in the village one of the caciques left us toinform the queen of our arrival and to ask her pleasure as to myreception. The other cacique asked us into his house, and offeredus refreshments. Of what the dishes set before us were composed Ihad only the vaguest idea, but hunger is not fastidious and we atewith a will.

We had hardly finished when cacique number one, entering inbreathless haste, announced that Queen Mumcuna desired to see usimmediately, whereupon I suggested to Gondocori the expediency ofdonning more courtly attire, if there was any to be got.

“What, keep the queen waiting!” he exclaimed,aghast. “She would go mad. Impossible! We must go as weare.”

Not wanting her majesty to go mad, I made no further demur, andwe went.

The palace was a large adobe building within a walled inclosure,guarded by a company of braves with long spears. We were usheredinto the royal presence without either ceremony or delay. The queenwas sitting in a hammock with her feet resting on the ground. Shewore a bright-colored, loosely-fitting bodice, a skirt to match,and sandals. Her long black hair was arranged in tails, of whichthere were seven on each side of her face. She was short and stout,and perhaps thirty years old, and though in early youth she mighthave been well favored, her countenance now bore the impress ofevil passions, and the sodden look of it, as also the blood-streaksin her eyes, showed that her drink was not always water. At thesame time, it was a powerful face, indicative of a strong characterand a resolute will. Her complexion was bright cinnamon, and thethree or four women by whom she was attended were costumed likeherself.

On entering the room the three caciques went on their knees, andafter a moment’s hesitation Gahra followed their example. Ithought it quite enough to make my best bow. Mamcuna then motionedus to draw nearer, and when we were within easy speaking distanceshe said something to Gondocori that sounded like a question or acommand, on which he made a long and, as I judged from the vigor ofhis gesture and the earnestness of his manner, an eloquent speech.I watched her closely and was glad to see that though she frownedonce or twice during its delivery, she did not seem very angry. Ialso observed that she looked at me much more than at the cacique,which I took to be a favorable sign. The speech was followed by alively dialogue between Mamcuna and the cacique, after which thelatter turned to me and said, as coolly as if he were asking me tobe seated:

“The queen commands you to strip.”

“Commands me to strip! What do you mean?”

“What I say; you have to strip—undress, take offyour clothes.”

“You are joking.”

“Joking! I should like to see the man who would dare totake such a liberty in the audience-chamber of our Great Mother.Pray don’t make words about it, señor. Take off yourclothes without any more bother, or she will be gettingangry.”

“Let her get angry. I shall do nothing of thesort—No, don’t say that; say that Englishgentlemen—I mean pale-face medicine-men from over the seas,never undress in the presence of ladies; their religion forbidsit.”

Gondocori was about to remonstrate again when the queeninterposed and insisted on knowing what I said. When she heard thatI refused to obey her behest she turned purple with rage, andlooked as if she would annihilate me. Then her mood, or her mind,changing, she laughed loudly, at the same time pointing to the doorand making an observation to the cacique.

Having meanwhile reflected that I was not in an Englishdrawing-room, that this wretched woman could have me strippedwhether I would or no, and that refusal to comply with her wishesmight cost me my life, I asked Gondocori why the queen wanted me toundress.

“She wants to see whether your body is as hairy as yourface (I had not shaved since I left Naperima), and your face asfair as your body.”

“Will it satisfy her if I meet her half-way—strip tothe waist? You can say that I never did as much for any womanbefore, and that I would not do it for the queen of my own country,whatever might be the consequence.”

The cacique interpreted my proposal, and Mamcuna smiled assent.“The queen says, ‘let it be as you say;’ and shecharges me to tell you that she is very much pleased to know thatyou will do for her what you would not do for any otherwoman.”

On that I took off my upper garments and Mamcuna, rising fromher hammock, examined me as closely as a military surgeon examinesa freshly caught recruit. She felt the muscles of my arms, thumpedmy chest, took note of the width of my back, punched my ribs, andfinally pulled a few hairs out of my beard. Then, smiling approval,she retired to her chinchura.

“You may put on your clothes; the inspection isover,” said Gondocori. “I am glad it has passed off sowell. I was rather afraid, though, when she began to pinchyou.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Well, the queen is rather curious about skin and colorand that, and does curious things sometimes. She once had a stripof skin cut out of a mestiza maiden’s back, to see whether itwas the same color on both sides. But she seems to have taken quitea liking for you; says you are the prettiest man she ever saw; andif you cure her of her illness I have no doubt she will give you acondor’s skull helmet and make you a cacique.”

“I am greatly obliged to her Majesty, I am sure, and verythankful she did not take a fancy to cut a piece out of my back. Asfor curing her, I must first of all know what is thematter.”

“Shall I ask her to describe her symptoms?”

“If you please.” In reply to the questions which Iput, through Gondocori, the queen said that she suffered fromheadache, nausea, and sleeplessness, and that, whereas only a fewyears ago she was lithe, active, and gay, she was now heavy,indolent, and melancholy, adding that she had suffered much at thehands of the late court medicine-man, who did not understand hercase at all, and that to punish him for his ignorance andpresumption she made him swallow a jarful of his own physic, fromthe effects of which he shortly afterward expired in great agony.The place was now vacant, and if I succeeded in restoring her tohealth she would make me his successor and always have me near herperson.

I cannot say that I regarded this prospect as particularlyencouraging; nevertheless, I tried to look pleased and toldGondocori to assure the queen of my gratitude and devotion and askher to show me her tongue. He put this request with evidentreluctance, and Mamcuna made an angry reply.

“I knew how it would be,” said the cacique.“You have put her in a rage. She thinks you want to insulther, and absolutely refuses to make herself hideous by sticking outher tongue.”

“She will of course do as she pleases. But unless sheshows me her tongue I cannot cure her. I shall not even try. Tellher so.”

To tell the truth I had really no great desire to look at thewoman’s tongue, but having made the request I meant to standto my guns.

After some further parley she yielded, first of all making thethree caciques and Gahra look the other way. The appearance of hertongue confirmed the theory I had already formed that she wassuffering from dyspepsia, brought on by overeating and a too freeindulgence in the wine of the country (a sort of cider) andindolent habits.

I said that if she would follow my instructions I had no doubtthat I could not only cure her but make her as lithe and active asever she was. Remembering, however, that as even the highlycivilized people object to be made whole without physic and fuss,and that the queen would certainly not be satisfied with a simplerecommendation to take less food and more exercise, I observed thatbefore I could say anything further I must gather plants, makedecoctions, and consult the stars, and that my black colleagueshould prepare a charm which would greatly increase the potency ofmy remedies and the chances of her recovery.

Mamcuna answered that I talked like a medicine-man whounderstood his business and her case, that she would strictly obeymy orders, and so soon as she felt better give me a condor’sskull helmet. Meanwhile, I was to take up my quarters in her ownhouse, and she ordered the caciques to send me forthwith threesuits of clothes, my own, as she rightly remarked, not beingsuitable for a man of my position.

“Now, did not I tell you?” said Gondocori, as weleft the room. “Oh, we are going on swimmingly; and it is allmy doing. I do believe that if I had not protested that you werethe greatest medicine-man in the world, and had come expressly tocure her, she would have had you roasted or ripped up by theman-killer or turned adrift in the desert, or something equallydiabolical. Your fate is in your own hands now. If you fail to makegood your promises, it will be out of my power to help you. Youheard how she treated your predecessor.”

Chapter XXIII.

You are the Man.

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Early next morning I sent Gahra secretly up to the lake on thebastion for a jar of chalybeate water, which, after being coloredwith red earth and flavored with wild garlic, was nauseous enoughto satisfy the most exacting of physic swallowers. Then the negrosacrificed a co*ck in the royal presence, and performed anincantation in the most approved African fashion, and we made thecreature’s claws and comb into an amulet, which I requestedthe queen to hang round her neck.

This done, I gave my instructions, assuring her that if shefailed in any particular to observe them my efforts would be vain,and her cure impossible. She was to drink nothing but water andphysic (of the latter very little), eat animal food only once aday, and that sparingly, and walk two hours every morning; andfinding that she could ride on horseback (like a man), though shehad lately abandoned the exercise, I told her to ride two hoursevery evening. I also laid down other rules, purposely making themonerous and hard to be observed, partly because I knew that astrict regimen was necessary for her recovery, partly to leavemyself a loop-hole, in the event of her not recovering, for I feltpretty sure that she would not do all that I had bidden her, and ifshe came short in any one thing I should have an excuse ready to myhand.

But to my surprise she did not come short. For Mamcuna to giveup her cider and her flesh pots, and, flabby and fat as she was, towalk and ride four hours every day, must have been very hard, yetshe conformed to regulations with rare resolution and self-denial.As a natural consequence she soon began to mend, at first slowlyand almost imperceptibly, afterward rapidly and visibly, as much tomy satisfaction as hers; for if my treatment had failed, I couldnot have said that the fault was hers.

Meanwhile I was picking up information about her people, andacquiring a knowledge of their language, and as I was continuallyhearing it spoken I was soon able to make myself understood.

The Pachatupecs, though heathens and savages, were morecivilized than any of the so-called Indios civilizadoswith whom I had come in contact. They were clean as to theirpersons, bathing frequently, and not filthy in their dwellings;they raised crops, reared cattle, and wore clothing, which for thecaciques consisted of a tunic of quilted cotton, breeches loose atthe knees, and sandals. The latter virtue may, however, have beendue to the climate, for though the days were warm the nights werechilly, and the winters at times rather severe, the country beingat a considerable height above the level of the sea. On the otherhand, the Pachatupecs were truculent, gluttonous, and not verytemperate; they practised polygamy, and all the hard work devolvedon the women, whose husbands often brutally ill-used them. It wascontrary to etiquette to ask a man questions about his wives, andif you went to a cacique’s house you were expected either toignore their presence or treat them as slaves, as indeed they were,and the condition of captive Christian girls was even worse thanthat of the native women.

Considering the light esteem in which women were held I wassurprised that the Pachatupecs consented to be ruled by one of thesex. But Gondocori told me that Mamcuna came of a long line ofprinces who were supposed to be descended from the Incas, and whenher father died, leaving no male issue, a majority of the caciqueschose her as his successor, in part out of reverence for the race,in part out of jealousy of each other, and because they thought shewould let them do pretty much as they liked. So far from that,however, she made them do as she liked, and when some of thecaciques raised a rebellion she took the field in person, beat themin a pitched battle, and put all the leaders and many of theirfollowers to death. Since that time there had been no seriousattempt to dispute her authority, which, so far as I could gather,she used, on the whole, to good purpose. Though cruel andvindictive, she was also shrewd and resolute, and semi-civilizedraces are not ruled with rose-water. She could only maintain orderby making herself feared, and even civilized governments often acton the principle that the end justifies the means.

Mamcuna had never married because, as she said, there was no manin the country fit to mate with a daughter of the Incas; but asGondocori and some others thought, the man did not exist with whomshe would consent to share her power.

The Pachatupec braves were fine horsem*n and expert with thelasso and the spear and very fine archers. They were boldmountaineers, too, and occasionally made long forays as far as thepampas, where, I presume, they had brought the progenitors of thenandus, of which there were a considerable number in thecountry, both wild and tame. The latter were sometimes ridden, butrather as a feat than a pleasure. The largest flock belonged to thequeen.

By the time I had so far mastered the language as to be able toconverse without much difficulty, the queen had fully regained herhealth. This result—which was of course entirely due totemperate living and regular exercise—she ascribed to myskill, and I was in high favor. She made me a cacique and courtmedicine-man; I had quarters in her house, and horses and servantswere always at my disposal. Had her Majesty’s gratitude goneno further than this I should have had nothing to complain of; butshe never let me alone, and I had no peace. I was continually beingsummoned to her presence; she kept me talking for hours at a time,and never went out for a ride or a walk without making me bear hercompany. Her attentions became so marked, in fact, that I began tohave an awful fear that she had fallen in love with me. As to thisshe did not leave me long in doubt.

One day when I had been entertaining her with an account of mytravels, she startled me by inquiring, à propos tonothing in particular, if I knew why she had not married.

“Because you are a daughter of the Incas, and there is noman in Pachatupec of equal rank with yourself.”

“Once there was not, but now there is.”

I breathed again; she surely could not mean me.

“There is now—there has been some time,” shecontinued, after a short pause. “Know you who heis?”

I said that I had not the slightest idea.

“Yourself, señor; you are the man.”

“Impossible, Mamcuna! I am of very inferior rank,indeed—a common soldier, a mere nobody.”

“You are too modest, señor; you do yourself aninjustice. A man with so white a skin, a beard so long, and eyes sobeautiful must be of royal lineage, and fit to mate even with thedaughter of the Incas.”

“You are quite mistaken, Mamcuna; I am utterly unworthy ofso great an honor.”

“You are not, I tell you. Please don’t contradictme, señor” (she always called me‘señor’); “it makes me angry. You are theman whom I delight to honor and desire to wed; what would you havemore?”

“Nothing—I would not have so much. You are too good;but it would be wrong. I really cannot let you throw yourself awayon a nameless foreigner. Besides what would your caciquessay?”

“If any man dare say a word against you I will have histongue torn out by the roots.”

“But suppose I am married already—that I have left awife in my own country?” I urged in desperation.

“That would not matter in the least. She is not likely tocome hither, and I will take care that I am your only wife in thiscountry.”

“Your condescension quite overwhelms me. But all this isso sudden; you must really give me a little time—”

“A little time! why? You perhaps think I am not sincere,that I do not mean what I say, that I may change my mind. Have nofear on that score. There shall be no delay. The preparations forour wedding shall be begun at once, and ten days hence, dearseñor, you will be my husband.”

What could I say? I had, of course, no intention of marryingher—I would as lief have married a leopardess. But had Igiven her a peremptory negative she might have had me laid by theheels without more ado, or worse. So I bowed my head and held mytongue, resolving at the same time that, before the expiration ofthe ten days’ respite, I would get out of the country orperish in the attempt. Whereupon Mamcuna, taking my silence forconsent, showed great delight, patted me on the back, caressed mybeard, fondled my hands, and called me her lord. Fortunately,kissing was not an institution in Pachatupec.

One good result of our betrothal, if I may so call it, was thatthe preparations for the wedding took up so much of Mamcuna’stime that she had none left for me, and I had leisure andopportunity to contrive a plan of escape, if I could, for, as Iquickly discovered, the difficulties in the way were almost if notaltogether insurmountable. I could neither go back to the easternCordillera by the road I had come, nor, without guides, find anyother pass, either farther north or farther south. Westward was arange of barren hills bounded by a sandy desert, destitute of lifeor the means of supporting life, and stretching to the desolatePacific coast, whence, even if I could reach it, I should have nomeans of getting away.

There was, moreover, nobody to whom I could appeal for counselor help. Gondocori thought me the most fortunate of men, and wasquite incapable of understanding my scruples. Gahra, albeit willingto go with me, knew no more of the country than I did, and therewas not a man in it who could have been induced even by a bribeeither to act as my guide or otherwise connive at my escape; and Ihad no inducement to offer.

Nevertheless, the opportunity I was looking for came, asopportunities often do come, spontaneously and unexpectedly, yet inshape so questionable that it was open to doubt whether, if Iaccepted it, my second condition would not be worse than myfirst.

Chapter XXIV.

In the Toils.

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Five days after I had been wooed by the irresistible Mamcuna,and as I was beginning to fear that I should have to marry herfirst and run away afterward, I chanced to be riding in theneighborhood of the village, when a woman darted out of the thicketand, standing before my horse, held up her arms imploringly. I hadnever spoken to her, but I knew her as the white wife of one of thecaciques.

“Save me, señor!” she exclaimed, “forthe love of heaven and in the name of our common Christianity, Iimplore you to save me!”

“From what?”

“From my wretched life, from despair, degradation, anddeath.” And then she told me that, while travelling in themountains with her husband, a certain Señor de la Vega, andseveral friends, they were set upon by a band of Pachatupecs who,after killing all the male members of the party, carried her offand brought her to Pachacamac, where she had been compelled tobecome one of the wives of the cacique Chimu, and that between hisbrutality and the jealousy of the other women, her life, apart fromits ignominy, was so utterly wretched that, unless she couldescape, she must either go mad or be driven to commit suicide.

“I should be only too glad to rescue you if I could. Iwant to escape myself; but how? I see no way.”

“It is not so difficult as you think, señor; if wecan get horses and a few hours’ start, I will act as guideand lead you to a civilized settlement, where we shall be safe frompursuit. I know the country well.”

“Are you quite sure you can do this, señora? Itwill be a hazardous enterprise, remember.”

“Quite sure.”

“And you are prepared to incur the risk?”

“I will run any risk rather than stay where Iam.”

“Very well, I will see what can be done. Meet me hereto-morrow at this hour. And now, we had better separate; if we areseen together it will be bad for both of us. Hastamañana.”

And then she went her way and I went mine.

I had said truly “a hazardous enterprise.” Hazardousand difficult in any circ*mstances, the hazard and the difficultywould be greatly increased by the presence of a woman; and the factof a cacique’s wife being one of the companions of my flightwould add to the inveteracy of the pursuit. I greatly doubted,moreover, whether Señora de la Vega knew the country as wellas she asserted. She was so sick of her wretched condition that shewould say or do anything to get away from it—and no wonder.But was I justified in letting her run the risk? The punishment ofa woman who deserted her husband was death by burning; wereSeñora de la Vega caught, this punishment would beundoubtedly inflicted; were it even suspected that she had met meor any other man, secretly, Chimu would almost certainly kill her.Pachatupec husbands had the power of life and death over theirwives, and they were as jealous and as cruel as Moors. Yet deathwas better than the life she was compelled to lead, and as she wasfully cognizant of the risk it seemed my duty to do all that Icould to facilitate her escape.

Then another thought occurred to me. Could this be a trap, a“put up job,” as the phrase goes. Though thecaciques had not dared to make any open protest againstMamcuna’s matrimonial project, I knew that they were bitterlyopposed to it, and nothing, I felt sure, would please them betterthan to kindle the queen’s jealousy by making it appear thatI was engaged in an intrigue with one of Chimu’s wives.

Yet no, I could not believe it. No Christian woman would play sobase a part. Señora de la Vega could have no interest inbetraying me. She hated her savage husband too heartily to be thevoluntary instrument of my destruction, and she was so utterlywretched that I pitied her from my soul.

A creole of pure Spanish blood and noble family, bereft of herhusband, forced to become the slave of a brutal Indian, and theconstant associate of hardly less brutal women, painfully consciousof her degradation, hopeless of any amendment of her lot, poorSeñora de la Vega’s fate would have touched thehardest heart. And she had little children at home! My suspicionsvanished even more quickly than they had been conceived, and beforeI reached my quarters I had decided that, come what might, theattempt should be made.

The next question was how and when. Clearly, the sooner thebetter; but whether we had better set off at sunrise or sunset wasopen to doubt. By leaving at sunset we should be less easilyfollowed; on the other hand, we should have greater difficulty infinding our way and be sooner missed. It was generally about sunsetthat Mamcuna sent for me, and I knew that at this time it would bewell-nigh impossible for Señora de la Vega to leaveChimu’s house without being observed and questioned, perhapsfollowed. So when we met as agreed, I told her that I had decidedto make the attempt on the next morning, and asked her to be in agrove of plantains, hard by, an hour before dawn. I besought her,whatever she did, to be punctual; our lives depended on ourstealing away before people were stirring.

Meanwhile Gahra and I had laid our plans. He was to give out thenight before that we were setting off early next morning on ahunting expedition. This would enable us, without excitingsuspicion, to take a supply of provisions, arms, and a led horse(for carrying any game we might kill) and, as I hoped, give us along start. For even when Señora de la Vega was missednobody would suspect that she had gone with us.

In the event—as we hoped, the improbable event—ofour being overtaken or intercepted, Gahra and I were resolved notto be taken alive; but we had, unfortunately, no firearms; theywere all lost in the snow-storm. Our only weapons were bows andarrows and machetes. I carried the former merely as a make-believe,to keep up my character as a hunter; for the same reason we tookwith us a brace of dogs. If it came to fighting I should have toput my trust in my machete, a long broad-bladed sword likea knife, formidable as a lethal weapon, yet chiefly used forclearing away brambles and cutting down trees.

