CHAPTER IV.
THE SILVER KEY.
It would be hard for me to tell just what happened during the next dayor two. I did not lose consciousness altogether, but my nerves were soshattered that I mixed up fact and fancy, and could hardly separate mydreams from events which actually took place.
On the third or fourth day my senses became clearer I lay on a bed in asmall cell-like apartment. In the opposite corner was a mattress, witha blanket and rug rolled neatly at the head; above it, on the wall,hung a sword and various military articles, as if the room belonged toa soldier.
Presently, as I lay trying to recall things, the door was pushed open,and a man entered. He was young; his face was frank and open, and hehad fine dark eyes. He was in undress uniform, and I judged, rightlyas it turned out, that he was a Spanish officer. Seeing me looking athim, he crossed to the bed, and exclaimed in the Spanish tongue, "Areyou better this morning?"
I nodded and smiled, but could not speak--my throat hurt me so.
"All right!" he cried gaily. "Don't worry; I understand," and at thathe went out, coming back presently with the military doctor.
Now I had no cause, then or afterwards, to love the Spaniards; but Ihold it fair to give even an enemy his due, and it is only just to saythat this young officer, Captain Santiago Mariano, treated me royally.In a sense I owed my life to him, and I have never forgotten hiskindness.
As my strength returned he often sat with me, talking of the wreck,from which I was apparently the only one rescued. Three men, he said,had been washed ashore, but they were all dead. Two were ordinarysailors, and from his description I easily recognized the third asMontevo, the skipper.
There was a rumour, the young officer continued, that a man had beenpicked up by some Indians further along the coast; but no one reallyknew anything about it, and for his part he looked on it as an idletale.
There was small comfort in tills; yet, against my better judgment, Ibegan to hope that Jose had somehow escaped from the sea. He was astrong man and a stout swimmer, while for dogged courage I have rarelymet his equal.
One morning Santiago came into my room--or rather his--with a troubledexpression on his face. I was able to walk by this time, and stood bythe little window, watching the soldiers at exercise in the courtyard.
"Crawford," said he abruptly, "have you any reason to be afraid ofGeneral Barejo?"
Now, until that moment I had not given a thought to the fact that inescaping one danger I had tumbled headlong into another; but thisquestion made me uneasy. As far as safety went, I might as well havestayed at my mother's side in Lima as have blundered into a far-offfortress garrisoned by Spanish soldiers.
"I ought not to speak of this," continued Santiago, "but the warningmay help you. Did you hear the guns last night?"
"Yes," said I, wondering.
"It was the salute to the general, who is inspecting the forts alongthe coast."
"I have heard my father speak of General Barejo."
"Well, after dinner last evening the commandant happened to speak ofyour shipwreck, and the general was greatly interested. 'A boy namedCrawford?' said he thoughtfully; 'is he in the fort now?' and onhearing you were, told the commandant he would see you in the morning.This is he crossing the courtyard. He is coming here, I believe."
I had only time to thank Santiago for his kindness when the generalentered the room. He was a short, spare man, with closely-cropped grayhair and a grizzled beard. His face was tanned and wrinkled, but heheld himself erect as a youth; and his profession was most pronounced.
The young captain saluted, and, at a sign from the general, left theroom.
Barejo eyed me critically, and with a grim smile exclaimed, "By St.Philip, there's no need to ask. You're the son of the EnglishmanCrawford, right enough."
"Who was murdered by Spanish soldiers," said I, for his cool andsomewhat contemptuous tone roused me to anger.
He smiled at this outburst, and spread out his hands as if to say, "Theboy's crazy;" but when he spoke, it was to ask why I had left Lima.
"Because I had no wish to meet with my father's fate," I answeredbrusquely; and he laughed again.
"Faith," he muttered, "the young cockerel ruffles his feathers early!"and then, again addressing me, he asked, "And where were you going?"
"On a sea voyage, for the benefit of my health--and to be out of theway."
To this he made no reply, but his brows puckered up as if he were indeep thought. I stood by the window watching him, and wondering whatwould be the outcome of this visit.