All went well at the beginning. We were up betimes and off withour horses before daylight. The braves on duty asked no questions,there was no reason why they should, and we passed through thevillage without meeting a soul.

So far, good. The omens seemed favorable, and my hopes ran high.We should get off without anybody knowing which way we had taken,and several hours before Señora de la Vega was likely to bemissed.

But when we reached the rendezvous she was not there. I whistledand called softly; nobody answered.

“She will be here presently, we must wait,” I saidto Gahra.

It was terribly annoying. Every minute was precious. ThePachatupecs are early risers, and if Señora de la Vega didnot join us before daylight we might be seen and the opportunitylost. The sun rose; still she did not come, and I had just made upmy mind to put off our departure until the next morning, and try tocommunicate with Señora de la Vega in the meantime, whenGahra pointed to a pathway in the wood, where his sharp eyes haddetected the fluttering of a robe.

At last she was coming. But too late. To start at that timewould be madness, and I was about to tell her so, send her back,and ask her to meet me on the next morning, when she ran forwardwith terrified face and uplifted hands.

“Save me! Save me!” she cried, “I could notget away sooner. I have been watched. They are following me, evennow.”

This was a frightful misfortune, and I feared that theseñora had acted very imprudently. But it was no time eitherfor reproaches or regrets, and the words were scarcely out of hermouth when I lifted her into the saddle; as I did so, I caughtsight of two horsem*n and several foot-people, coming down thepathway.

“Go!” I said to Gahra, “I shall stayhere.”

“But, señor—”

“Go, I say; as you love me, go at once. This lady is inyour charge. Take good care of her. I can keep these fellows at bayuntil you are out of sight and, if possible, I will follow. Atonce, please, at once!”

They went, Gahra’s face expressing the keenest anguish,the señora half dead with fear. As they rode away I turnedinto the pathway and prepared for the encounter. The foot-peoplemight do as they liked, they could not overtake the fugitives, butI was resolved that the horsem*n should only pass over my body.

The foremost of them was Chimu himself. When he saw that I hadno intention of turning aside, he and his companion (who rodebehind him) reined in their horses. The cacique was quivering withrage.

“My wife has gone off with your negro,” he said,hoarsely.

I made no answer.

“I saw you help her to mount. You have met her before.Mamcuna shall know of this, and my wife shall die.”

Still I made no answer.

“Let me pass!”

I drew my machete.

Chimu drew his and came at me, but he was so poor a swordsman,that I merely played with him, my object being to gain time, andonly when the other fellow tried to push past me and get to myleft-rear, did I cut the cacique down. On this his companion boltedthe way he had come. I galloped after him, more with the intentionof frightening than hurting him, and was just on the point ofturning back and following the fugitives, when something droppedover my head, my arms were pinioned to my side, and I was draggedfrom my saddle.

The foot-people had lassoed me.

Chapter XXV.

The Man-Killer.

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I was as helpless as a man in a strait waistcoat. When I triedto rise, my captors tautened the rope and dragged me along theground. Resistance being futile, I resigned myself to my fate.

On seeing what had happened, the flying brave (a kinsman ofChimu’s) returned, and he and the others held a palaver. AsMamcuna’s affianced husband, I was a person of importance,and they were evidently at a loss how to dispose of me. If theytreated me roughly, they might incur her displeasure. Thediscussion was long and rather stormy. In the result, I was askedwhether I would go with them quietly to the queen’s house orbe taken thither, nolens volens. On answering that I wouldgo quietly, I was unbound and allowed to mount my horse.

I do not think I am a coward, and in helping Señora de laVega to escape and sending her off with Gahra, I knew that I haddone the right thing. Yet I looked forward to the approachinginterview with some misgiving. Barbarian though Mamcuna was, Icould not help entertaining a certain respect for her. She hadtreated me handsomely; in offering to make me her husband she hadpaid me the greatest compliment in her power; and how little soeveryou may reciprocate the sentiment, it is impossible to thinkaltogether unkindly of the woman who has given you her love. And myconscience was not free from reproach; I had let her think that Iloved her—as I now perceived, a great mistake. Courageousherself, she could appreciate courage in others, and had I boldlyand unequivocally refused her offer and given my reasons, I did notbelieve she would have dealt hardly with me.

As it was Mamcuna might well say that, having deliberatelydeceived her, I deserved the utmost punishment which it was in herpower to inflict. At the same time, I was not without hope thatwhen she heard my defence she would spare my life.

By the time we reached the queen’s house my escort hadswollen into a crowd, and one of the caciques went in to informMamcuna what had befallen and ask for her instructions.

In a few minutes he brought word that the queen would see me andthe people who had taken part in my capture forthwith. We found hersitting in her chinchura, in the room where she and Ifirst met. Bather to my surprise she was calm and collected; yetthere was a convulsive twitching of her lips and an angry glitterin her eyes that boded ill for my hopes of pardon.

“Is it true, this they tell me, señor—thatyou have been helping Chimu’s wife to escape, and killedChimu?” she asked.

“It is true.”

“So you prefer this wretched pale-face woman tome?”

“No, Mamcuna.”

“Why, then, did you help her to escape and kill herhusband? Don’t trifle with me.”

“Because I pitied her.”

“Why?”

“Chimu treated her ill, and she was very wretched. Shewanted to go back to her own country, and she has little childrenat home.”

“What was her wretchedness to you? Did you not know thatyou were incurring my displeasure and risking your ownlife?”

“I did. But a Christian caballero holds it his duty toprotect the weak and deliver the oppressed, even at the risk of hisown life.”

Mamcuna looked puzzled. The sentiment was too fine for hercomprehension.

“You talk foolishness, señor. No man would run intodanger for a woman whom he did not desire to make hisown.”

“I had no desire to make Señora de la Vega my wife.I would have done the same for any other woman.”

“For any other woman! Would you risk your life for me,señor?”

“Surely, Mamcuna, if you were in sorrow or distress and Icould do you any good thereby.”

“It is well, señor; your voice has the ring oftruth,” said the queen, softly, and with a gratified smile,“and inasmuch as you went not away with Chimu’spale-faced wife, but let her depart with thenegro—”

“The señor would have gone also had we not hinderedhim,” interposed Chimu’s kinsman. “We saw himlift the woman into the saddle, and he was turning to follow herwhen Lurin caught him with the lasso.”

“Is this true; would you have gone with the woman?”asked the queen, sternly, her smile changing into an ominousfrown.

“It is true; but let me explain—”

“Enough; I will not hear another word. So you would haveleft me, a daughter of the Incas, who have honored you above allother men, and gone away with a woman you say you do not love! Yourheart is full of deceit, your mouth runs over with lies. You shalldie; so shall the white woman and the black slave. Where are they?Bring them hither.”

The caciques and braves who were present stared at each other inconsternation. In their exultation and excitement over my capturethe fugitives had been forgotten.

“Mules! Idiots! Old women! Follow them and bring themback. They shall be burned in the same fire. As for you,señor, because you cured me of my sickness and were to havebeen my husband I will let you choose the method of your death. Youmay either be roasted before a slow fire, hacked to pieces withmachetes, or fastened on the back of the man-killer andsent to perish in the desert. Choose.”

“Just one word of explanation, Mamcuna. I wouldfain—”

“Silence! or I will have your tongue torn out by theroots. Choose!”

“I choose the man-killer.”

“You think it will be an easier death than being hacked topieces. You are wrong. The vultures will peck out your eyes, andyou will die of hunger and thirst. But as you have said so let itbe. Tie him to the back of the man-killer, men, and chase it intothe desert. If you let him escape you die in his place. But treathim with respect; he was nearly my husband.”

And then Mamcuna, sinking back into her chinchura,covered her face with her hands; but she showed no sign ofrelenting, and I was bound with ropes and hurried from theroom.

The man-killer was a nandu¹1.The American ostrich. belonging to the queen, and had gainedhis name by killing one man and maiming several others who unwiselyapproached him when he was in an evil temper. Save for anoccasional outburst of homicidal mania and his abnormal size andstrength, the man-killer did not materially differ from the othernandus of Mamcuna’s flock. His keeper controlled the birdwithout difficulty, and I had several times seen him mount and rideit round an inclosure.

The desert, as I have already mentioned, lies between theCordillera and the Pacific Ocean, stretching almost the entirelength of the Peruvian coast, with here and there an oasis wateredby one or other of the few streams which do not lose themselves inthe sand before they reach the sea. It is a rainless, hideousregion of naked rocks and whirling sands, destitute of fresh waterand animal life, a region into which, except for a short distance,the boldest traveller cares not to venture.

After leaving the queen’s house I was placed in charge ofa party of braves commanded by a cacique, and we set out for theplace where my expiation was to begin. The nandu, led by his keeperand another man, of course went with us. My conductors, albeit theymade no secret of their joy over my downfall, did theirmistress’s bidding, and treated me with respect. They loosedmy bonds, taking care, however, so to guard me as to render escapeimpossible, and, when we halted, gave me to eat and drink. Buttheir talk was not encouraging. In their opinion, nothing couldsave me from a horrible death, probably of thirst. The best that Icould hope for was being smothered in a sandstorm. The man-killerwould probably go on till he dropped from exhaustion, and then,whether I was alive or dead, birds of prey would pick out my eyesand tear the flesh from my bones.

About midday we reached the mountain range which dividesPachatupec from the desert. Anything more lonesome and depressingit were impossible to conceive. Not a tree, not a shrub, not ablade of grass nor any green thing; neither running stream norgleam of water could be seen. It was a region in which the blessedrain of heaven had not fallen for untold ages, a region ofdesolation and death, of naked peaks, rugged precipices, and rockyravines. The heat from the overhead sun, intensified by thereverberations from the great masses of rock around us, andunrelieved by the slightest breath of air, was well-nighsuffocating.

Into this plutonic realm we plunged, and, after a scorchingride, reached the head of a pass which led straight down to thedesert. Here the cacique in command of the detachment told me,rather to my surprise, that we were to part company. They werealready a long way from home and saw no reason why they should gofarther. The desert, albeit four or five leagues distant, was quitevisible, and, once started down the pass, the nandu would be boundto go thither. He could not climb the rocks to the right or theleft, and the braves would take care that he did not return.

As objection, even though I had felt disposed to make it, wouldhave been useless, I bowed acquiescence. The thought of resistinghad more than once crossed my mind, and, by dint of struggling andfighting, I might have made the nandu so restive that I could nothave been fastened on his back. But in that case my secondcondition would have been worse than my first; I should have beentaken back to Pachatupec and either burned alive or hacked topieces, and, black as seemed the outlook, I clung to the hope thatthe man-killer would somehow be the means of saving my life.

The binding was effected with considerable difficulty. Itrequired the united strength of nearly all the braves to hold thenandu while the cacique and the keepers secured me on his back. Ashe was let go he kicked out savagely, ripping open with histerrible claws one of the men who had been holding him. The nextmoment he was striding down the steep and stony pass at a speedwhich, in a few minutes, left the pursuing and shouting Pachatupecsfar behind. The ground was so rough and the descent so rapid that Iexpected every moment we should come to grief. But on we went likethe wind. Never in my life, except in an express train, was Icarried so fast. The great bird was either wild with rage or underthe impression that he was being hunted. The speed took my breathaway; the motion make me sick. He must have done the fifteen milesbetween the head of the pass and the beginning of the desert inlittle more than as many minutes. Then, the ground being coveredwith sand and comparatively level, the nandu slacked his speedsomewhat, though he still went at a great pace.

The desert was a vast expanse of white sand, the glare of which,in the bright sunshine, almost blinded me, interspersed withstretches of rock, swept bare by the wind, and loose stones.

Instead of turning to the right or left, that is to say, to thenorth or south, as I hoped and expected he would, the man-killerran straight on toward the sea. As for the distance of the coastfrom that part of the Cordillera I had no definiteidea—perhaps thirty miles, perhaps fifty, perhaps more. Butwere it a hundred we should not be long in going thither at thespeed we were making; and vague hopes, suggesting the possibilityof signalling a passing ship or getting away by sea, began to shapethemselves in the mind. The nandu could not go on forever; beforereaching the sea he must either alter his course or stop, and if hestopped only a few minutes and so gave me a chance of steadyingmyself I thought that, by the help of my teeth, I might untie oneof the cords which the movements of the bird and my own efforts hadalready slightly loosened, and once my arms were freed the restwould be easy.

An hour (as nearly as I could judge) after leaving theCordillera I sighted the Pacific—a broad expanse of bluewater shining in the sun and stretching to the horizon. How eagerlyI looked for a sail, a boat, the hut of some solitary fisherman, orany other sign of human presence! But I saw nothing save water andsand; the ocean was as lonesome as the desert. There was nosalvation thitherward.

Though my hope had been vague, my disappointment was bitter; buta few minutes later all thought of it was swallowed up in a newfear. The sea was below me, and as the ground had ceased to fall Iknew that the desert must end on that side in a line of loftycliffs. I knew, also, that nandus are among the most stupid ofbipeds, and it was just conceivable that the man-killer, notperceiving his danger until too late, might go over the cliffs intothe sea.

The hoarse roar of the waves as they surge against the rocks, atfirst faint, grows every moment louder and deeper. I see distinctlythe land’s end, and mentally calculate from the angle itmakes with the ocean, the height of the cliffs.

Still the man-killer strides on, as straight as an arrow and asresolutely as if a hundred miles of desert, instead of ten thousandmiles of water, stretched before him. Three minutes moreand—I set my teeth hard and draw a deep breath. At any rate,it will be an easier end than burning, or dying ofthirst—Another moment and—

But now the nandu, seeing that he will soon be treading the air,makes a desperate effort to stop short, in which failing he wheelshalf round, barely in time to save his life and mine, and thencourses madly along the brink for miles, as if unable to tearhimself away, keeping me in a state of continual fear, for a singleslip, or an accidental swerve to the right, and we should havefallen headlong down the rocks, against which the waves arebeating.

As night closes in he gradually—to my inexpressiblerelief—draws inland, making in a direction that must sooneror later take us back to the Cordillera, though a long way south ofthe pass by which we had descended to the desert. But I have hardlysighted the outline of the mighty barrier, looming portentously inthe darkness, when he alters his course once again, wenching thistime almost due south. And so he continues for hours, seldom goingstraight, now inclining toward the coast, anon facing toward theCordillera but always on the southward tack, never turning to thenorth.

It was a beautiful night. The splendor of the purple sky withits myriads of lustrous stars was in striking contrast with thesameness of the white and deathlike desert. A profound melancholytook hold of me. I had ceased to fear, almost to think, myperceptions were blinded by excitement and fatigue, my spiritsoppressed by an unspeakable sense of loneliness and helplessness,and the awful silence, intensified rather than relieved by the longdrawn moaning of the unseen ocean, which, however far I might befrom it, was ever in my ears.

I looked up at the stars, and when the cross began to bend Iknew that midnight was past, and that in a few hours would dawnanother day. What would it bring me—life or death? I hardlycared which; relief from the torture and suspense I was enduringwould be welcome, come how it might. For I suffered cruelly; I hada terrible thirst. The cords chafed my limbs and cut into my flesh.Every movement gave an exquisite pain; I was continually on therack; rest, even for a moment, was impossible, as, though the nanduhad diminished his speed, he never stopped. And then a wind came upfrom the sea, bringing with it clouds of dust, which well-nighchoked and half blinded me; filled my ears and intensified mythirst. After a while a strange faintness stole over me; I felt asif I were dying, my eyes closed, my head sank on my breast, and Iremembered no more.

Chapter XXVI.

Angela.

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“Regardez mon père, regardez! Il va mieux, lepauvre homme.”

“C’est ça, ma fille chérie, faitesle boire.”

I open my eyes with an effort, for the dust of the desert hasalmost blinded me.

I am in a beautiful garden, leaning against the body of the deadostrich, a lovely girl is holding a cup of water to my parchedlips, and an old man of benevolent aspect stands by her side.

“Merci mademoiselle, vous etes bien bonne,”I murmur.

“Oh, father, he speaks French.”

“This passes comprehension. Are you French,monsieur?”

“No, English.”

“English! This is stranger still. But whence come you, andwho bound you on the nandu?”

“I will tell you—a little more water, I pray you,mademoiselle.”

“Let him drink again, Angela—and dash some water inhis face; he is faint.”

“Le pauvre homme! See how his lips are swollen!Do you feel better, monsieur?” she asked compassionately,again putting the cup to my lips.

“Much. A thousand thanks. I can answer your question now(to the old man). I was bound on the nandu by order of the Queen ofthe Pachatupec Indians.”

“The Pachatupec Indians! I have heard of them. But theyare a long way off; more than a hundred leagues of desert liesbetween us and the Pachatupec country. Are you quite sure,monsieur?”

“Quite. And seeing that the nandu went at great speed,though not always in a direct line, and we must have been goingfifteen or sixteen hours, I am not surprised that we have travelledso far.”

“Mon dieu! And all that time you have neithereaten nor drunk. No wonder you are exhausted! Come with us, and wewill give you something more invigorating than water. You shalltell us your story afterward—if you will.”

I tried to rise, but my stiffened and almost paralyzed limbsrefused to move.

“Let us help you. Take his other arm, Angela—thus,Now!” And with that they each gave me a hand and raised me tomy feet.

“How was it? Who killed the nandu?” I asked as Ihobbled on between them.

“We saw the creature coming toward us with what lookedlike a dead man on his back, and as he did not seem disposed tostop I told Angela, who is a famous archer, to draw her bow andshoot him. He fell dead where he now lies, and when we saw that,though unconscious, you still lived, we unloosed you.”

“And saved my life. Might I ask to whom I am indebted forthis great service, and to what beautiful country the nandu hasbrought me?”

“Say nothing about the service, my dear sir. Helping eachother in difficulty and distress is a duty we owe to Heaven and ourcommon humanity. I count your coming a great blessing. You are thefirst visitor we have had for many years, and the AbbéBalthazar gives you a warm welcome to San Cristobal de Quipai. Thename is of good omen, Quipai being an Indian word which signifies‘Rest Here,’ and I shall be glad for you to rest hereso long as it may please you.”

“Nigel Fortescue, formerly an officer in the British Army,at present a fugitive and a wanderer, tenders you his warmestthanks, and gratefully accepts your hospitality—And now thatwe know each other, Monsieur l’Abbé, might I ask thefavor of an introduction to the young lady to whom I owe mydeliverance from the nandu?”

“She is Angela, monsieur. My people call herSeñorita Angela. It pleases me sometimes to speak of her asAngela Dieu-donnée, for she was sent to us by God, and eversince she came among us she has been our good angel.”

“I am sure she has. Nobody with so sweet a face could beotherwise than good,” I said, with an admiring glance at thebeautiful girl which dyed the damask of her cheek a yet deepercrimson.

It was no mere compliment. In all my wanderings I have notbeheld the equal of Angela Dieu-donnée. Though I can see hernow, though I learned to paint in order that, however inadequately,I might make her likeness, I am unable to describe her; words cangive no idea of the comeliness of her face, the grace of hermovements, and the shapeliness of her form. I have seen women withskins as fair, hair as dark, eyes as deeply blue, but none with thesame brightness of look and sweetness of disposition, none withcourage as high, temper as serene.

To look at Angela was to love her, though as yet I knew not thatI had regained my liberty only to lose my heart. My feelings at themoment oscillated between admiration of her and a painful sense ofmy own disreputable appearance. Bareheaded and shoeless, coveredwith the dust of the desert, clad only in a torn shirt and raggedtrousers, my arms and legs scored with livid marks, I must haveseemed a veritable scarecrow. Angela looked like a queen, or wouldhave done were queens ever so charming, or so becomingly attired.Her low-crowned hat was adorned with beautiful flowers; aloose-fitting alpaca robe of light blue set off her form to thebest advantage, and round her waist was a golden baldrick whichsupported a sheaf of arrows. At her breast was an orchid which inEurope would have been almost priceless, her shapely arms were bareto the shoulder, and her sandaled feet were innocent of hosen.

I was wondering who could have designed this costume, in whichthere was a savor of the pictures of Watteau and the court ofVersailles, how so lovely a creature could have found her way to aplace so remote as San Cristobal de Quipai, when the abbéresumed the conversation.

“Angela came to us as strangely and unexpectedly as youhave come, Monsieur Nigel” (he found my Christian name theeasier to pronounce), “and, like you, without any volition onher part or previous knowledge of our existence. But there is thisdifference between you: she came as a little child, you come as agrown man. Sixteen years ago we had several severe earthquakes.They did us little harm down here, but up on the Cordillera theywrought fearful havoc, and the sea rose and there was a greatstorm, and several ships were dashed to pieces against ouriron-bound coast, which no mariner willingly approaches. Themorning after the tempest there was found on the edge of the cliffsa cot in which lay a rosy-cheeked babe. How it came to pass nonecould tell, but we all thought that the cot must have been fastenedto a board, which became detached from the cot at the very momentwhen the sea threw it on the land. The babe was just able to lispher name—‘Angela,’ which corresponded with thename embroidered on her clothing. This is all we know about her;and I greatly fear that those to whom she belonged perished in thestorm. Even the wreckage that was washed ashore furnished no clew;it was part of two different vessels. The little waif was broughtto me and with me she has ever since remained.”

“And will always remain, dear father,” said Angela,regarding the old priest with loving reverence. “All that Ilost in the storm has he been to me—father, mother,instructor, and friend. You see here, monsieur, the best and wisestman in all the world.”

“You have had so wide an experience of the world and ofmen, mignonne!” returned the abbé, with anamused smile. “Sir, since she could speak she has seen twowhite men. You are the second.—Ah, well, if I were not afraidyou would think we had constituted ourselves into a mutualadmiration society I should be tempted to say something even morecomplimentary about her.”

“Say it, Monsieur l’Abbé, say it, I prayyou,” I exclaimed, eagerly, for it pleased me more than I cantell to hear him sound Angela’s praises.

“Nay, I would rather you learned to appreciate her fromyour own observation. Yet I will say this much. She is thebrightness of my life, the solace of my old age, and so good thateven praise does not spoil her. But you look tired; shall we sitdown on this fallen log and rest a few minutes?”

To this proposal I gladly assented, for I was spent with fatigueand faint with hunger. Angela, however, after glancing at mecompassionately and saying she would be back in a few minutes, wenta little farther and presently returned with a bunch of grapes.

“Eat these,” she said, “they will refreshyou.”

It was a simple act of kindness; but a simple act of kindness,gracefully performed, is often an index of character, and I feltsure that the girl had a kind heart and deserved all the praisebestowed on her by the abbé.

I was thanking her, perhaps more warmly than the occasionrequired, when she stopped the flow of my eloquence by reminding methat I had not yet told them why the Indian queen caused me to befastened on the back of the nandu.

On this hint I spoke, and though the abbé suggested thatI was too tired for much talking, I not only answered the questionbut briefly narrated the main facts of my story, reserving a fulleraccount for a future occasion.

Both listened with rapt attention; but of the two Angela was themore eager listener. She several times interrupted me with requestsfor information as to matters which even among European childrenare of common knowledge, for, though the abbé was a man ofhigh learning and she an apt pupil, her experience of life waslimited to Quipai; and he had been so long out of the world that hehad almost forgotten it. As for news, he was worse off than FrayIgnacio. He had heard of the First Consul but nothing of theEmperor Napoleon, and when I told him of the restoration of theBourbons he shed tears of joy.

“Thank God!” he exclaimed, fervently, “Franceis once more ruled by a son of St. Louis. The tricolor is replacedby the fleur-de-lis. You are our second good angel,Monsieur Fortescue; you bring us glad tidings of greatjoy—You smile, but I am persuaded that Providence has led youhither in so strange a way for some good purpose, and as I ventureto hope, in answer to my prayers; for albeit our lives here are socalm and happy, and I have been the means of bringing a great workto a successful issue, it is not in the nature of things that menshould be free from care, and my mind has lately been troubled withforebodings—”

“And you never told me, father!” said Angela,reproachfully. “What are they, these forebodings?”

“Why should you be worried with an old man’sdifficulties? One has reference to my people, the other—butnever mind the other. It may be that already a way has beenopened.—If you feel sufficiently rested, Monsieur Nigel, Ithink we had better proceed. A short walk will bring us to SanCristobal, and it would be well for us to get thither before theheat of the day.”

I protested that the rest and the bunch of grapes had so muchrefreshed me that I felt equal to a long walk, and we moved on.

“What a splendid garden!” I exclaimed for the thirdor fourth time as we entered an alley festooned with trailingflowers and grape-vines from which the fruit hung in thickclusters.

“All Quipai is a garden,” said the abbé,proudly. “We have fruit and flowers and cereals all the yearround, thanks to the great azequia (aqueduct) which theIncas built and I restored. And such fruit! Let him taste achirimoya ma fille chèrie.”

From a tree about fifteen feet high Angela plucked a round greenfruit, not unlike an apple, but covered with small knobs andscales. Then she showed me how to remove the skin, which covered asnow-white juicy pulp of exquisite fragrance and a flavor that Ihardly exaggerated in calling divine. It was a fruit fit for thegods, and so I said.

“We owe it all to the great azequia,”observed the abbé. “See, it feeds these rills andfills those fountains, waters our fields, and makes the desertbloom like the rose and the dry places rejoice. And we have notonly fruit and flowers, but corn, coffee, cocoa, yuccas, potatoes,and almost every sort of vegetable.”

“Quipai is a land of plenty and a garden ofdelight.”

“A most apt description, and so long as the greatazequia is kept in repair and the system of irrigationwhich I have established is maintained it will remain a land ofplenty and a garden of delight.”

“And if any harm should befall theazequia?”

“In that case, and if our water-supply were to fail,Quipai, as you see it now, would cease to exist. The desert, whichwe are always fighting and have so far conquered, would regain themastery, and the mission become what I found it, a little oasis atthe foot of the Cordillera, supporting with difficulty a few scorefamilies of naked Indians. One of these days, if you are sodisposed, you shall follow the course of the azequia andsee for yourself with what a marvellous reservoir, fed by Andeansnows, Nature has provided us. But more of this another time. Look!Yonder is San Cristobal, our capital as I sometimes call it, thoughlittle more than a village.”

The abbé said truly. It was little more than a village;but as gay, as picturesque, and as bright as a scene in anopera—two double rows of painted houses forming a large oval,the space between them laid out as a garden with straight walks andfountains and clipped shrubs, after the fashion of Versailles; inthe centre a church and two other buildings, one of which, as theabbé told me, was a school, the other his own dwelling.

The people we met saluted him with great humility, and hereturned their salutations quite en grand seigneur, even,as I thought, somewhat haughtily. One woman knelt in the road,kissed his hand, and asked for his blessing, which he gave like thesuperior being she obviously considered him. It was the same in thevillage. Everybody whom we met or passed stood still and uncovered.There could be no question who was master in San Cristobal.Abbé Balthazar was both priest and king, and, as I afterwardcame to know, there was every reason why he should be.

He kept a large establishment, for the country, and lived inconsiderable state. On entering his house, which was surrounded bya veranda and embowered in trees, the abbé, asked if I wouldlike a bath, and on my answering in the affirmative ordered one ofthe servants, all of whom spoke Spanish, to take me to thebath-room and find me a suit of clothes.

The bath made me feel like another man, and the fresh garmentseffected as great a change in my personal appearance. There was notmuch difficulty about the fit. A cotton undershirt, a blue jacketwith silver buttons, a red sash, white breeches, loose at the knee,and a pair of sandals, and I was fully attired. Stockings I had todispense with. They were not in vogue at San Cristobal.

When I was ready, the servant, who had acted as my valet,conducted me to the dining-room, where I found Angela and theabbé.

“Parbleu!” exclaimed the latter, whooccasionally indulged in expressions that were not exactlyclerical. “Parbleu! I had no idea that a bath andclean raiment could make so great an improvement in a man’sappearance. That costume becomes you to admiration, Monsieur Nigel.Don’t you think so, Angela?”

“You forget, father, that he is the only caballero I eversaw. Are all caballeros like him?”

“Very few, I should say. It is a long time since I sawany; but even at the court of Louis XV. I do not remember seeingmany braver looking gentlemen than our guest.”

As I bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment Angela gave me aquick glance, blushed deeply, and then, turning to the abbé,proposed that we should take our places at the table.

I was so hungry that even an indifferent meal would have seemeda luxurious banquet, but the repast set before us might havesatisfied an epicure. We had a delicious soup, something likemutton-cutlets, land-turtle steaks, and capon, all perfectlycooked; vegetables and fruit in profusion, and the wine was as goodas any I had tasted in France or Spain. After dinner coffee wasserved and the abbé inquired whether I would retire to myroom and have a sleep, or smoke a cigarette with him and Angela onthe veranda.

In ordinary circ*mstances I should probably have preferred tosleep; but I was so fascinated with MademoiselleDieu-donnée, so excited by all that I had seen and heard, socurious to know the history of this French priest, who talked ofthe court of Louis XV., who had created a country and a people, andcontrived, in a region so remote from civilization, to surroundhimself with so many luxuries, that I elected without hesitationfor the cigarettes and the veranda.

Chapter XXVII.

Abbé Balthazar.

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Though my wounds had not ceased their smarting nor my bonestheir aching my happiness was complete. The splendid prospectbefore me, the glittering peaks of the Cordillera, the gleamingwaters of the far Pacific, the gardens and fountains of SanCristobal, the charm of Angela’s presence, and theabbé’s conversation made me oblivious to the past andcareless of the future. The hardships and perils I had latelyundergone, my weary wanderings in the wilderness, the dull monotonyof the Happy Valley, the passage of the Andes, my terrible ride onthe nandu, all were forgotten. The contrast between myby-gone miseries and present surroundings added zest to myenjoyment. I felt as one suddenly transported from Hades toElysium, and it required an effort to realize that it was not all adream, destined to end in a rude awaking.

After some talk about Europe, the revolt of the Spanishcolonies, and my recent adventures, the abbé gave me anaccount of his life and adventures. The scion of a noble Frenchfamily, he had been first a page of honor at Versailles, then anofficer of the garde du corps, and among the gayest of thegay. But while yet a youth some terrible event on which he did notlike to dwell—a disastrous love affair, a duel in which hekilled one who had been his friend—wrought so radical achange in his character and his ideals that he resigned hiscommission, left the court, and joined the Society of Jesus, underthe name of Balthazar. Being a noble he became an abbé(though he had never an abbey) as a matter of course, and full ofreligious ardor and thirsting for distinction in his new calling hevolunteered to go out as a missionary among the wild tribes ofSouth America.

After long wanderings, and many hardships, Balthazar and twofellow priests accidentally discovered Quipai, at that time a merecollection of huts on the banks of a small stream which descendedfrom the gorges of the Cordillera only to be lost in the sands ofthe desert. But all around were remains which showed that Quipaihad once been a place of importance and the seat of a largepopulation—ruined buildings of colossal dimensions, heaps ofquarried stones, a cemetery rich in relics of silver and gold; anda great azequia, in many places still intact, had broughtdown water from the heart of the mountains for the irrigation ofthe rainless region of the coast.

Balthazar had moreover heard of the marvellous system ofirrigation whereby the Incas had fertilized nearly the whole of thePeruvian desert; and as he surveyed the ruins he conceived thegreat idea of restoring the aqueduct and repeopling the neighboringwaste. To this task he devoted his life. His first proceeding wasto convert the Indians and found a mission, which he called SanCristobal de Quipai; his next to show them how to make the most ofthe water-privileges they already possessed. A reservoir was built,more land brought under cultivation, and the oasis rendered capableof supporting a larger population. The resulting prosperity and theabbé’s fame as a physician (he possessed a fairknowledge of medicine) drew other Indians to Quipai.

After a while the gigantic undertaking was begun, and little bylittle, and with infinite patience and pain accomplished. It was awork of many years, and when I travelled the whole length of theazequia I marvelled greatly how the abbé, with themeans at his command, could have achieved an enterprise so arduousand vast. The aqueduct, nearly twenty leagues in length, extendedfrom the foot of the snow-line to a valley above Quipai, the waterbeing taken thence in stone-lined canals and wooden pipes to theseashore. In several places the azequia was carried onlofty arches over deep ravines: and there were two greatreservoirs, both remarkable works. The upper one was the crater ofan extinct volcano, of unknown depth, which contained an immensequantity of water. It took so long to fill that the abbé, ashe laughingly told me, began to think that there must be a hole inthe bottom. But in the end it did fill to the very brim, and alwaysremained full. The second reservoir, a dammed up valley, was justbelow the first; it served to break the fall from the higher to thelower level and receive the overflow from the crater.

A bursting of either of the reservoirs was quite out of thequestion; at any rate the abbé so assured me, and certainlythe crater looked strong enough to hold all the water in the Andes,could it have been got therein, while the lower reservoir was soshallow—the out-flow and the loss by evaporation being equalto the in-take—that even if the banks were to give way nogreat harm could be done.

I mention these particulars because they have an importantbearing on events that afterward befell, and on my own destiny.

Only a born engineer and organizer of untiring energy andillimitable patience could have performed so herculean a labor.Balthazar was all this, and more. He knew how to rule mendespotically yet secure their love. The Indians did his biddingwithout hesitation and wrought for him without pay. In the absenceof this quality his task had never been done. On the other hand, heowed something to fortune. All the materials were ready to hishand. He built with the stone quarried by the Incas. His worksuffered no interruption from frost or snow or rain. His veryisolation was an advantage. He had neither enemies to fear, friendsto please, nor government officers to propitiate.

On the landward side Quipai was accessible only by difficult andlittle known mountain-passes which nobody without some strongmotive would care to traverse, and passing ships might be trustedto give a wide berth to an iron-bound coast destitute alike ofharbors and trade.

So it came to pass that, albeit the mission of Quipai was in thedominion of the King of Spain, none of his agents knew of itsexistence, his writs did not run there, and Balthazar treated theroyal decree for the expulsion of the Jesuits from South America(of which he heard two or three years after its promulgation) withthe contempt that he thought it deserved. Nevertheless, he deemedit the part of prudence to maintain his isolation more rigidly thanever, and make his communications with the outer world few and farbetween, for had it become known to the captain-general of Peruthat there was a member of the proscribed order in hisvice-royalty, even at so out of the way a place as Quipai he wouldhave been sent about his business without ceremony. The possibilityof this contingency was always in the abbé’s mind. Fora time it caused him serious disquiet; but as the years went on andno notice was taken of him his mind became easier. The news Ibrought of the then recent events in Spain and the revolt of hercolonies made him easier. The viceroy would have too many irons inthe fire to trouble himself about the mission of Quipai and itschief, even if they should come to his knowledge, which was to thelast degree improbable. We sat talking for several hours, andshould probably have talked longer had not the abbé kindlyyet peremptorily insisted on my retiring to rest.

Early next morning we started on an excursion to the valleylake, each of us mounted on a fine mule from theabbé’s stables, and attended by an arriero.North as well as south of San Cristobal (as the village wasgenerally called) the country had the same garden-like aspect.There was none of the tangled vegetation which in tropical forestsimpedes the traveller’s progress; except where they had beenplanted by the roadside for protection from the sun, or bent overthe water-courses, the trees grew wide apart like trees in a park.Men and women were busy in the fields and plantations, for theabbé had done even a more wonderful thing than restoring thegreat azequia—converted a tribe of indolentaborigines into an industrious community of husbandmen andcraftsmen; among them were carpenters, smiths, masons, weavers,dyers, and cunning workers in silver and gold. The secret of hispower was the personal ascendancy of a strong man, the naturallydocile character of his converts, the inflexible justice whichcharacterized all his dealings with them, and the beliefassiduously cultivated, that as he had been their benefactor inthis world he could control their destinies in the next. Though henever punished he was always obeyed, and there was probably not aman or woman under his sway who would have hesitated to obey him,even to death.

The lake was small yet picturesque, its verdant banks deepeningby contrast the dark desolation of the arid mountains in which itwas embosomed. Some three thousand feet above it rose the extinctvolcano, the slopes of which in the days of the Incas were terracedand cultivated. Angela and I half rode, half walked to the top; butthe abbé, on the plea that he had some business to lookafter, stayed at the bottom.

The crater was about eight hundred yards in diameter and fillednearly to the brim with crystal water, which outflowed by a wideand well made channel into the lake, the supply being kept up bythe in-flow from the azequia, whose course we could tracefar into the mountains.

The view from our coigne of vantage was unspeakably grand.Behind us rose the stupendous range of the Andes, with itssnow-white peaks and smoking volcanoes; before us the oasis ofQuipai rolled like a river of living green to the shores of themeasureless ocean, whose shining waters in that clear air and underthat azure sky seemed only a few miles away, while, as far as theeye could reach, the coast-line was fringed with the dreary wastewhere I had so nearly perished.

The oasis, as I now for the first time discovered, was a valley,a broad shallow depression in the desert falling in a gentle slopefrom the foot of the Cordillera to the sea, whereby its irrigationwas greatly facilitated.

“How beautiful Quipai looks, and how like a river!”said Angela. “That is what I always think when I comehere—how like a river!”

“Who knows that long ago the valley was not the bed of ariver!”

“It must be very long ago, then, before there was anyCordillera. Rain-clouds never cross the Andes, and for untold agesthere can have been no rain here on the coast.”

“You are right. Without rain you cannot have much of ariver, and if the azequia were to fail there would be verylittle left of Quipai.”

“Don’t suggest anything so dreadful as the failureof the azequia. It is the Palladium of the mission and thesource of all our prosperity and happiness. Besides, how could itfail? You see how solidly it is built, and every month it iscarefully inspected from end to end.”

“It might be destroyed by an earthquake.”

“You are pleased to be a Job’s comforter, MonsieurNigel. Damaged it might be, but hardly destroyed, except in somecataclysm which would destroy everything, and that is a risk which,like all dwellers in countries subject to earthquakes, we must run.We cannot escape from the conditions of our existence; and life isso pleasant here, we are spared so many of the miseries whichafflict our fellow-creatures in other parts of the world—war,pestilence, strife, and want—that it were as foolish andungrateful to make ourselves unhappy because we are exposed to someremote danger against which we cannot guard, as to repine becausewe cannot live forever.”

“You discourse most excellent philosophy, MademoiselleAngela.”

“Without knowing it, then, as Monsieur Jourdan talkedprose.”

“So! You have read Molière?”

“Over and over again.”

“Then you must have a library at San Cristobal.”

“A very small one, as you may suppose; but a small libraryis not altogether a disadvantage, as the abbé says. Thefewer books you have the oftener you read them; and it is better toread a few books well than many superficially.”

“The abbé has been your sole teacher, Isuppose?”

“Has been! He is still. He has even written books for me,and he is the author of some of the best I possess—Butdon’t you think, monsieur, we had better descend to thevalley? The abbé will have finished his business by thistime, and though he is the best man in the world he has the faultof kings; he does not like to wait.”

Chapter XXVIII.

I Bid You Stay.

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“You have been here a month, Monsieur Nigel, living inclose intimacy with Angela and myself,” said the abbé,as we sat on the veranda sipping our morning coffee. “Youhave mixed with our people, seen our country, and inspected thegreat azequia in its entire length. Tell me, now, frankly,what do you think of us?”

“I never passed so happy a month in my life,and—”

“I am glad to hear you say so, very glad. My question,however, referred not to your feelings but your opinion. I willrepeat it: What think you of Quipai and itsinstitutions?”

“I know of but one institution in Quipai, and I admire itmore than I can tell.”

“And that is?”

“Yourself, Monsieur l’Abbé.”

The abbé smiled as if the compliment pleased him, but thenext moment his face took the “pale cast of thought,”and he remained silent for several minutes.

“I know what you mean,” he said at length, speakingslowly and rather sadly. “You mean that I am Quipai, and thatwithout me Quipai would be nowhere.”