After a short time he said, slowly and deliberately, so that I mightlose nothing of his speech, "Listen to me, young sir. Though you areyoung, there are some things you can understand. Your father tried,and tried hard, to wrest this country from its proper ruler, ourhonoured master, the King of Spain. He failed; but others have takenhis place, and though you are only a boy, they will endeavour to makeuse of you. We shall crush the rebellion, and the leaders will losetheir lives. I am going to save you from their fate."
I thought this display of kindness rather strange, but made no remark.
"In this fortress," he continued, "you will be out of mischief, andhere I intend you shall stay till the troubles are at an end."
"That sounds very much as if you mean to keep me a prisoner!" Iexclaimed hotly.
"Exactly," said he; then turning on his heel he walked out.
From the window I watched him cross the courtyard and enter thecommandant's quarters. Ten minutes afterwards Santiago appeared with afile of soldiers.
"Very sorry, my boy," said the young captain, coming into the room,"but a soldier must obey orders. You are my prisoner."
"I couldn't wish for a better jailer," said I, laughing.
"I'm glad you take it like that, but unfortunately you won't be undermy care. Have you all your things? This way, then."
We marched very solemnly side by side along the corridor, the soldiersa few paces in the rear. At the end stood a half-dressed Indian,holding open the door of a cell.
"Oh, come," said I, looking in, "it's not so bad."
The cell was, indeed, almost a counterpart of Santiago's room, only thewindow was high up and heavily barred. The furniture consisted ofbedstead and rugs, a chair, small table, and one or two other articles.The floor was of earth, but quite dry; and altogether I was fairlysatisfied with my new home.
"You'll have decent food and sufficient exercise," said the captain,who had entered with me; "but"--and here he lowered his voice to awhisper--"don't be foolish and try to escape. Barejo's orders arestrict, and though it may not appear so, you will be closely guarded."
"Thanks for the hint," said I as he turned away.
The Indian shut the door, the bolts were shot, the footsteps of thesoldiers grew fainter, and I was alone.
I shall not dwell long on my prison life. I had ample food, and twicea day was allowed to wander unmolested about the courtyard. Thegeneral had gone, and most of the officers, including Santiago, showedme many acts of kindness, which, though trifling in themselves, didmuch towards keeping me cheerful.
Several weeks passed without incident, and I began to get very tired ofdoing nothing. There seemed to be little chance of escape, however.Every outlet was guarded by an armed sentry, and I was carefullywatched. One day I dragged my bedstead under the window, and making aladder of the table and chair, climbed to the bars. A single glanceshowed the folly of trying to escape that way without the aid of wings.That part of the fort stood on the brink of a frightful precipice whichfell sheer away for hundreds of feet to the rocky coast.
Of course I had no weapon of any kind, but the Spaniards had allowed meto keep the silver key, which hung around my neck by a thin, stout cord.
I had almost forgotten the mountaineer's strange words, when a triflingincident brought them vividly to my mind. One morning the Indian, asusual, brought in my breakfast, and was turning to go, when he suddenlystopped and stared at me with
a look of intense surprise. He was ashort, stout, beardless man, with a bright brown complexion and ratherintelligent features.
"Well," I exclaimed, "what is it? Have I altered much since yesterday?"
The man bent one knee, and bowing low, exclaimed in great excitement,"It is the key!"
Then I discovered that, my shirt collar being unfastened, the silverkey had slipped outside, where it hung in full view.
"Yes," said I, "it is the key right enough. What of it?"
His eyes were flashing now, and the glow in them lit up his whole face.
"What is the master's name?" he whispered eagerly.
Now this was an awkward question for me to answer. In the first place,the man might or might not be trustworthy; and in the second, the onlyname I knew was that of the bandit chief. However, I concluded theventure was worth making, and said, "Men call the owner of the keyRaymon Sorillo."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Indian, with a sigh of satisfaction, "he is a greatchief. Hide the key, senor, and wait. A dog's kennel is no place forthe friend of our chief."
With that he went out, and the door clanged after him, while I stoodlost in astonishment. What did he mean? Was it possible that heintended to help me? Thrusting the mysterious key out of sight, I satdown to breakfast with what appetite I could muster. All that day Iwas in a state of great excitement, though at exercise I took care toappear calm. I waited with impatience for the evening meal, which, tomy disgust, was brought by a strange soldier.