“Exactly, Monsieur l’Abbé. Quipai is amiracle; you are its creator, yet I doubt whether, as it nowexists, it could long survive you. But that is a contingency whichwe need not discuss; you have still many years of life beforeyou.”

“I like a well-turned compliment, Monsieur Nigel, becausein order to be acceptable it must possess both a modicum of truthand a soupçon of wit. But flattery I detest, for itmust needs be insincere. A man of ninety cannot, in the nature ofthings, have many years of life before him. What are even ten yearsto one who has already lived nearly a century? This is a solemnmoment for both of us, and I want to be sincere with you. You weresincere just now when you said Quipai would perish with me. And itwill—unless I can find a successor who will continue the workwhich I have begun. My people are good and faithful, but theyrequire a prescient and capable chief, and there is not one amongthem who is fitted either by nature or education to take the placeof leader. Will you be my successor, Monsieur Nigel?”

This was a startling proposal. To stay in Quipai for a few weeksor even a few months might be very delightful. But to settle forlife in an Andean desert! On the other hand, to leave Quipai wereto lose Angela.

“You hesitate. But reflect well, my friend, before denyingmy request. True, you are loath to renounce the great world withits excitements, ambitions, and pleasures. But you would renouncethem for a life free from care, an honorable position, and a careerfull of promise. It will take years to complete the work I havebegun, and make Quipai a nation. As I said when you first came,Providence sent you here, as it sent Angela, for some good end. Itsent the one for the other. Stay with us, Monsieur Nigel, and marryAngela! If you search the world through you could find no sweeterwife.”

My hesitation vanished like the morning mist before the risingsun.

“If Angela will be my wife,” I said, “I willbe your successor.”

“It is the answer I expected, Monsieur Nigel. I am contentto let Angela be the arbiter of your fate and the fate of Quipai.She will be here presently. Put the question yourself. She knowsnothing of this; but I have watched you both, and though my eyesare growing dim I am not blind.”

And with that the abbé left me to my thoughts. It was notthe first time that the idea of asking Angela to be my wife hadentered my mind. I loved her from the moment I first set eyes onher, and my love has become a passion. But I had not been able tosee my way. How could I ask a beautiful, gently nurtured girl toshare the lot of a penniless wanderer, even if she could consent toleave Quipai, which I greatly doubted. But now! Compared withAngela, the excitements and ambitions of which the abbé hadspoken did not weigh as a feather in the balance. Without her lifewould be a dreary penance; with her a much worse place than Quipaiwould be an earthly paradise.

But would she have me? The abbé seemed to think so.Nevertheless, I felt by no means sure about it. True, she appearedto like my company. But that might be because I had so much to tellher that was strange and new; and though I had observed hernarrowly, I had detected none of that charming self-consciousness,that tender confusion, those stolen glances, whereby theconventional lover gauges his mistress’s feelings, and knowsbefore he speaks that his love is returned. Angela was always thesame—frank, open, and joyous, and, except that her caresseswere reserved for him, made no difference between the abbéand me.

“A chirimoya for your thoughts,señor!” said a well-known voice, in musical Castilian.“For these three minutes I have been standing close by you,with this freshly gathered chirimoya, and you took no notice ofme.”

“A thousand pardons and a thousand thanks,señorita!” I answered, taking the proffered fruit.“But my thoughts were worth all the chirimoyas in the world,delicious as they are, for they were of you.”

“We were thinking of each other then.”

“What! Were you thinking of me?”

“Si, señor.”

“And what were you thinking, señorita?”

“That God was very good in sending you toQuipai.”

“Why?”

“For several reasons.”

“Tell me them.”

“Because you have done the abbé good. Aforetime hewas often sad. You remember his saying that he had cares. I knownot what, but now he seems himself again.”

“Anything else?”

“Si, señor. You have also increased myhappiness. Not that I was unhappy before, for, thanks to the dearabbé, my life has been free from sorrow; but during the lastmonth—since you came—I have been more than happy, Ihave been joyous.”

“You don’t want me to go, then?”

“O señor! Want you to go! How can you—whathave I done or said?” exclaimed the girl, impetuously andalmost indignantly. “Surely, sir, you are not tired of usalready?”

“Heaven forbid! If you want me to stay I shall not go. Itis for you to decide. Angela mia, it depends on youwhether I go away soon—how or whither I know not—orstay here all my life long.”

“Depends on me! Then, sir, I bid you stay.”

“Oh, Angela, you must say more than that. You must consentto become my wife; then do with me what you will.”

“Your wife! You ask me to become your wife?”

“Yes, Angela. I have loved you since the day we first met;every day my love grows stronger and deeper, and unless you love mein return, and will be my wife, I cannot stay; I must go—goat once.”

“Quipai, señor,” said Angela,archly, at the same time giving me her hand.

“Quipai! I don’t quite understand—unless youmean—”

“Quipai,” she repeated, her eyes brightening into amerry smile.

“Unless you mean—”

“Quipai.”

“Oh, how dull I am! I see now. Quipai—resthere.”

“Si, señor.”

“And if I rest here, you will—”

“Do as you wish, señor, and with all my heart; foras you love me, so I love you.”

“Dearest Angela!” I said, kissing her hand,“you make me almost too happy. Never will I leave Quipaiwithout you.”

“And never will I leave it without you. But let us nottalk of leaving Quipai. Where can we be happier than here with thedear abbé? But what will he say?”

“He will give us his blessing. His most ardent wish isthat I should be your husband and his successor.”

“How good he is? And I, wicked girl that I am, repay hisgoodness with base ingratitude. Ah me! How shall I tellhim?”

“You repay his goodness with base ingratitude? You speakin riddles, my Angela.”

“Since the waves washed me to his feet, a little child,the abbé has cherished me with all the tenderness of amother, all the devotion of a father. He has been everything to me;and now you are everything to me. I love you better than I lovehim. Don’t you think I am a wicked girl?” And she puther arm within mine, and looking at me with love-beaming eyes,caressing my cheek with her hand.

“I will grant you absolution, and award you no worsepenance than an embrace, ma fille cherie,” said theabbé, who had returned to the veranda just in time tooverhear Angela’s confession. “I rejoice in yourhappiness, mignonne. To-day you make two menhappy—your lover and myself. You have lightened my mind ofthe cares which threatened to darken my closing days. The thoughtof leaving you without a protector and Quipai without a chief was asore trouble. Your husband will be both. Like Moses, I have seenthe Promised Land, and I shall be content.”

“Talk not of dying, dear father or you will make mesad,” said Angela, putting her arms round his neck.

“There are worse things than dying, my child. But you arequite right; this is no time for melancholy forebodings. Let us behappy while we may; and since I came to Quipai, sixty years ago, Ihave had no happier day than this.”

As the only law at Quipai was the abbé’s will, andwe had neither settlements to make, trousseaux to prepare, norhouse to get ready (the abbé’s house being big enoughfor us all), there was no reason why our wedding should be delayed,and the week after Angela and I had plighted our troth, we weremarried at the church of San Cristobal.

The abbé’s wedding-present to Angela was a goldcross studded with large uncut diamonds. Where he got them I had noidea, but I heard afterward—and something more.

All this time nothing, save vague generalities, had passedbetween us on the subject of religion—rather to my surprise,for priests are not wont to ignore so completely their raisond’être, but I subsequently found that Balthazar,albeit a devout Christian, was no bigot. Either his early training,his long isolation from ecclesiastical influence, or his communingswith Nature had broadened his horizon and spiritualized hisbeliefs. Dogma sat lightly on him, and he construed the apostolicexhortations to charity in their widest sense. But these views werereserved for Angela and myself. With his flock he was the Romanecclesiastic—a sovereign pontiff—whom they must obey inthis world on pain of being damned in the next. For he held thatthe only ways of successfully ruling semi-civilized races are byphysical force, personal influence, or their fear of the unseen andthe unknown. At the outset Balthazar, having no physical force athis command, had to trust altogether to personal influence, which,being now re-enforced by the highest religious sanctions, made hispower literally absolute. Albeit Quipai possessed neither soldiers,constables, nor prison, his authority was never questioned; he wasas implicitly obeyed as a general at the head of an army in thefield.

I have spoken of the abbé’s communings with Nature.I ought rather to have said his searchings into her mysteries; forhe was a shrewd philosopher and keen observer, and despite thedisadvantages under which he labored, the scarcity of his books,and the rudeness of his instruments, he had acquired during hislong life a vast fund of curious knowledge which he placedunreservedly at my disposal. I became his pupil, and it was he whofirst kindled in my breast that love of science which for nearlythree-score years I have lived only to gratify.

Chapter XXIX.

The Abbé’s Legacy.

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Life was easy at Quipai, and we were free from care. On theother hand, we had so much to do that time sped swiftly, and thoughwe were sometimes tired we were never weary. The abbé mademe the civil governor of the mission, and gave orders that I shouldbe as implicitly obeyed as himself. My duties in this capacity,though not arduous, were interesting, including as they did allthat concerned the well-being of the people, the maintenance of theazequia, and the irrigation of the oasis. My leisure hourswere spent in study, working in the abbé’s laboratory,and with Angela, who nearly always accompanied me on my excursionsto the head of the aqueduct which, as I have already mentioned wasat the foot of the snow-line, two days’ journey from thevalley lake.

It was during one of these excursions that we planned our newhome, a mountain nest which we would have all to ourselves, andwhither at the height of summer we might escape from the heat ofthe oasis, for albeit the climate of Quipai was fine on the whole,there were times when the temperature rose to an uncomfortableheight. The spot on which we fixed was a hollow in the hills, sometwo miles beyond the crater reservoir and about eight thousand feetabove the level of the sea. By tapping the azequia weturned the barren valley into a garden of roses, for in thatrainless region water was a veritable magician, whatsoever ittouched it vivified. This done we sent up timber, and builtourselves a cottage, which we called Alta Vista, for the air wassuperb and the view one of the grandest in the world.

Angela would fain have persuaded the abbé to join us; yetthough I made a well-graded road and the journey was neither longnor fatiguing he came but seldom. He was so thoroughly acclimatizedthat he preferred the warmth of San Cristobal to the freshness ofAlta Vista, and the growing burden of his years indisposed him toexertion, and made movement an effort. We could all see, and nonemore clearly than himself, that the end was not far off. Hecontemplated it with the fortitude of a philosopher and the faithof a Christian. For the spiritual wants of his people he providedby ordaining (as in virtue of his ecclesiastical rank he had theright to do), three young men, whom he had carefully educated forthe purpose; the reins of government he gave over entirely tome.

“I have lived a long life and done a good work, and thoughI shall be sorry to leave you, I am quite content to go,” hesaid one day to Angela and me. “It is not in my power tobequeath you a fortune, in the ordinary sense of the word, formoney I have none, yet so long as the mission prospers you will bebetter off than if I could give you millions. But everything humanis ephemeral and I cannot disguise from myself the possibility ofsome great disaster befalling you. Those mountains contain bothgold and silver, and an invasion of treasure-seekers, either fromthe sea or the Cordillera would be the ruin of the mission. My poorpeople would be demoralized, perhaps destroyed, and you would becompelled to quit Quipai and return to the world. For thatcontingency, though I hope it will never come to pass, you must beprepared, and I will point out the way. The mountains, as I havesaid, contain silver and gold; and contain something even moreprecious than silver and gold—diamonds, I made the discoverynearly half a century ago, and I confess that, for a time, thetemptation was almost more than I could withstand. With such wealthas I saw at my disposal I might do anything, be anything, enrich myorder, win distinction for myself, and attain to high rank, perhapsthe highest, in the church, or leave it and become a power in theworld, a master of men and the guest of princes. Yes, it was a soretemptation, but with God’s help, I overcame it and chose thebetter part, the path of duty, and I have my reward. I brought afew diamonds away with me, some of which are in Angela’scross; but I have never been to the place since. I told you notthis sooner, my son, partly because there seemed no need, partlybecause, not knowing you as well as I know you now, I thought youmight be tempted in like manner as I was and we pray not to be ledinto temptation. But though I tell you where these precious stonesare to be found, I am sure that you will never quitQuipai.”

“I have no great desire to know the whereabout of thisdiamond mine, father. Tell me or not as you think fit. In any case,I shall be true to my trust and my word. I promise you that I willnot leave Quipai till I am forced, and I hope I never maybe.”

“All the same, my son, it is the part of a wise man toprovide for even unlikely contingencies. Remember, it is theunexpected that happens, and I would not have you and our dearAngela cast on the world penniless. For her, bred as she has been,it would be a frightful misfortune; and up yonder are diamondswhich would make you rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Promise methat you will go thither, and bring away as many as you canconveniently carry about your persons in the event of your beingcompelled to quit the oasis at short notice.”

“I promise. Nevertheless, I see noprobability—”

“We are discussing possibilities not probabilities, myson. And during the last few days I have had forebodings, if I weresuperstitious I should say prophetic visions, else had I notbroached the subject. Regard it, if you like, as an old man’swhim—and keep a look-out on the sea.”

“Why particularly on the sea?”

“It is the quarter whence danger is most to beapprehended. If some Spanish war-ship were to sight the oasis andsend a boat ashore, either out of idle curiosity or for otherreasons, a report would be made to the captain-general, or towhomsoever is now in authority at Lima, and there would come ahorde of government functionaries, who would take possession ofeverything, and you would have to go. But take your pen and notedown the particulars that will enable you to find the diamondmine.”

Though Angela and I listened to the abbé’s warningswith all respect, they made little impression on our minds. Weregarded them as the vagaries of an old man, whose mind wasaffected by the feebleness of his body, and a few weeks later hebreathed his last. His death came in the natural order of things,and, as he had outlived his strength, it was for him a happyrelease; yet, as we had loved him much, we sorrowed for him deeply,and I still honor his memory. Take him all in all, AbbéBalthazar was the best man I have ever known.

Shortly after we laid him in the ground I made a visit to thediamond ground, the situation of which the abbé had so fullydescribed that I found it without difficulty. But the undertaking,besides proving much more arduous than I had anticipated, came nearto costing me my life. I took with me an arriero and threemules, one carrying an ample supply of food, and, as I thought, ofwater, for the abbé had told me that a mountain-stream ranthrough the valley where I was to look for the diamonds. Asill-luck would have it, however, the stream was dried up. Had itnot been that I did not like to return empty-handed I should havereturned at once, for our stock of water was exhausted and we weretwo days’ journey from Quipai.

I spent a whole day seeking among the stones and pebbles, and mysearch was so far successful that I picked up two score diamonds,some of considerable size. If I could have stayed longer I mighthave made a still richer harvest; and I had an idea that there weremore under than above ground. But I had stayed too long as it was.The mules were already suffering for want of water; all threeperished before we reached Quipai, and the arriero and myself gothome only just alive.

Nevertheless, had not Angelo put her veto on the project, Ishould have made another visit to the place, provided with asufficiency of water for the double journey. I, moreover, thoughtthat with time and proper tools I could find water on the spot.However, I went not again, and I renounced my design all the morewillingly as I knew that the diamonds I had already found were afortune in themselves. I added them to my collection of mineralswhich I kept in my cabinet at Alta Vista. My Quipais being honestand knowing nothing whatever of precious stones I had no fear ofrobbers.

For several years after Balthazar’s death nothing occurredto disturb the even tenor of our way, and I had almost forgottenhis warnings, and that we were potentially “rich beyond thedreams of avarice,” when one day a runner brought word thattwo men had landed on the coasts and were on the way to SanCristobal.

This was startling news, and I questioned the messenger closely,but all he could tell me was that the strangers had arrived in asmall boat, half famished and terribly thirsty, and had asked, inbroken Spanish, to be taken to the chief of the country, and thathe had been sent on to inform me of their coming.

“The abbé!” exclaimed Angela, “youremember what he said about danger from the sea.”

“Yes; but there is nothing to fear from two hungry men ina small boat—as I judge from the runner’s account,shipwrecked mariners.”

“I don’t know; there’s no telling, they may befollowed by others, and unless we keep them here—”

“If necessary we must keep them here; as, however, theyare evidently not Spaniards it may not be necessary. But as to thatI can form no opinion till I have seen and questionedthem.”

We were still talking about them, for the incident was bothsuggestive and exciting, when the strangers were brought in. As Iexpected, they were seamen, in appearance regular old salts. Onewas middle-sized, broad built, brawny, and large-limbed—asquat Hercules, with big red whiskers, earrings and a pig-tail. Hiscompanion was taller and less sturdy, his black locks hung inringlets on either side of a swarthy, hairless face, and the armsand hands of both, as also their breasts were extensivelytattooed.

Their surprise on beholding Angela and me was almost ludicrous.They might have been expecting to see a copper-colored caciquedressed in war-paint and adorned with scalps.

“White! By the piper that played before Moses,white!” muttered the red-whiskered man. “Who’dha’ thought it! A squaw in petticoats, too, with a gold chainround her neck! Where the hangmant have we got to?”

“You are English?” I said, quietly.

“Well, I’ll be—yes, sir! I’m English,name of Yawl, Bill Yawl, sir, of the port of Liverpool, at yourservice. My mate, here, he’s a—”

“I’ll tell my own tale, if you please, BillYawl,” interrupted the other as I thought ratherperemptorily. “My name is Kidd, and I’m a native ofBarbadoes in the West Indies, by calling, a mariner, and latesecond mate of the brig Sulky Sail, Jones, master, bound fromLiverpool to Lima, with a cargo of hardware and cottongoods.”

“And what has become of the Sulky Sail?”

“She went to the bottom, sir, three days ago.”

“But there has been no bad weather, lately.”

“Not lately. But we made very bad weather rounding theHorn, and the ship sprang a leak, and though, by throwing cargooverboard, and working hard at the pumps, we managed to keep herafloat nearly a month; she foundered at last.”

“And are you the only survivors?”

“No, sir; the master and most of the crew got away in thelong boat. But as the ship went down the dinghy was swamped. Billand me managed to right her and get aboard again, but the others aswas with us got drowned.”

“And the long boat?”

“We lost each other in the night, and, having no water,and only a tin of biscuits, Bill and me made straight for thecoast, and landed in the little cove down below this morning. Allwe have is what we stand up in. And we shall feel much obliged ifyou will kindly give us food and shelter until such time as we canget away.”

On this I assured Mr. Kidd that I was sorry for theirmisfortune, and would gladly find them food and lodging, andwhatever else they might require, but as for getting away, I didnot see how that was possible, unless by sea, and in their owndinghy.

“We are very grateful for your kindness, sir; but Idon’t think we should much like to make another voyage in thedinghy.”

“She ain’t seaworthy,” growled Yawl,“you’ve to bale all the time, and if it came on to blowshe’d turn turtle in half a minute.”

“May be some vessel will be touching here, sir,”suggested Kidd.

“Vessels never do touch here, except to be dashed inpieces against the rocks.”

“Well, I suppose we shall have to wait till a chancehappens out. This seems a nice place, and we are in no hurry, ifyou aren’t.”

So the two castaways became my guests; and if they waited to betaken off by a passing ship they were likely to remain my guests aslong as they lived.

For a few days they rambled about the place with their hands intheir pockets and cigars (with which I supplied them liberally) intheir mouths. But after a while time began to hang heavy on theirhands, and one day they came to me with a proposal.

“We are tired of doing nothing, Mr. Fortescue,” saidKidd.

“It is the hardest work I ever put my hand to, and not agrog-shop in the place,” interposed Yawl.

“Hold your jaw, Bill, and let me say my say out. We aretired of doing nothing, and if you like we will build you asloop.”

“A sloop! To go away in, I suppose?”

“That is as you please, sir. Anyhow, a sloop, say offifteen or twenty tons, would be very useful. You might take a sailwith your lady now and again, and explore the coast. Yawl has beenboth ship’s carpenter and bo’son—he’ll bossthe job; and I’m a very fair amateur cabinet-maker. If youwant anything in that line doing at your house, sir, I shall beglad to do it for you.”

The project pleased me; an occasional cruise would be anagreeable diversion, and I assented to Kidd’s proposalwithout hesitation. There was as much wreckage lying on the cliffas would build a man-of-war, and a small cove at the foot of theoasis where the sloop could lie safely at anchor.

So the work was taken in hand, some of my own people helping,and after several months’ labor the Angela, as I proposed tocall her, was launched. She had a comfortable little cabin and sosoon as she was masted and rigged would be ready for sea.

In the mean time I asked Kidd to superintend some alterations Iwas making at Alta Vista, and among other things construct largercabinets for my mineral and entomological specimens. He did thework quite to my satisfaction, but before it was well finished Imade a portentous discovery—several of my diamonds weremissing. There could be no doubt about it, for I knew the number toa nicety, and had counted them over and over again. Neither couldthere be any doubt that Kidd was the thief. Besides my wife,myself, and one or two of our servants, no one else had been in theroom; and our own people would not have taken the trouble to pickup a diamond from the ground, much less steal one from myhouse.

My first impulse was to accuse Kidd of the theft and have himsearched. And then I reflected that I was almost as much to blameas himself. Assuming that he knew something of the value ofprecious stones, I had exposed him to temptation by leaving so manyand of so great value in an open drawer. He might well suppose thatI set no store by them, and that half a dozen or so would never bemissed. So I decided to keep silence for the present and keep awatch on Mr. Kidd’s movements. It might be that he and Yawlwere thinking to steal a march on me and sail away secretly withthe sloop, and perhaps something else. They had both struck uprather close friendships with native women.

But as I did not want to lose any more of my diamonds, and therewas no place at Alta Vista where they would be safe so long as Kiddwas on the premises, I put them in a bag in the inside pocket of aquilted vest which I always wore on my mountain excursions, myintention being to take them on the following day down to SanCristobal and bestow them in a secure hiding-place.

I little knew that I should never see San Cristobal again.

Chapter XXX.

The Quenching of Quipai.

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The cottage at Alta Vista had expanded little by little into along, single storied flat-roofed house, shaded by palm-trees andset in a fair garden, which looked all the brighter from itscontrast with the brown and herbless hill-sides that uprose aroundit.

In the after part of the day on which I discovered the theft,Angela and myself were sitting under the veranda, which fronted thehouse and commanded a view of the great reservoir, the oasis andthe ocean. She was reading aloud a favorite chapter in “DonQuixote,” one of the few books we possessed. I wassmoking.

Angela read well; her pronunciation of Spanish was faultless,and I always took particular pleasure in hearing her read theidiomatic Castilian of Cervantes. Nevertheless, my mind wandered;and, try as I might, I could not help thinking more of the theft ofthe diamonds than the doughty deeds of the Don and the shrewdsayings of Sancho Panza. Not that the loss gave me serious concern.A few stones more or less made no great difference, and I shouldprobably never turn to account those I had. But the incidentrevived suspicions as to the good faith of the two castaways, whichhad been long floating vaguely in my mind. From the first I hadrather doubted the account they gave of themselves. And Kidd! I hadnever much liked him; he had a hard inscrutable face, and unless Igreatly misjudged him was capable of bolder enterprises than pettylarceny. He was just the man to steal secretly away and return witha horde of unscrupulous treasure-seekers, for he knew now thatthere were diamonds in the neighborhood, and he must have heardthat we had found gold and silver ornaments and vessels in the oldcemetery—

“Dios mio! What is that?” exclaimed Angela,dropping her book and springing to her feet, an example which Iinstantly followed, for the earth was moving under us, and therefell on our ears, for the first time, the dread sound ofsubterranean thunder.

“An earthquake!”

But the alarm was only momentary. In less time than it takes totell the trembling ceased and the thunder died away.

“Only a slight shock, after all,” I said, “andI hope we shall have no more. However, it is just as well to beprepared. I will have the mules got out of the stable; and if thereis anything inside you particularly want you had better fetch it. Iwill join you in the garden presently.”

As I passed through the house I saw Kidd coming out of the roomwhere I kept my specimens.

“What are you doing there?” I asked him,sharply.

“I went for a tool I left there” (holding up achisel). “Did you feel the shock?”

“Yes, and there may be another. Tell Maximiliano to getthe mules out.”

“If he has been after the diamonds,” I thought,“he must know that I have taken them away. I had better makesure of them.” And with that I stepped into my room, put onmy quilted jacket, and armed myself with a small hatchet and abroad-bladed, highly tempered knife, given to me by theabbé, which served both as a dagger and amachete.

When I had seen the mules safely tethered, and warned theservants and others to run into the open if there should be anothershock, I returned to Angela, who had resumed her seat in theveranda.

“Equipped for the mountains! Where away now, caromio?” she said, regarding me with some surprise.

“Nowhere. At any rate, I have no present intention ofrunning away. I have put on my jacket because of these diamonds,and brought my hatchet and hunting-knife because, if the housecollapses, I should not be able to get them at the very time theywould be the most required.”

“If the house collapses! You think, then, we are going tohave a bad earthquake?”

“It is possible. This is an earthquake country; there hasbeen nothing more serious than a slight trembling since long beforethe abbé died; and I have a feeling that something moreserious is about to happen. Underground thunder is always anominous symptom.—Ah! There it is again. Run into the garden.I will bring the chairs and wraps.”

The house being timber built and one storied, I had little fearthat it would collapse; but anything may happen in an earthquake,and in the garden we were safe from anything short of the ground onwhich we stood actually gaping or slipping bodily down themountain-side.

The second shock was followed by a third, more violent thaneither of its predecessors. The earth trembled and heaved so thatwe could scarcely stand. The underground thunder became louder andcontinuous and, what was even more appalling, we could distinctlysee the mountain-tops move and shake, as if they were going to falland overwhelm us.

But even this shock passed off without doing any materialmischief, and I was beginning to think the worst was over when oneof the servants drew my attention to the great reservoir. It smokedand though there was no wind the water was white with foam andrunning over the banks.

This went on several minutes, and then the water, as if yieldingto some irresistible force, left the sides, and there shot out ofit a gigantic jet nearly as thick as the crater was wide andhundreds of feet high. It broke in the form of a rose and fell in afine spray, which the setting sun hued with all the colors of therainbow.

It was the most splendid sight I had ever seen and the mostportentous—for I knew that the crater had become active, andremembering how long it had taken to fill I feared the worst.

The jet went on rising and falling for nearly an hour, but asthe mass of the water returned to the crater, very little goingover the sides, no great harm was done.

“Thank Heaven for the respite!” exclaimed Angela,who had been clinging to me all the time, trembling yet courageous.“Don’t you think the danger is now past, myNigel?”

“For us, it may be. But if the crater has really becomeactive. I fear that our poor people at San Cristobal will be invery great danger indeed.”

“No! God alone—Hearken!”

A muffled peal of thunder which seemed to come from the verybowels of the earth, followed by a detonation like the discharge ofan army’s artillery, and the sides of the crater opened, andwith a wild roar the pent-up torrent burst forth, and leaping intothe lake, rolled, a mighty avalanche of water, toward the doomedoasis.

We looked at each other in speechless dismay. Nothing couldresist that terrible flood; it would sweep everything before it,for, though its violence might be lessened before it reached thesea, only the few who happened to be near the coast could escapedestruction.

Nobody spoke; the roar of the cataract deafened us, theawfulness of the catastrophe made us dumb. We were as if stunned,and I was conscious of nothing save a sickening sense ofhelplessness and despair.

For an hour we stood watching the outpouring of the water. Inthat hour Quipai was destroyed and its people perished.

As the blood-red sun sank into the bosom of the broad Pacific, agreat cloud of smoke and steam, mingled with stones and ashes, waspuffed out of the crater and a stream of fiery lava, bursting fromthe breach in the side of the mountain, followed in the wake of thewater.

The uproar was terrific; explosion succeeded explosion; greatstones hurled through the air and fell back into the crater with adin like discharges of musketry, and whenever there came a lull wecould hear the hissing of the water as it met the lava.

We remained in the garden the night through. Nobody thought ofgoing indoors; but after a while we became so weary with watchingand overwrought with excitement that, despite the danger and thenoise we could not keep our eyes open. Before the southern crossbegan to bend we were all asleep, Angela and I wrapped in ourcobijas, the others on the turf and under the trees.

When I opened my eyes the sun was rising majestically above theCordillera, but its rays had not yet reached the ocean. I rose andlooked around. The crater was still smoking, and a mist hung overthe oasis, but the lava had ceased to flow, and not a zephyr movedthe air, not a tremor stirred the earth. Only the blackened throatof the volcano and the ghastly rent in its side were there toremind us of the havoc that had been wrought and the ruin ofQuipai.

I roused the people and bade them prepare breakfast, for thoughthousands may perish in a night, the survivors must eat on themorrow. The house, albeit considerably shaken, was still intact,but several of the doors were so tightly jammed that I had to breakthem open with my hatchet.

When breakfast was ready I woke Angela.

“Is it real, or have I been dreaming?” she asked,with a shudder, looking wildly round.

“It is only too real,” I said, pointing to thesmoking crater.

“Misericordia! what shall we do?”

“First of all, we must go down to the oasis and seewhether any of the people are left alive.”

“You are right. When we have done what we can for theothers it will be time enough to think about ourselves.”

“Are there any others?” I thought, for I greatlydoubted whether we should find any alive, except, perhaps, Yawl andthe three or four men who were helping him. But I kept mymisgivings to myself, and after breakfast we set off. Angela andmyself were mounted, and I assigned a mule to Kidd. The man mightbe useful, and, circ*mstanced as we were, it would have been badpolicy to give him the cold shoulder. We also took with usprovisions, clothing, and a tent, for I was by no means sure thatwe should find either food or shelter on the oasis.

As we passed the volcano I looked into the crater. Nearly levelwith the breach made by the water was a great mass of seethinglava, which I regarded as a sure sign that another eruption mighttake place at any moment. The valley lake had disappeared; banks,trees, soil, dwellings, all were gone, leaving only bare rocks andburning lava. Of San Cristobal there was not a vestige; the oasishad been converted into a damp and steaming gully, void ofvegetation and animal life. But, as I had anticipated, the force ofthe flood was spent before it reached the coast. Much of the waterhad overflowed into the desert and been absorbed by the sand, andthe little that remained was now sinking into the earth and beingevaporated by the sun.

For hours Angela and I rode on in silence; our distress was toodeep for words.

“Quipai is gone,” she murmured at length, shudderingand looking at me with tear-filled eyes.

“Yes, gone and forever. As entirely as if it had neverbeen. It is worse than the carnage of a great battle. These poorpeople! Nature is more cruel than man.”

“But surely! will you not try to restore the oasis andre-create Quipai?”

“To do that, cara mia, would require anotherAbbé Balthazar and sixty years of life. And to what end?Sooner or later our work would be destroyed as his has been, evenif we were allowed to begin it. The volcano may be active for ages.We must go.”

“Whither?”

“Back to the world, that in new scenes and occupation wemay perchance forget this crowning calamity.”

“It is something to have been happy so long.”

“It is much; it is almost everything. Whatever the futuremay have in store for us, darling, nothing can deprive us of thesunny memories of the past, and the happiness we have enjoyed atQuipai.”

“True, and if this misfortune were not soterrible—But God knows best. It ill becomes me, who neverknew sorrow before, to repine.—Yes, let us go. Buthow?”

“By sea. I fear you would never survive the hazards andhardships of a journey over the Cordillera, and dearly as I loveyou—because I love you—I would rather have you die thanbe captured by Indians and made the wife of some savage cacique.Yes, we must go by sea, in the sloop built by these two castaways.Yet, even in that there will be a serious risk; for if they suspectI have the diamonds in my possession—and I am afraid thesuspicion is inevitable—they will probably—”

“What?”

“Try to murder us.”

“Murder us! For the diamonds?”

“Yes, my Angela, for the diamonds. In the world which youhave never seen men commit horrible crimes for insignificant gains,and I have here in my pocket the value of a king’s ransom.Even the average man could hardly withstand so great a temptation,and all we know of these sailors is that one of them is athief.”

“What will you do then?”

“First of all, I must find a safer hiding-place for ourwealth than my pockets; and we must be ever on our guard. Thevoyage will not be long, and we shall be three againsttwo.”

“Three! You will take Ramon, then?”

“Certainly—if he will go with us.”

“Of course he will. Ramon would follow you to theworld’s end. And the other sailor—Yawl—may havebeen drowned in the flood.”

“I don’t think so. The flood did not go much fartherthan this, and Yawl was busy with his boat. But we shall soon know;the cliffs are in sight.”

Chapter XXXI.

North by West.

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Besides Yawl and his helpers, we found on the beach about thirtymen and women, the saved of two thousand. Among them was one of thepriests ordained by the abbé. All had lived in the lowerpart of the oasis, and when the volcano began spouting water, afterthe third earthquake, they fled to the coast and so escaped. Thoughnaturally much distressed (being bereft of home, kindred, and allthey possessed), they bore their misfortunes with the uncomplainingstoicism so characteristic of their race.

The immediate question was how to dispose of these unfortunates.I could not take them away in the sloop, and I knew that they wouldprefer to remain in the neighborhood where they were born. But theoasis was uninhabitable. A few weeks and it would be merged oncemore in the desert from which it had been so painfully won.Therefore I proposed that they should settle at Alta Vista undercharge of the priest. Alta Vista being above the volcano nooutburst of lava could reach them, and the azequia beingintact beyond that point they could easily bring more land undercultivation and live in comfort and abundance.

To this proposal the survivors and the priest gladly andgratefully assented. They were very good, those poor Indians, andseemed much more concerned over our approaching departure thantheir own fate, beseeching us, with many entreaties, not to leavethem. Angela would have yielded, but I was obdurate. I could notsee that it was in any sense our duty to bury ourselves in a remotecorner of the Andes for the sake of a score or two of Indians whowere very well able to do without us. What could be the good ofbuilding up another colony and creating another oasis merely thatthe evil genii of the mountains might destroy them in a night? Hadthe abbé, instead of spending a lifetime in making Quipai,devoted his energies to some other work, he might have won forhimself enduring fame and permanently benefited mankind. As it was,he had effected less than nothing, and I was resolved not to courthis fate by following his example.

Those were the arguments I used to Angela, and in the end shenot only fully agreed with me that it was well for us to go, butthat the sooner we went the better. The means were at hand. Yawlcould have the yacht ready for sea within twenty-four hours. Therewas little more to do than head the sails and get water andprovisions on board. I had the casks filled forthwith—for thewater in the channels was fast draining away—set some of thepeople to work preparing tasajo, and sent Ramon with themules and two arrieros to Alta Vista for the remainder ofour clothing, bedding, and several other things which I thoughtwould be useful on the voyage.

Ramon, I may mention, was my own personal attendant. He had beenbrought up and educated by Angela and myself, and was warmlyattached to us. In disposition he was bright and courageous, infeatures almost European; there could be little doubt that he wasdescended from some white castaway, who had landed on the coast andbeen adopted by this tribe. He said it would break his heart if weleft him behind, so we took him with us, and he has ever since beenthe faithful companion of my wanderings and my trusty friend.

My wife and I slept in our tent, Kidd and Yawl on the sloop. Asthe sails were not bent nor the boat victualled, I had no fear oftheir giving us the slip in the night. In the morning Ramon and thearrieros returned with their lading, and by sunset we hadeverything on board and was ready for a start.

The next thing was to settle our course. I wanted to reach aport where I could turn some of my diamonds into cash and takeshipping for England, the West Indies, or the United States. Wewere between Valparaiso and Callao, and the former place, as beingon the way, seemed the more desirable place to make for. But as theprevailing winds on the coast are north and northwest a voyage inthe opposite direction would involve much beating up and nastyfetches, and, in all probability, be long and tedious. For thesereasons I decided in favor of Callao, and told Kidd to shape ourcourse accordingly.

“Just as you like, sir,” he said; “it is allthe same to Yawl and me where we go. But it’s a longishstretch to Callao. Don’t you think we had better make forsome nearer place? There’s Islay, and there’s Arica;and I doubt whether our water will last out till we get toCallao.”

“We must make it last till we get to Callao,” Ianswered, sharply; “except under compulsion I will put inneither at Islay nor Arica.”

“All right, sir! We are under your orders, and what yousay shall be done, as far as lies in our power.”

Kidd’s answer was civil but his manner was surly anddefiant, and it struck me that he might have some special reasonfor desiring to avoid Callao. But I was resolved to go thither, sothat in case of need I might claim the protection of the Britishconsul, whom I was sure to find there. I was by no means sure thatI should find one either at Islay or Arica. I knew something of theways of Spanish revenue officers, and as I had no papers, it wasquite possible that (in the absence of a consul) I might be castinto prison and plundered of all I possessed, especially if Mr.Kidd should hint that it included a bag of diamonds.

The sloop’s accommodation for passengers was neitherextensive nor luxurious. The small cabin aft was just big enough tohold Angela and myself, and once in it, we were like rats in ahole, as, to get out, we had to climb an almost perpendicularladder. Kidd and Yawl were to sleep, turn and turn about, in a sortof dog-house which they had contrived in the bows. Ramon would rollhimself in his cobija and sleep anywhere.

Before going on board I made such arrangements as I hoped wouldinsure us against foul play. I stitched one half of the diamonds inmy waist-belt; the other half my wife hid away in her dress. Amongthe things brought down from Alta Vista was an exquisite littledagger with a Damascened blade, which I gave to Angela. I had myhunting-knife, and Ramon his machete.

I laid it down as a rule from which there was to be nodeparture, that Ramon and I were neither to sleep at the same timenor be in the cabin together, and that when we had anythingparticular to say we should say it in Quipai. As it happened, heknew a little English; I had taught my wife my mother-tongue, andRamon, by dint of hearing it spoken, and with a little instructionfrom me and from her, had become so far proficient in the languagethat he could understand the greater part of what was said. This,however, was not known to Kidd and Yawl; I told him not to let themknow; but whenever opportunity occurred to listen to theirconversation, and report it to me. I thought that if they meditatedevil against us I might in this way obtain timely information oftheir designs; and I considered that, in the circ*mstances (ourlives being, as I believed, in jeopardy), the expedient was quitejustifiable.

We sailed at sunset and got well away, and the clear sky andresplendent stars, the calm sea and the fair soft wind augured wellfor a prosperous voyage. Yet my heart was sad and my spirits werelow. The parting with our poor Indians had been very trying, and Icould not help asking myself whether I had acted quite rightly indeserting them, whether it would not have been nobler (thoughperhaps not so worldly wise) to throw in my lot with theirs and tryto recreate the oasis, as Angela had suggested. I also doubtedwhether I was acting the part of a prudent man in embarking mywife, my fortune, and myself on a wretched little sloop (whichwould probably founder in the first storm), under the control oftwo men of whom I knew no good, and who, as I feared, might play usfalse?

But whether I had acted wisely or unwisely, there was no goingback now, and as I did not want Angela to perceive that I waseither dubious or downcast, I pulled myself together, put on acheerful countenance, and spoke hopefully of our prospects.

She was with us on deck, Kidd being at the helm.

“I have no very precise idea how far we maybe fromCallao,” I said, “but if this wind lasts we should bethere in five or six days at the outside. Don’t you think so,Kidd?”

“May be. You still think of going to Callao,then?”

“Still think of going to Callao! I am determined to go toCallao. Why do you ask? Did not I distinctly say so before westarted?”

“I thought you had maybe changed your mind. And Callaowon’t be easy to make. Neither Yawl nor me has ever beenthere; we don’t know the bearings, and we have no compass,and I don’t know much about the stars in theselatitudes.”

“But I do, and better still, I have a compass.”

“A compass! Do you hear that, Bill Yawl? Mr. Fortescue hasgot a compass. Go to Callao! Why, we can go a’most anywhere.Where have you got it, sir—in the cabin?”

“Yes, Abbé Balthazar and I made it, ever so longsince. It is only rudely fashioned, and has never been adjusted,but I dare say it will answer the purpose as well asanother.”

“Of course it will, and if you’ll kindly bring ithere, it’ll be a great help. I reckon if I keep her headabout—”

“Nor’ by west.”

“Ay, ay, sir, that’s it, I have no doubt. If I keepher head nor’ by west, I dare say we shall fetch Callao assoon as you was a-saying just now. But Bill and me should have thecompass before us when we’re steering; and to-morrowwe’ll try to rig up a bit of a binnacle. You, perhaps, wouldnot mind fetching it now, sir?—Bring that patent lantern ofyours, Bill.”

I fetched the compass and Yawl the lantern, made of a glassbottle and a piece of copper sheeting (like the rest of ourequipments, the spoil of the sea).

Kidd was quite delighted with the compass, the card of which wasproperly marked and framed in a block of wood, and said it couldeasily be suspended on gimbals and fixed on a binnacle.

After a while, Angela, who felt tired, went below, and I withher, but only to fetch my cobija and a pillow, for, as Itold Kidd, I intended to remain on deck all night, the cabin beingtoo close and stuffy for two persons. This was true, yet not thewhole truth. I had another reason; I saw that nothing would beeasier than for Kidd or Yawl to slip on the cabin-hatch while I wasbelow, and so have us at their mercy, for Ramon, though a stalwartyouth enough, could not contend with the two sailorssingle-handed.

“Just as you like, sir; it’s all the same tome,” answered Kidd, rather shortly, and then relapsed intothoughtful silence.

I felt sure that he was scheming something which boded us nogood, though, as yet, I had no idea what it could be. His motivefor desiring to take the sloop to Islay or Arica, rather than toCallao, was pretty obvious, but why he should change his mind onthe subject simply because of the compass, passed my comprehension.We could make Callao merely by running up the coast, with which,despite his disclaimer, I had not the least doubt he was quitefamiliar; and even if he were not, there was nothing in a compassto enlighten him.

But whatever his scheme might be I did not think he wouldattempt to use force—unless he could take us at adisadvantage. Man for man, Ramon and I were quite equal to Kidd andYawl. We were, moreover, better armed, as so far as I knew, theyhad no weapons, save their sailors’ knives. In a personalstruggle, they might come off second best; were, in any case,likely to get badly hurt, and unless I was much mistaken, theywanted to get hold of my diamonds with a minimum of risk tothemselves. Wherefore, so long as we kept a sharp lookout, we hadlittle to fear from open violence. As for the scheme which wasseething in Kidd’s brain, I must needs wait for furtherdevelopments before taking measures to counteract it.

When I had come to this conclusion I told Ramon, in Quipai, tolie down, and that when I wanted to sleep I would waken him.

I watched until midnight, at which hour Yawl relieved Kidd atthe helm, and Kidd turned in. Shortly afterward I roused Ramon, andbade him keep watch while I slept.

Chapter XXXII.

Found Out.

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When I awoke it was broad daylight, Yawl at the helm, the sloopbowling along at a great rate before a fresh breeze. But, to myutter surprise, there was no land in sight.

“How is this, Yawl?” I asked; “we are out ofdoors. How have you been steering?”

“The course you laid down sir, nor’ bywest.”

“That is impossible. I am not much of a seaman, yet I knowthat if you had been steering nor’ by west, we should havethe coast under our lee, and we cannot even see the peaks of theCordillera.”

“Of course you cannot; they are covered with amist,” put in Kidd.

“I see no mist; moreover, the Cordillera is visible ahundred miles away, and by good rights we should not be more thanthirty or forty miles from the coast.”

“It’s the fault of your compass, then. The darnedthing is all wrong. Better chuck it overboard and have done withit.”

“If you do, I’ll chuck you overboard. The compass isquite correct. You have been steering due west for some purpose ofyour own, against my orders.”

“Oh, that’s your game, is it? You are the skipper,and us a brace of lubbers as doesn’t know north from west, Isuppose. Let him sail the cursed craft hissel, Bill.”

Yawl let go the tiller, on which the sloop broached to andnearly went on her beam ends. This was more than I could bear, andcalling on Ramon to follow me, I sprang forward, seized Kidd by thethroat, and, drawing my dagger, told him that unless he promised toobey my orders and do his duty, I would make an end of him then andthere. Meanwhile, Ramon was keeping Yawl off with hismachete, flourishing it around his head in a way that madethe old salt’s hair nearly stand on end. Seeing thatresistance was useless, Kidd caved in.

“I ask your pardon, Mr. Fortescue,” he said,hoarsely, for my hand was still on his throat. “I ask yourpardon, but I lost my temper, and when I lose my temper it’sthe very devil; I don’t know what I’m doing; but Ipromise faithfully to obey your orders and do my duty.”

On this I loosed him, and bade Ramon put up his macheteand let Yawl go back to his steering. In one sense this was anuntoward incident. It made Kidd my personal enemy. Quite apart fromthe question of the diamonds, he would bear me a grudge and do mean ill turn if he could. He was that sort of a man. Henceforward itwould be war to the knife between us, and I should have to be moreon my guard than ever. On the other hand, it was a distinctadvantage to have beaten him in a contest for the mastery; if hehad beaten me, I should have had to accept whatever conditions hemight have thought fit to impose, for I was quite unable to sailthe sloop myself.

A light was thrown on his motive for changing the sloop’scourse by something Ramon had told me when the trouble was over.Shortly before I awoke he heard Kidd say to Yawl that he would verymuch like to know where I had hidden the diamonds, and that if theycould only keep her head due west, we should make San Ambrosioabout the same time that I was expecting to make Callao.

I had never heard of San Ambrosio before; but the fact of Kiddwanting to go thither was reason enough for my not wanting to go,so I bade Yawl steer due north, that is to say, parallel with thecoast, and as the continent of South America trends considerably tothe westward, about twenty degrees south of the equator, I reckonedthat this course should bring us within sight of land on thefollowing day, or the day after, according to the speed wemade.

I not only told Yawl and Kidd to steer north, but saw that theydid it, as to which, the compass being now always before us, therewas no difficulty. Thinking it was well to learn to steer, I took ahand now and again at the tiller, under the direction of Kidd,whose manners my recent lesson had greatly improved. He was veryaffable, and obeyed my orders with alacrity and seeminggood-will.

The next day I began to look out for land, without, however,much expectation of seeing any, but when a second day, being thethird of our voyage, ended with the same result or, rather, want ofresult, I became uneasy, and expressed myself in this sense toKidd.

“You have miscalculated the distance,” he said,“and there’s nothing so easy, when you’ve nochart and can take no observations. And how can you tell thesloop’s rate of sailing? The wind is fair andconstant—it always is in the trades—but how do you knowas there is not a strong current dead against us? I don’tthink there’s the least use looking for land beforeto-morrow.”

This rather reassured me. It was quite true that the sloop mightnot be going so fast as I reckoned, and the coast be farther offthan I thought—although I did not much believe in thecurrent.

But the morrow came and went, and still no sign of land, andagain, on the fifth day, the sun rose on an unbroken expanse ofwater. In clear weather—and no weather could beclearer—the Andes, as I had heard, were visible to mariners ahundred and fifty miles out at sea. Yet not a peak could be seen.Then I knew beyond a doubt that something was wrong. What could itbe? Sailing as swiftly as we had been for five days, it wasinconceivable that we should not have made land if we had beensteering north, and for that I had the evidence of my senses.Where, then, was the mystery?

As I asked myself this question, Ramon touched me on theshoulder, and whispered in Quipai:

“Just now Yawl said to Kidd that it was quite time wesighted San Ambrosio, and that if we missed it, after all, it wouldbe cursed awkward. And Kidd answered that ‘if we fell in withHux it would be all right.’”

This was more puzzling still. He had said before that, if wecontinued on the westward tack, we should make San Ambrosio at thetime I was expecting to sight Callao, and now, although we weresailing due north, the villains counted on making San Ambrosio allthe same.

Where was San Ambrosio? Not on the coast, for they were clearlylooking for it then, had probably been looking for it some time,and the mainland must be at least two hundred miles away. If not onthe coast San Ambrosio was an island, yet how it could lie both tothe west and to the north was not quite obvious. And who was Hux,and why should falling in with him make matters all right for myinteresting shipmates? Of one thing I felt sure—all right forthese meant all wrong for me, and it behooved me to prevent themeeting—but how?

While these thoughts were passing through my mind, I was pacingto and fro on the sloop’s deck, where was also Angela,sitting on a cobija, and leaning against the taffrail,Kidd being at the helm, and Ramon and Yawl smoking in the bows, forthough they did not quite trust each other, they occasionallyexchanged a not unfriendly word. Now and then I glancedmechanically at the compass. As I have already mentioned, it wasnot an ordinary ship compass in a brass frame, but a makeshiftaffair, in a wooden frame, to which Kidd had attached makeshiftgimbals and hung on a makeshift binnacle, the latter being fixedbetween the tiller and the cabin-hatch. The deck was very narrow,and to lengthen my tether I generally passed between the tiller andthe binnacle, sometimes exchanging a word with Angela. Once, as Idid so, the sun’s rays fell athwart the sloop’s stern,and, happening the same moment to look at the compass, I made adiscovery that sent the blood with sudden rush first to my heartand then to my brain; a small piece of iron, invisible in anordinary light, had been driven into the framework of the compass,close to that part of the card marked “W,” therebydeflecting the needle to the point in question, so that ever sinceour departure from Quipai, we had been steering due west, insteadof north by west, as I intended and believed. The dodge might nothave deceived a seaman, but it had certainly deceived me.

“You infernal scoundrel, I have found you out. Lookthere!” I shouted, pointing at the piece of iron. As I spokeKidd let go the tiller, and quick as lightning gave me a tremendousblow with his fist between the shoulders, which just missedthrowing me head foremost down the cabin-hatch, and sent me facedownward on the deck breathless and half stunned. Before I couldeven think of rising, Kidd, who, as he struck, shouted to Yawl to“kill the Indian,” was kneeling on my back with hisfingers round my windpipe.

“At last! I have you now, you conceited jackanapes, youd—d sea-lawyer. Where have you got them diamonds? Youwon’t answer! Shall I throttle you, or brain you with thisbelaying-pin? I’ll throttle you; then there’ll be noneof your dirty blood to swab up.”

With that the villain squeezed my windpipe still tighter, andquite unable either to struggle or speak, I was giving myself upfor lost, when his hold suddenly relaxed, and groaning deeply, hesank beside me on the deck. Freed from his weight, I staggered tomy feet to find that I owed my life to Angela, who had used herdagger to such purpose that Kidd was like never to speak again.

“Ramon! Ramon! Haste, or that man will kill him,”she cried, all in a tremble, and pale with horror at the thought ofher own boldness.

Yawl’s onslaught was so sudden that the boy had beenunable to draw his machete, and after a desperate bout oftugging and straining, the sailor had got the upper-hand and wasnow kneeling on Ramon’s chest, and feeling for his knife.Though sorely bruised with my fall, and still gasping for breath, Iran to the rescue, and gripping Yawl by the shoulders, bore himbackward on the deck. Another moment, and we had him at our mercy;I held down his head, while Ramon, astride on his body, pinionedhis arms.

“Now, look here, Yawl!” I said. “You havetried to commit murder and deserve to die; your comrade andaccomplice is dead, but I will spare your life on conditions. Youmust promise to obey my orders as if I were your captain, and youunder articles of war, and help me to work the sloop to Callao, orsome other port on the mainland. In return, I promise not to bringany charge against you when we get there.”

“All right, sir! Kidd was my master, and I obeyed him; nowyou are my master and I will obey you.”

I quite believed that the old salt was speaking sincerely. Hehad been so completely under Kidd’s influence as to have nowill of his own.

“Good! but there is something else. I must have thosediamonds he stole from my house at Alta Vista. Where arethey?”

“Stitched inside his jersey, under thearm-hole.”

I went to Kidd’s body, cut open his jersey, and found thediamonds in two small canvas bags. They were among the largest Ihad and (as I subsequently found) worth fifty thousand pounds.After we had thrown the body overboard, I ordered Yawl to put thesloop on the starboard tack, and myself taking the helm changed thecourse to due north. Then I asked him who he and Kidd were, whencethey came, and why they had so shamefully deceived me as to thecourse we were steering.

On this Yawl answered in a dry, matter-of-fact manner, as if itwere all in the way of business, that Kidd had been captain and heboatswain and carpenter of a “free-trader,” known asthe Sky Scraper, Sulky Sail, and by several other aliases; that thecaptain and crew fell out over a division of plunder, of which Kiddwanted the lion’s share, the upshot being that he and Yawl,who had taken sides with him, were shoved into the dinghy and sentadrift. In these circ*mstances they naturally made for the nearestland, which proved to be Quipai, and deeming it inexpedient toconfess that they were pirates, pretended to be castaways. Theybuilt the sloop with the idea of stealing away by themselves, andbut for my discovery of the theft of the diamonds and the burstingof the crater would have done so. As I suspected, Kidd allowed usto go with them, solely with a view to cutting our throats andappropriating the remainder of the diamonds. This design beingfrustrated by our watchfulness, he next conceived the notion ofputting in at Arica or Islay, charging me with robbing him, and, incollusion with the authorities, whom he intended to bribe,depriving me of all I possessed. This plan likewise failing, andhaving a decided objection to Callao, where he was known and wherethere might be a British cruiser as well as a British consul, Kiddhit on the brilliant idea of doctoring the compass and making methink we were going north by west, while our true course was almostdue west, his object being to reach San Ambrosio, a group of rockyislets some three hundred miles from the coast, and a piratestronghold and trysting-place. If they did not find any oldcomrades there, they would at least find provisions, water, andfirearms, and so be able, as they thought, to despoil me of mydiamonds. Also Kidd had hopes of falling in with Captain Hux, aworthy of the same kidney, who commanded the“free-trader” Culebra, and whose favoritecruising-ground was northward of San Ambrosio.

“But in my opinion,” observed Mr. Yawl, coolly, whenhe had finished his story, “in my opinion we passed south ofthe islands last night, and so I told Kidd; they’re verysmall, and as there’s no lights, easy missed.”

“We must be a long way from Callao, then. How far do yousuppose?”

“That is more than I can tell; may be four hundredmiles.”

“And how long do you think it will take us to get there,assuming it to be four hundred miles?”

“Well, on this tack and with this breeze—you see,sir, the wind has fallen off a good deal since sunrise—withthis breeze, about eight days.”

“Eight days!” I exclaimed, in consternation.“Eight days! and I don’t think we have food and waterenough for two. Come with me below, Ramon, and let me see how muchwe have left.”

Chapter XXXIII.

Grief and Pain.

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It was even worse than I feared. Reckoning neither on a longervoyage than five or six days nor on being so far from the coastthat, in case of emergency, we could not obtain fresh supplies, wehad used both provisions and water rather recklessly, and now Ifound that of the latter we had no more than, at our recent rate ofconsumption, would last eighteen hours, while of food we had asmuch as might suffice us for twenty-four. It was necessary toreduce our allowance forthwith, and I put it to Yawl whether wecould not make for some nearer port than Callao. Better risk theloss of my diamonds than die of hunger and thirst. Yawl’sanswer was unfavorable. The nearest port of the coast as todistance was the farthest as to time. To reach it, the wind beingnorth by west, we should have to make long fetches and frequenttacks, whereas Callao, or the coast thereabout, could be reached bysailing due north. So there seemed nothing for it but to economizeour resources to the utmost and make all the speed we could. Yet,do as we might, it was evident that, unless we could obtain asupply of food and water from some passing ship we should have toput ourselves on a starvation allowance. I was, however, much lessconcerned for myself and the others, than for Angela. Accustomed asshe had been to a gentle, uneventful, happy life, the catastropheof Quipai, the anxieties we had lately endured, and the confinementof the sloop, were telling visibly on her health. Moreover,Kidd’s death, richly as he deserved his fate, had been agreat shock to her. She strove to be cheerful, and displayedsplendid courage, yet the increasing pallor of her cheeks and thesadness in her eyes, showed how much she suffered. We men stintedourselves of water that she might have enough, but seeing this shedeclined to take more than her share, often refusing to drink whenshe was tormented with thirst.

And then there befell an accident which well-nigh proved fatalto us all. A gust of wind blew the mainsail (made of grass-cloth)into ribbons, the consequence being that our rate of sailing wasreduced to two knots an hour, and our hope of reaching Callao tozero.

Meanwhile, Angela grew weaker and weaker, she fell into a lowfever, was at times even delirious, and I began to fear that,unless help speedily came, a calamity was imminent, which for mepersonally would be worse than the quenching of Quipai. And when wewere at the last extremity, mad with thirst and feeble withfasting, help did come. One morning at daylight Yawl sighted asail—a large vessel a few miles astern of us, but a point ortwo more to the west, and on the same tack as ourselves. We alteredthe sloop’s course at once so as to bring her across thestranger’s bows, for having neither ensign to reverse, norgun wherewith to fire a signal of distress, it was a matter of lifeand death for us to get within hailing-distance.

“What is she! Can you make her out?” I asked Yawl,as trembling with excitement, we looked longingly at the noble shipin which centered our hopes.

“Three masts! A merchantman? No, I’m blest if Idon’t think she’s a man-of-war. So she is, a frigateand a firm ’un—forty or fifty guns, I shouldsay.”

“Under what flag?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute—Union Jack! No,stars and stripes. She belongs to Uncle Sam, she do, sir, andhe’s no call to be ashamed of her; she’s a perfectbeauty and well handled. By—I do believe they see us. Theyare shortening sail. We shall be alongside in a fewminutes.”

“Who are you and what do you want?” asked a voicefrom the frigate, so soon as we were within hail.

“We are English and starving. For God’s sake, throwus a rope!” I answered.

The rope being thrown and the sloop made fast, I asked theofficer of the watch to take us on board the frigate, as seeing thecondition of our boat and ourselves, I did not think we couldpossibly reach our destination, that my wife was very sick, andunless she could have better attention than we were able to giveher, might not recover.

“Of course we will take you on board—and the poorlady. Pass the word for the doctor, you there! But what on earthare you doing with a lady in a craft like that, so far out at sea,too?”

Without waiting for an answer to his question, the officerordered a hammock to be lowered, in which we carefully placedAngela, who was thereupon hoisted on the frigate’s deck. Wemen followed, and were received by a fine old gentleman with aflorid face and white hair, whom I rightly conjectured to be thecaptain.

“Well,” he said, quietly, “what can I do foryou?”

“Water,” I gasped, for the exertion of coming onboard had been almost too much for me.

“Poor fellow! Certainly. Why did I not think of it before?You shall have both food and drink. Somebody bring water with adash of rum in it—not too much, they are weak. And Mr.Charles, tell the wardroom steward to get a square meal ready forthis gentleman. Might I ask your name, sir?”

“Nigel Fortescue.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fortescue. Mine is Bigelow, and I have thehonor to command the United States ship Constellation. Here’sthe water! I hope you have not forgotten the dash of rum,Tomkins.—There! Take a long drink. You will feel better now,and when you have had a square meal, you shall tell me all aboutit. And the others? You are an old salt, anybody can seethat.”

“Yes, sir. Bill Yawl at your service, an oldman-o’-war’s man, able-bodied seaman,bo’s’n, and ship’s carpenter, anything you likesir. Ax your pardon, sir, but a glass of half-watergrog—”

“Not until you have eaten. Then you may have two glasses.Tomkins, take these men to the purser and tell him to give them asquare meal. The doctor is attending to your wife, Mr. Fortescue.She is in my state-room and shall have every comfort we can giveher.”

“I thank you with all my heart, Captain Bigelow. You arereally too good, I can never—”

“Tut, tut, tut, my dear sir. Pray don’t say a word.I have only given her my spare state-room. Mr. Charles will takeyou to the ward-room, we can talk afterward. Meanwhile, I shallhave your belongings got on board, and then, I suppose, we hadbetter sink that craft of yours. If we leave her to knock about theocean she may be knocking against some ship in the night and doingher a mischief.”

After I had eaten the “square meal” set for me inthe ward-room, and spent a few minutes with Angela, I joined thecaptain and first lieutenant in the former’s state-room, andover a glass of grog, told them briefly, but frankly, something ofmy life and adventures.

“Well, it is the queerest yarn I ever heard; but I daresay none the less true on that account,” said CaptainBigelow, when I had finished. “With that sweet lady for yourwife and your belt full of diamonds, you may esteem yourself one ofthe most fortunate of men. And you did quite right to get away fromthat place. But what was your point? where did you expect to get towith that sloop of yours?”

“Callao.”

“Callao! Why the course you were on would never have takenyou to Callao. Callao lies nor’ by east, not nor’ bywest. If you had not fallen in with us, I am afraid you would neverhave got anywhere.”

“I am sure we should not. Three days more and we shouldhave died of thirst.”

“Where shall we put you ashore?”

“That is for you to say. Where would it beconvenient?”

“How would Panama suit you?”

“It is just the place. We could cross the isthmus toChagres; but before going to England, I should like to call at LaGuayra, and find out whether my friend Carmen stilllives.”

“You can do that easily; but if I were you, and had allthose diamonds in my possession, I would get home as quickly aspossible, and put them in a place of safety. There are men whowould commit a thousand murders for one of them.”

“Well, I shall see. Perhaps I had better consign them toLondon through some merchant, and have them insured.”

“Perhaps you had, especially if you can get somebody toinsure the insurer. And take my advice, don’t tell a soul onboard what you have told us. My crew are passably honest, but ifthey knew how many diamonds you carried about you, I should be verysorry to go bail for them.”

As I went on deck after our talk, I was met by the surgeon.

“A word with you, Mr. Fortescue,” he said, gravely,taking me aside, “your wife—”

“Yes, sir, what about my wife?” I asked, with asudden sinking of the heart, for the man’s manner was evenmore portentous than his words.

“She is very ill.”

“She was very ill, and if we had remained longer on thesloop—but now—with nourishing food and your care,doctor, she will quickly regain her strength. Indeed, she is betteralready.”

“For the moment. But she is very much reduced and thesymptoms are grave. A recurrence of the fever—”

“But such a fever is so easily cured. I know what you arehinting at, doctor. Yet I cannot think—You will not let herdie. After surmounting so many dangers, and being so miraculouslyrescued, and with prospects so fair, it would be toocruel.”

“I will do my best, sir, you may be sure. But I thought itmy duty to prepare you for the worst. The issue is withGod.”

This is a part of my story on which I care not to dwell. Evenyet I cannot think of it without grief and pain. My dear wife wastaken from me. She died in my arms, her hand in mine, as sweetlyand serenely as she had lived. But for Captain Bigelow and hisofficers I should have buried myself with Angela in the fathomlesssea. I owed him my life a second time—such as itwas—more, for he taught me the duty and grace of resignation,showed me that, though to cherish the memory of a great sorrowennobles a man, he who abandons himself to unmeasured grief is aspusillanimous as he who shirks his duty on the field of battle.

Captain Bigelow had a great heart and a chivalrous nature. AfterAngela’s death he treated me more as a cherished son than asa casual guest. Before we reached Panama we were fast friends. Heprovided me with clothing and gave me money for my immediate wants,as to have attempted to dispose of any of my diamonds there, or atChagres, might have exposed me to suspicion, possibly to danger. Inacknowledgement of his kindness and as a souvenir of ourfriendship, I persuaded him to accept one of the finest stones inmy collection, and we parted with mutual assurances of goodwill andnot without hope of meeting again.

Ramon of course, went with me. Bill Yawl, equally of of course,I left behind. He had slung his hammock in theConstellation’s fo’castle, and became captain of theforetop.

Chapter XXXIV.

Old Friends and a New Foe.

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I had made up my mind to see Carmen, if he still lived; andfinding at Chagres a schooner bound for La Guayra I took passagesin her for myself and Ramon, all the more willingly as the captainproposed to put in at Curaçoa. It occurred to me that VanVoorst, the Dutch merchant in whose hands I had left six hundredpounds, would be a likely man to advise me as to the disposal of mydiamonds—if he also still lived.

Rather to my surprise, for people die fast in the tropics, I didfind the old gentleman alive, but he had made so sure of my deaththat my reappearance almost caused his. The pipe he was smokingdropped from his mouth, and he sank back in his chair with anexclamation of fear and dismay.

“Yor need not be alarmed, Mynheer Van Voorst,” Isaid; “I am in the flesh.”

“I am glad to see you in the flesh. I don’t believein ghosts, of course. But I happened to be in what you call a brownstudy, and as I had heard you were shot long ago on the llanos yourather startled me, coming in so quietly—that rascally boyought to have announced you. But I was not afraid—not in theleast. Why should one be afraid of a ghost! And I saw at a glancethat, as you say, you were in the flesh. I suppose you have come toinquire about your money. It is quite safe, my dear sir, and atyour disposal, and you will find that it has materially increased.I will call for the ledger, and you shall see.”

The ledger was brought in by a business-looking young man, whomthe old merchant introduced to me as his nephew and partner,Mynheer Bernhard Van Voorst.

“This is Mr. Fortescue, Bernhard,” he said,“the English gentleman who was dead—I mean that Ithought he was dead, but is alive—and who many years ago leftin my hands a sum of about two thousand piasters. Turn to hisaccount and see how much there is now to his credit?”

“At the last balance the amount to Mr. Fortescue’scredit was six thousand two hundredpiasters.”²2. At the timein question, “piaster” was a word often used as anequivalent for “dollar,” both in the “Gulfports” and the West Indies.

“You see! Did I not say so? Your capital is more thandoubled.”

“More than doubled! How so?”

“We have credited you with the colonial rate ofinterest—ten per cent.—as was only right, seeing thatyou had no security, and we had used the money in our business; andmy friend, compound interest at ten per cent, is a greatinstitution. It beats gold-mining, and is almost as profitable asbeing President of the Republic of Venezuela. How will you takeyour balance, Mr. Fortescue? We will have the account made up todate. I can give you half the amount in hard money—coin isnot too plentiful just now in Curaçoa, half in drafts atseven days’ sight on the house of Goldberg, Van Voorst &Company, at Amsterdam, or Spring & Gerolstein, at London. Theyare a young firm, but do a safe business and work with a largecapital.”

“I am greatly obliged to you but all I require at presentis about five hundred piasters, in hard money.”

“Ah then, you have made money where you have been?”observed Mr. Van Voorst, eying me keenly through his great hornspectacles.

“Not money, but money’s worth,” I replied, forI had quite decided to make a confident of the honest old Dutchman,whom I liked all the better for going straight to the point withoutasking too many questions.

“Then it must be merchandise and merchandise ismoney—sometimes.”

“Yes, it is merchandise.”

“If it be readily salable in this island or on the SpanishMain we shall be glad to receive it from you on consignment andmake you a liberal advance against bills of lading. Hardware andcotton prints are in great demand just now, and if it is anythingof that sort we might sell it to arrive.”

“It is nothing of that sort, Mr. Van Voorst.”

“More portable, perhaps?”

“Yes, more portable.”

“If you could show me a sample—”

“I can show you the bulk.”

“You have got it in the schooner?”

“No, I have got it here.”

“Gold dust?”

“Diamonds. I found them in the Andes, and shall be glad tohave your advice as to their disposal.”

“Diamonds! Ach! you are a happy man. If you would like toshow me them I can perhaps give you some idea of their value. Thehouse of Goldberg & Van Voorst, at Amsterdam, in which I wasbrought up, deal largely in precious stones.”

On this I undid my belt and poured the diamonds on a large sheetof white paper, which Mr. Van Voorst spread on his desk.

“Mein Gott! Mein Gott!” he exclaimed inecstacy, glaring at the diamonds through his big glasses andpicking out the finest with his fat fingers. “This is thefinest collection of rough stones I ever did see. They areworth—until they are weighed and cut it is impossible to sayhow much—but at least a million dollars, probably twomillions. You found them in the Andes? You could not say where,could you, Mr. Fortescue?”

“I could, but I would rather not.”

“I beg your pardon. I should have known better than toask. You intend to go there again, of course?”

“Never! It would be at the risk of my life—and thereare other reasons.”

“There is no need. You are rich already, and enough is asgood as a feast. You ask my advice as to the disposal of thesestones. Well, my advice is that you consign them, through us, tothe house of Goldberg, Van Voorst & Company. They are honestand experienced. They will get them cut and sell them for you atthe highest price. They are, moreover, one of the richest houses inAmsterdam, trustworthy without limit. What do you say?”

“Yes, I will act on your advice, and consign these stonesto your friends for sale at Amsterdam, or elsewhere, as they maythink best. And be good enough to ask them to advise me as to theinvestment of the proceeds.”

“They will do that with pleasure, mine friend, and havingfinancial relations with every monetary centre in Europe theycommand the best information. And now we must count and weigh thesestones carefully, and I shall give you a receipt in proper form.They must be shipped in three or four parcels so as to divide therisk, and I will write to Goldberg & Van Voorst to take outopen policies ‘by ship or ships’—for how muchshall we say?”

“That I must leave to you, Mr. Van Voorst.”

“Then I will say two million dollars—better make ittoo much than too little—and two millions may not be toomuch. I do not profess to be an expert, and, as likely as not, myestimate is very wide of the mark.”

After the diamonds had been counted and weighed, and a receiptwritten out, in duplicate and in two languages, I informed Mr. VanVoorst of my intention to visit Caracas and asked whether thingswere pretty quiet there.

“At Caracas itself, yes. But in the interior they arefighting, as usual. The curse of Spanish rule has been succeeded bythe still greater curse of chronic revolution.”

“But foreigners are admitted, I suppose? I run no risk ofbeing clapped in prison as I was last time?”

“Not the least. You can go and come as you please. Youdon’t even require a passport. The Spaniards, who were onceso hated, are now almost popular. I hear that several Spanishofficers, who served in the royal army during the war, are now atCaracas, and have offered their swords to the government for thesuppression of the present rebellion. Do you intend to stay long inVenezuela?”

“I think not. In any case I shall see you before I leavefor Europe. Much depends on whether I find my friend Carmenalive.”

“Carmen, Carmen! I seem to know the name. Is he ageneral?”

“Scarcely, I should think. He was only a tenienteof guerillas when we parted some ten years ago.”

“They are all generals now, my dear sir, and as plentifulas frogs in my native land. If you are ever in doubt as to the rankof a Venezolano, you are always safe in addressing him as ageneral. Yes, I fancy you will find your friend alive. At any rate,there is a General Carmen, rather a leading man among the Blues, Ithink, and sometimes spoken of as a probable president. You will,of course, put up at the Hotel de los Generales. Ah, here isBernhard with the five hundred dollars in hard money, for which youasked. If you should want more, draw on us at sight. I will giveyou a letter of introduction to the house of Blühm &Bluthner at Caracas, who will be glad to cash your drafts at thecurrent rate of exchange, and to whose care I will address anyletters I may have occasion to write to you.”

This concluded my business with Mr. Van Voorst, and three dayslater I was once more in Caracas. I found the place very littlealtered, less than I was myself. I had entered it in high spirits,full of hope, eager for adventure, and intent on making my fortune.Now my heart was heavy with sorrow and bitter with disappointment.Though I had made my fortune, I had lost, as I thought, both thebuoyancy of youth and the capacity for enjoyment, and I lookedforward to the future without either hope or desire.

As I rode with Ramon into the patio of the hotel, whereI had been arrested by the alguazils of the Spanish governor, a mancame forward to greet me, so strikingly like the ancientposadero that I felt sure he was the latter’s son.My surmise proved correct, and I afterwards heard, not without asense of satisfaction, that the father was hanged by the patriotswhen they recaptured Caracas.

After I had engaged my rooms the posadero informed me(in answer to my inquiry) that General Salvador Carmen (this couldbe none other than my old friend) was with the army at La Victoria,but that he had a house at Caracas where his wife and family werethen residing. He also mentioned incidentally that several Spanishofficers of distinction, who had arrived a few days previously,were staying in the posada—doubtless the same spokenof by Van Voorst.

The day being still young, for I had left La Guayra betimes, Ithought I could not do better than call on Juanita, who lived onlya stone’s throw from the Hotel de los Generales. Sherecognized me at once and received me—almostliterally—with open arms. When I essayed to kiss her hand,she offered me her cheek.

“After this long time! It is a miracle!” sheexclaimed. “We mourned for you as one dead; for we felt surethat if you were living we should have had news of you. How gladSalvador will be! Where have you been all this time, and why, ohwhy, did you not write?”

“I have been in the heart of the Andes, and I did notwrite because I was as much cut off from the world as if I had beenin another planet.”

“You must have a long story to tell us, then. But I amforgetting the most important question of all. Are you still abachelor?”

“Worse than that, Juanita. I am a widower. I have lost thesweetest wife—”

“Misericordia! Misericordia! Pobre amigo mio! Oh,how sorry I am; how much I pity you!” And the dear lady, nowa stately and handsome matron, fell a-weeping out of puretenderness, and I had to tell her the sad story of the quenching ofQuipai and Angela’s death. But the telling of it, togetherwith Juanita’s sympathy, did me good, and I went away in muchbetter spirits than I had come. Salvador, she said, would be backin a few days, and she much regretted not being able to offer mequarters; it was contrary to the custom of the place and Spanishetiquette for ladies to entertain gentlemen visitors during theirhusbands’ absence.

After leaving Juanita I walked round by the guard-house in whichI had been imprisoned, and through the ruins where Carmen and I hadhidden when we were making our escape. They suggested some stirringmemories—Carera (who, as I learned from Juanita, had beendead several years) and his chivalrous friendship; Salvador and hisreckless courage; our midnight ride; Gahra and the bivouac by themountain-tarn (poor Gahra, what had become of him?); Majia and hisguerillas; Griscelli and his blood-hounds (how I hated that man,but surely by this time he had got his deserts); Gondocori andQueen Mamcuna; the man-killer; and Quipai.

My mind was still busied with these memories when I reached thehotel. There seemed to be much more going on than there had beenearlier in the day—horsem*n were coming and going, servantshurrying to and fro, people promenading on the patio, agroup of uniformed officers deep in conversation. One of them, atall, rather stout man, with grizzled hair, a pair of bigepaulettes, and a coat covered with gold lace, had his back towardme, and as my eye fell on his sword-hilt it struck me that I hadseen something like it before. I was trying to think where, whenthe owner of it turned suddenly round, and I found myself face toface with—GRISCELLI!!

For some seconds we stared at each other in blank amazement. Icould see that though he recognized me, he was trying to makebelieve that he did not; or, perhaps, he really doubted whether Iwas the man I seemed.

“That is my sword,” I said, pointing to the weaponby his side, which had been given to me by Carera.

“Your sword! What do you mean?” “You took itfrom me eleven years ago, when I fell into your hands at SanFelipe, and you hunted my friend Carmen and myself withbloodhounds.”

“What folly is this? Hunted you with bloodhounds,forsooth! Why, this is the first time I ever set eyes onyou—the man is mad—or drunk” (addressing hisfriends).

“You lie, Griscelli; and you are not a liar merely, but amurderer and a coward.”

“Por Dios, you shall pay for this insult withyour heart’s blood!” he shouted, furiously, halfdrawing his sword.

“It is like you to draw on an unarmed man.” I said,laying hold of his wrist. “Give me a sword, and you shallmake me pay for the insult with my blood—if you can.Señores” (by this time all the people in thepatio had gathered round us), “Señores, arethere here any Venezuelan caballeros who will bear me out in thisquarrel. I am an Englishman, by name Fortescue; eleven years ago,while serving under General Mejia on the patriot side, I fell intothe hands of General Griscelli, who deprived me of the sword he nowwears, which I received as a present from Señor Carera,whose name you may remember. Then, after deceiving us with falsepromises—my friend General Carmen and myself—he huntedus with his bloodhounds, and we escaped as by a miracle. Now heprotests that he never saw me before. What say you, señores,am I not right in stigmatizing him as a murderer andliar?”

“Quite right!” said a middle-aged, soldierly-lookingman. I also served in the war of liberation, and rememberGriscelli’s name well. It would serve him right to poniardhim on the spot.”

“No, no. I want no murder. I demand onlysatisfaction.”

“And he shall give it you or take the consequences. I willgladly act as one witness, and I am sure my friend here,Señor Don Luis de Medina, who is also a veteran of the war,will act as the other. Will you fight, Griscelli?”

“Certainly—provided that we fight at once, and tothe death. You can arrange the details with my friendshere.”

“Be it so.” I said, “A lamuerte.”

“To the death! To the death!” shouted the crowd,whose native ferocity was now thoroughly roused.

After a short conference and a reference to Griscelli andmyself, the seconds announced that we were to fight with swords inSeñor de Medina’s garden, whither we straightwaywended, for there were no police to meddle with us, and at thattime duels a la muerte were of daily occurrence in thecity of Caracas. When we arrived at the garden, which was only astone’s-throw walk from the posada, Señor deMedina produced two swords with cutting edges, and blades five feetlong; for we were to fight in Spanish fashion, and Spanish duelistsboth cut and thrust, and, when occasion serves, use the left handas a help in parrying.

Then the spectators, of whom there were fully two score, made aring, and Griscelli and I (having meanwhile doffed our hats, coats,and shirts), stepped into the arena.

I had not handled a sword for years, and for aught I knewGriscelli might be a consummate swordsman and in daily practice. Onthe other hand, he was too stout to be in first-rate condition,and, besides being younger, I had slightly the advantage in lengthof arm.

When the word was given to begin, he opened the attack withgreat energy and resolution, and was obviously intent on killing meif he could. For a minute or two it was all I could do to hold myown; and partly to test his strength and skill, partly to get myhand in, I stood purposely on the defensive.

At the end of the first bout neither of us had received ascratch, but Griscelli showed signs of fatigue while I was quitefresh. Also he was very angry and excited, and when we resumed hecame at me with more than his former impetuosity, as if he meant tobear me down by the sheer weight and rapidity of his strokes. Hisfavorite attack was a cut aimed at my head. Six several times herepeated this manoeuvre, and six times I stopped the stroke withthe usual guard. Baffled and furious, he tried it again,but—probably because of failing strength—less swiftlyand adroitly. My opportunity had come. Quick as thought I ran underhis guard, and, thrusting his right arm aside with my left hand,passed my sword through his body.

Then there were cries of bravo, for the popular feeling was onmy side, and my seconds congratulated me warmly on my victory. ButI said little in reply, my attention being attracted by a young manwho was kneeling beside Griscelli’s body and, as it mightseem, saying a silent prayer. When he had done he rose to his feet,and as I looked on his face I saw he was the dead man’sson.

“Sir, you have killed my father, and I shall killyou,” he said, in a calm voice, but with intense passion.“Yes, I shall kill you, and if I fail my cousins will killyou. If you escape us all, then we will charge our children toavenge the death of the man you have this day slain. We areCorsicans, and we never forgive. I know your name; mine is GiuseppeGriscelli.”

“You are distraught with grief, and know not what yousay,” I said as kindly as I could, for I pitied the lad.“But let not your grief make you unjust. Your father died infair fight. If I had not killed him he would have killed me, andyears ago he tried to hunt me to death for hisamusem*nt.”

“And I and mine—we will hunt you to death for ourrevenge. Or will you fight now? I am ready.”

“No, I have no quarrel with you, and I should be sorry tohurt you.”

“Go your way, then, but remember—”

“Better leave him; he seems half-crazed,” interposedMedina. “Come into my house while my slaves remove thebody.”

Chapter XXXV.

A Novel Wager.

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Three days afterward Carmen, apprised by his wife of my arrival,returned to Caracas, and I became their guest, greatly to mysatisfaction, for the duel with Griscelli, besides making metemporarily famous, had brought me so many friends and invitationsthat I knew not how to dispose of them.

In discussing the incident with Salvador, I expressed surprisethat Griscelli should have dared to return to a country where hehad committed so many cruelties and made so many enemies.

“He left Venezuela the year after you disappeared, andmuch is forgotten in ten years,” was the answer. “Allthe same, I don’t suppose he would have come back ifOlivarez—the last president and a Yellow—had not madeit known that he would bestow commissions on Spanish officers ofdistinction and give them commands in the national army. It was amost absurd proceeding. But we shot Olivarez three months ago, andI will see that these Spanish interlopers are sent out of thecountry forthwith, that young spark who threatens to murder you,included.”

“Let him stay if he likes. I doubt whether he meant whathe said.”

“I have no doubt of it, whatever, amigo mio, andhe shall go. If he stayed in the country I could not answer foryour safety; and if you come across any of the Griscellis inEurope, take my advice and be as watchful as if you were crossing ariver infested with caribe fish.”

Carmen was much discouraged by the state of the republic, aswell he might be. By turning out the Spaniards the former colonieshad merely exchanged despotism for anarchy; instead of being beatenwith whips they were beaten with scorpions. But though discouragedCarmen was not dismayed. He belonged to the Blues, who being inpower, regarded their opponents, the Yellows, as rebels; and he wasconfident that the triumph of his party would insure thetranquillity of the country. As he was careful to explain to me, hewas a Blue because he was a patriot, and he pressed me so warmly toreturn with him to La Victoria, accept a command in his army, andaid in the suppression of the insurrection, that I ended byconsenting.

At Carmen’s instance, the president gave me the command ofa brigade, and would have raised me to the rank of general. Butwhen I found that there were about three generals for every colonelI chose the nominally inferior but actually more distinguishedgrade.

I remained in Venezuela two years, campaigning nearly all thetime. But it was an ignoble warfare, cruel and ruthless, and had Inot given my word to Carmen, to stand by him until the country waspacified, I should have resigned my commission much sooner than Idid. Ramon, who acted as one of my orderlies, bore himself bravelyand was several times wounded.

In the meanwhile I received several communications from VanVoorst, and made two visits to Curaçoa. The cutting anddisposal of my diamonds being naturally rather a long business, itwas nearly two years after I had shipped them to Holland before Ilearned the result of my venture.

After all expenses were paid they brought me nearly threehundred thousand pounds, which account Goldberg, Van Voorst &Company “held at my disposal.”

It was to arrange and advise with the Amsterdam people, as tothe investment of this great fortune, that I went to Europe. But Idid not depart until my promise was fulfilled. I left Venezuelapacified—from exhaustion—and Carmen in somewhat betterspirits than I had found him.

His last words were a warning, which I have had frequentoccasion to remember: “Beware of the Griscellis.”

I sailed from Curaçoa (Ramon, of course, accompanyingme), in a Dutch ship, bound for Rotterdam, whither I arrived in duecourse, and proceeding thence to Amsterdam, introduced myself toGoldberg, Van Voorst & Company. They were a weighty andrespectable firm in every sense of the term, and received me with aponderous gravity befitting the occasion.

Though extremely courteous in their old-fashioned way, theyneither wasted words nor asked unnecessary questions. But they mademe a momentous proposal—no less than to become their partner.They had an ample capital for their original trade of diamondmerchants; but having recently become contractors for governmentloans, they had opportunities of turning my fortune to much betteraccount than investing it in ordinary securities. Goldberg &Company did not make it a condition that I should take an activepart in the business—that would be just as I pleased. Afterbeing fully enlightened as to the nature of their transactions, andlooking at their latest balance-sheets, I closed with the offer,and I have never had occasion to regret my decision. We openedbranch houses in London and Paris; the firm is now one of thelargest of its kind in Europe; we reckon our capital by millions,and, as I have lived long, and had no children to provide for, theamount standing to my credit exceeds that of all the other partnersput together, and yields me a princely income.

But I could not settle down to the monotonous career of amerchant, and though I have always taken an interest in thebusiness of the house, and on several important occasions acted asits special agent in the greater capitals, my life since thattime—a period of nearly fifty years—has been spentmainly in foreign travel and scientific study. I have revisitedSouth America and recrossed the Andes, ridden on horseback fromVera Cruz to San Francisco, and from San Francisco to theheadwaters of the Mississippi and the Missouri. I served in the warbetween Belgium and Holland, went through the Mexican campaign of1846, fought with Sam Houston at the battle of San Jacinto, and waspresent, as a spectator, at the fall of Sebastopol and the captureof Delhi. In the course of my wanderings I have encountered manymoving accidents by flood and field. Once I was captured by Greekbrigands, after a desperate fight, in which both Ramon and myselfwere wounded, and had to pay four thousand pounds for my ransom.For the last twenty years, however, I have avoided serious risks,done no avoidable fighting, and travelled only in beaten tracks;and, unless I am killed by one of the Griscelli, I dare say I shalllive twenty years longer.

While studying therapeutics and pathology under ProfessorGiessler, of Zurich, shortly after my return to Europe, I took upthe subject of longevity, as to which Giessler had collected muchcurious information, and formed certain theories, one being thatpeople of sound constitution and strong vitality, with nohereditary predisposition to disease may, by observing a correctregimen, easily live to be a hundred, preserving until that agetheir faculties virtually intact—in other words, only beginto be old at a hundred. So far I agree with him, but as to whatconstituted a “correct regimen” we differed. He heldthat the life most conducive to length of years was that of thescholar—his own, in fact—regular, uneventful,reflective, and sedentary. I, on the other hand, thought that theman who passed much of his time in the open air, moving about andusing his limbs, would live the longer—other things beingequal, and assuming that both observed the accepted rules ofhealth.

The result of our discussion was a friendly wager. “Youtry your way; I will try mine,” said Giessler, “and wewill see who lives the longer—at any rate, the survivor will.The survivor must also publish an account of his system, pourencourageur les autres.”

As we were of the same age, equally sound in constitution andstrong in physique, and not greatly dissimilar in temperament, Iaccepted the challenge. The competition is still going on. EveryNew Year’s day we write each other a letter, always in thesame words, which both answers and asks the same questions:“Still alive?” If either fails to receive his letter atthe specified time, he will presume that the other is hors decombat, if not dead, and make further inquiry. But I think Ishall win. Three years ago I met Giessler at the meeting of theBritish Association, and, though he denied it, he was palpablyaging. His shoulders were bent, his hearing and eye-sight failing,and the area senilis was very strongly marked, whileI—am what you see.

I have, however, had an advantage over the professor, which itis only fair to mention. In my wanderings I have always takenoccasion, when opportunity offered, to observe the habits of tribeswho are remarkable for longevity. None are more remarkable in thisrespect than the Callavayas of the Andes, and I satisfied myselfthat they do really live long, though perhaps not so long as someof them say. Now, these people are herbalists, and when they reachmiddle age make a practice of drinking a decoction which, as theybelieve, has the power of prolonging life. I brought with me toEurope specimens and seeds of the plant (peculiar to the region)from which the simple is distilled, analyzed the one and cultivatedthe other. The conclusion at which I arrived was, that the plant inquestion did actually possess the property of retarding thatsoftening of the arteries which more than anything else causes thedecrepitude of old age. It contains a peculiar alkaloid of which,for thirty years past, I had taken (in solution) a much-diluteddose almost daily. You see the result. I also give Ramon anoccasional dose, and he is the most vigorous man of his years Iknow. I sent some to Giessler, but he said it was an empiricalremedy, and declined to take it. He preferred electric baths. Itake my electric baths by horseback exercise, and riding tohounds.

Yes, I believe I shall finish my century—without becomingsenile either in body or mind—if I can escape the Griscelli.I was in hopes that I had escaped them by coming here; but I neverstay long in Europe that they don’t sooner or later find meout. I think I shall have to spend the remainder of my life inAmerica or the East. The consciousness of being continually hunted,that at any moment I may be confronted with a murderer andperchance be murdered, is too trying for a man of my age. To tellthe truth, I am beginning to feel that I have nerves; though myelixir delays death, it does not insure perpetual youth; andpropitiating these people is out of the question—I have triedit.

Three years after my return from Venezuela, Guiseppe, son of theman whom I killed at Caracas, tried to kill me at Amsterdam, firedat me point-blank with a duelling pistol, and so nearly succeededthat the bullet grazed my cheek and cut a piece out of my ear. YetI not only pardoned him, but bribed the police to let him go, andgave him money. Well, seven years later he repeated the attempt atNaples, waylaid me at night and attacked me with a dagger, but Ialso happened to be armed, and Guiseppi Griscelli died.

At Paris, too—indeed, while the empire lasted—Ifound it expedient to shun France altogether. At that timeCorsicans were greatly in favor; several members of the Griscellifamily belonged to the secret police and had great influence, andas I never took an alias and my name is not common, I wastracked like a criminal. Once I had to leave Paris by stealth atdead of night; another time I saved my life by simulating death.But why recount all the attempts on my life? Another time, perhaps.The subject is not a pleasant one, but this I will say: I neverspared a Griscelli that I had not cause to regret my clemency. Thelast I spared was the young man who tried to murder me down in thewood there; and if he does not repay my forbearance by repeatingthe attempt, he will be false to the traditions of his race.

Chapter XXXVI.

Epilogue.

It is scarcely necessary to observe that the deciphering of Mr.Fortescue’s notes and the writing of his memoirs were notdone in a day. There were gaps to be filled up, obscure passages tobe elucidated, and parts of several chapters and the whole of thelast were written to his dictation, so that the summer came andwent, and another hunting-season was “in view,” beforemy work, in its present shape, was completed. I would fain havemade it more complete by giving a fuller account of Mr.Fortescue’s adventures (some of which must have been veryremarkable) between his first return from South America and hisappearance at Matching Green, and I should doubtless have been ableto do so (for he had promised to continue and amplify his narrativeduring the winter, as also to give me the recipe of his elixir),had not our intercourse been abruptly terminated by one of thestrangest events in my experience and, I should think, in his.

But, before going further, I would just observe that Mr.Fortescue’s cynicism, which, when I first knew him, hadrather repelled me, was only skin-deep. Though he held human liferather cheaper than I quite liked, he was a kind and liberal masterand a generous giver. His largesses were often princely andinvariably anonymous, for he detested everything that savored ofostentation and parade. On the other hand, he had no more tolerancefor mendicants in broadcloth than for beggars in rags, and to thosewho asked he gave nothing. As an instance of his dislike ofpublicity, I may mention that I had been with him several monthsbefore I discovered that he had published, under a pseudonym,several scientific works which, had he acknowledged them, wouldhave made him famous.

After Guiseppe Griscelli’s attempt on his life, Iprevailed on Mr. Fortescue never to go outside the park gatesunaccompanied; when he went to town, or to Amsterdam, Ramon alwayswent with him, and both were armed. I also gave strict orders tothe lodge-keepers to admit no strangers without authority, and togive me immediate information as to any suspicious-lookingcharacters whom they might see loitering about.

These precautions, I thought, would be quite sufficient toprevent any attack being made on Mr. Fortescue in the daytime. Itwas less easy to guard against a surprise during the night, for thepark-palings were not so high as to be unclimbable; and the idea ofa night-watchman was suggested only to be dismissed, for the verysufficient reason that when he was most wanted he would almostcertainly be asleep. I had no fear of Griscelli breaking in at thefront door; but the house was not burglar-proof, and, as ithappened, the weak point in our defence was one of the windows ofMr. Fortescue’s bedroom. It looked into the orchard, and, byclimbing a tree which grew hard by, an active man could easilyreach it, even without a ladder. The danger was all the greater,as, when the weather was mild, Mr. Fortescue always slept with thewindow open. I proposed iron bars, to which he objected that ironbars would make his room look like a prison. And then I had a happythought.

“Let us fix a strong brass rod right across thewindow-frame,” I said, “in such a way that nobody canget in without laying hold of it, and by connecting it with astrong dynamo-battery inside, make sure that the man who does layhold of it will not be able to let go.”

The idea pleased Mr. Fortescue, and he told me to carry it out,which I did promptly and effectively, taking care to make thebattery so powerful that, if Mr. Griscelli should try to effect anentrance by the window, he would be disagreeably surprised. Thecircuit was, of course, broken by dividing the rod in two parts andinterposing a non-conductor between them.

To prevent any of the maids being “shocked,” I toldRamon (who acted as his master’s body servant) to connect thebattery every night and disconnect it every morning. From time totime, moreover, I overhauled the apparatus to see that it was ingood working order, and kept up its strength by occasionallyrecharging the cells.

Once, when I was doing this, Mr. Fortescue said, laughingly:“I don’t think it is any use, Bacon; Griscelliwon’t come in that way. If, as some people say, it is theunexpected that happens, it is the expected that does nothappen.”

But in this instance both happened—the expected and theunexpected.

As I mentioned at the outset of my story, the habits of theKingscote household were of an exemplary regularity. Mr. Fortescue,who rose early, expected everybody else to follow his example inthis respect, and, as a rule, everybody did so.

One morning, at the beginning of October, when the sun roseabout six o’clock, and we rose with it, I got up, donned mydressing-gown, and went, as usual, to take my matutinal bath. Inorder to reach the bath-room I had to pass Mr. Fortescue’schamber-door. As I neared it I heard within loud exclamations ofhorror and dismay, in a voice which I recognized as the voice ofRamon. Thinking that something was wrong, that Mr. Fortescue hadperchance been taken suddenly ill, I pushed open the door andentered without ceremony.

Mr. Fortescue was sitting up in bed, looking with startled gazeat the window; and Ramon stood in the middle of the room, aghastand dismayed.

And well he might, for there hung at the window a man—orthe body of one—his hands convulsively grasping themagnetized rod, the distorted face pressed against the glass, thelack-lustre eyes wide open, the jaw drooping. In that ghastlyvisage I recognized the features of Giuseppe Griscelli!

“Is he dead, doctor?” asked Mr. Fortescue.

“He has been dead several hours,” I said, as Iexamined the corpse.

“So much the better; the brood is one less, and perhapsafter this they will let me live in peace. They must see that sofar as their attempts against it are concerned, I bear a charmedlife. You have done me a great service, Doctor Bacon, and I holdmyself your debtor.”

Ramon and I disconnected the battery and dragged the body intothe room. We found in the pockets a butcher’s knife and arevolver, and round the waist a rope, with which the would-bemurderer had doubtless intended to descend from the window afteraccomplishing his purpose.

This incident, of course, caused a great sensation both atKingscote and in the country-side, and, equally of course, therewas an inquest, at which Mr. Fortescue, Ramon, and myself, were theonly witnesses. As Mr. Fortescue did not want it to be known thathe was the victim of a vendetta, and detested the idea ofhaving himself and his affairs discussed by the press, we werecareful not to gainsay the popular belief that Griscelli wasneither more nor less than a dangerous and resolute burglar, and,as his possession of lethal weapons proved, a potential murderer.As for the cause of death I said, as I then fully believed (thoughI have since had occasion to modify this opinion somewhat), thatthe battery was not strong enough to kill a healthy man, and thatGriscelli had died of nervous shock and fear acting on a weakheart. In this view the jury concurred and returned a verdict ofaccidental death, with the (informal) rider that it “servedhim right.” The chairman, a burly farmer, warmlycongratulated me on my ingenuity, and regretted that he had not“one of them things” at every window in his house.

So far so good; but, unfortunately, a London paper which livedon sensation, and happened at the moment to be in want of a newone, took the matter up. One of the editor’s jackals camedown to Kingscote, and there and elsewhere picked up a few factsconcerning Mr. Fortescue’s antecedents and habits, which heserved up to his readers in a highly spiced and amazinglymendacious article, entitled “old Fortescue and his StrangeFortunes.” But the sting of the article was in its tail. Thewriter threw doubt on the justice of the verdict. It remained to beproved, he said, that Griscelli was a burglar, and his deathaccidental. And even burglars had their rights. The law assumedthem to be innocent until they were proved to be guilty, and itcould be permitted neither to Mr. Fortescue nor to any other man totake people’s lives, merely because he suspected them of anintention to come in by the window instead of the door. By whatright, he asked, did Mr. Fortescue place on his window an applianceas dangerous as forked lightning, and as deadly as dynamite? Whatwas the difference between magnetized bars in a window andspring-guns on a game-preserve? In conclusion, the writer demandeda searching investigation into the circ*mstances attending GuiseppeGriscelli’s death, likewise the immediate passing of an actof Parliament forbidding, under heavy penalties, the use ofmagnetic batteries as a defence against supposed burglars.

This effusion (which he read in a marked copy of the paperobligingly forwarded by the enterprising editor) put Mr. Fortescuein a terrible passion, which made him, for a moment, look youngerthan ever I had seen him look before. The outrage rekindled thefire of his youth; he seemed to grow taller, his eyes glowed withanger, and, had the enterprising editor been present, he would havepassed a very bad quarter of an hour.

“The fellow who wrote this is worse than amurderer!” he exclaimed. “I’ll shoothim—unless he prefers cold steel, and then I shall serve himas I served General Griscelli; and ’pon my soul I believeGriscelli was the least rascally of the two! I would as lief behunted by blood-hounds as be stabbed in the back by anonymousslanderers!”

And then he wanted me to take a challenge to the enterprisingeditor, and arrange for a meeting, which rendered it necessary toremind him that we were not in the England of fifty years ago, andthat duelling was abolished, and that his traducer would not onlyrefuse to fight, but denounce his challenger to the police andgibbet him in his paper. I pointed out, on the other hand, that thearticle was clearly libellous, and recommended Mr. Fortescue eitherto obtain a criminal information against the proprietor of thepaper, or sue him for damages.

“No, sir!” he answered, with a gesture ofindignation and disdain—“no, sir, I shall neitherobtain a criminal information nor sue for damages. The man who goesto law surrenders his liberty of action and becomes the sport ofchicaning lawyers and hair-splitting judges. I would rather lose ahundred thousand pounds!”

Mr. Fortescue passed the remainder of the day at his desk,writing and arranging his papers. The next morning I heard, withoutsurprise, that he and Ramon were going abroad.

“I don’t know when I shall return,” said Mr.Fortescue, as we shook hands at the hall door, “but act asyou always do when I am from home, and in the course of a few daysyou will hear from me.”

I did hear from him, and what I heard was of a nature sosurprising as nearly to take my breath away.

“You will never see me at Kingscote again,” hewrote; “I am going to a country where I shall be safe, aswell from the attacks of Corsican assassins as from the cowardlyoutrages of rascally newspapers.” And then he gaveinstructions as to the disposal of his property at Kingscote.Certain things, which he enumerated, were to be packed up in casesand forwarded to Amsterdam. The furniture and effects in and aboutthe house were to be sold, and the proceeds placed at the disposalof the county authorities for the benefit of local charities. Everyoutdoor servant was to receive six months’ pay, every in-doorservant twelve months’ pay, in lieu of notice. Geirt was tojoin Mr. Fortescue in a month’s time at Damascus; and to me,in lieu of notice, and as evidence of his regard, he gave all hishorses, carriages, saddlery, harness, and stable equipments (notbeing freehold) of every description whatsoever, to be dealt withas I thought fit for my personal advantage. His solicitors, with myhelp, would wind up his affairs, and his bankers had instructionsto discharge all his liabilities.

His memoirs, or so much of them as I had written down, I might(if I thought they would interest anybody) publish, but not beforethe fiftieth year of the Victorian era, or the death of the Germanemperor, whichever event happened first. The letter concluded thus:“I strongly advise you to buy a practice and settle down tosteady work. We may meet again. If I live to be a hundred, youshall hear from me. If I die sooner you will probably hear of mydemise from the house at Amsterdam, to whom please send your newaddress.”

I was exceedingly sorry to lose Mr. Fortescue. Our intercoursehad been altogether pleasant and agreeable, and to myselfpersonally in a double sense profitable; for he had taught me manythings and rewarded me beyond my deserts. Also the breaking up ofKingscote and the disposal of the household went much against thegrain. Yet I freely confess that Mr. Fortescue’s splendidgift proved a very effective one, and almost reconciled me to hisabsence.

All the horses and carriages, except five of the former, and twotraps, I sent up to Tattersall’s. As the horses, withoutexception, were of the right sort, most of them perfect hunters,and it was known that Mr. Fortescue would not have an unsound orvicious animal in his stables, they fetched high prices. The salebrought me over six thousand pounds. Two-thirds of this I put outat interest on good security; with the remainder I bought a houseand practice in a part of the county as to which I will merelyobserve that it is pleasantly situated and within reach of threepacks of hounds. The greater part of the year I work hard at myprofession; but when November comes round I engage a secondassistant and (weather permitting) hunt three and sometimes fourdays a week, so long as the season lasts.

And often when hounds are running hard and I am well up, or whenI am “hacking” homeward after a good day’s sport,I think gratefully of the man to whom I owe so much, and wonderwhether I shall ever see him again.