"Hullo!" I exclaimed, "a change of jailers? What has become of theother fellow?"
"The dog of an Indian is ill," answered the man, who was evidently in avery bad temper, "and I have his work to do."
Placing the things on the table, he went out, slamming the door behindhim, and shooting the bolts viciously. The next morning he came again,and indeed for four days in succession performed the sick man's duties.
Now you may be sure I felt greatly interested in this sudden illness.It filled me with curiosity, and to a certain extent strengthened myhope that the Indian intended to help me to escape from the fort. Whathis plans were, of course I could not conjecture.
On the fifth night I undressed and lay down as usual. It was quitedark in the cell, and the only sound that reached me was the periodical"All's well!" of the sentry stationed at the end of the corridor. Fora long time I lay puzzling over the strange situation, but at lengthdropped into a light sleep.
Suddenly I was awakened by a queer sensation, and sat up in bed. Itwas too dark to see anything, but I felt that some one was creepingstealthily across the floor. Presently I heard a faint sound, and knewthat the object, whatever it might be, was approaching nearer. At theside of the bed it stopped, and a muffled voice whispered, "Senor, areyou awake?"
"Yes," said I. "Who's there?"
"A friend of the silver key. Dress quickly and come with me; the wayis open."
"Where is the sentry?" I asked.
"Gagged and insensible," replied the voice. "Quick, while there is yettime."
Perhaps it was rather venturesome thus to trust myself in the hands ofan unknown man, but I slipped on my clothes, and keeping touch of hisarm, accompanied him into the dimly-lighted corridor.
Turning to the left, we glided along close to the wall. At the end ofthis passage the body of the sentry lay on the ground, while near athand crouched an Indian, keeping watch.
This man joined us, and my guide immediately led the way into an emptyroom, the door of which was open. As soon as we were inside he closedit softly.
"Keep close to me," he whispered, and then said something to an unseenperson in a patois I did not understand.
Presently he stopped, and I could just distinguish the figure of athird man, who, grasping my hand, whispered, "The silver key hasunlocked the door, senor."
Before I could recover from my astonishment--for the man who spoke wasthe sick jailer--my guide let himself down through a trap-door, andcalled to me to follow. I found myself on a flight of steep steps in akind of shaft, very narrow, and so foul that breathing was difficult.At the bottom was a fair-sized chamber, with a lofty roof--at least Ijudged it so by the greater purity of the air--and here the guidestopped until his companion caught up with us. The jailer, to mysurprise, had remained in the fort, but there was no time forexplanation.
The exit from the chamber was by means of an aperture so low that wehad to lie flat on the ground, and so narrow that even I found it hardwork to wriggle through.
Of all my adventures, this one impressed itself most strongly on mymind. People are apt to smile when I speak of what one man called"crawling along a passage;" yet had the terrors of the journey beenknown beforehand, I think I could hardly have summoned the courage toface them.
We went in Indian file, I being second, and my shoulders brushed thesides of what was apparently a stonework tube. There was not a glimmerof light, and the foul air threatened suffocation at every yard. Icould breathe only with great difficulty, my throat seemed choked, Iwas bathed in perspiration, while loathsome creatures crawled orscampered over every part of me.
Before half the distance was covered--and I make the confession withoutshame--I was truly and horribly afraid. However, there was no turningback--indeed there was no turning at all--so I crawled on, hoping andpraying for light and air.
Presently I caught sight of a dull red glow like that from a burningtorch, my breath came more easily, and at the end of another hundredyards the guide, rising to his feet, stood upright: we had arrived atthe exit from the tunnel. Clambering up, I once more found myself inthe open air, and was instantly followed by the second Indian. Twoother men waited for us, and the four, with some difficulty, rearrangeda huge boulder which effectually blocked the aperture.
Then the light from the torch was quenched, and I was hurried off inthe darkness. For an hour perhaps we travelled, but in what directionI had no idea. At first we had the roar of the thundering sea in ourears, but presently that grew faint, until the sound was completelylost. The route was rocky, and I should say dangerous; for the guideclutched my arm tightly, and from time to time whispered a warning.
At last he stopped and whistled softly. The signal was heard andanswered, and very soon I became aware of several dusky figures,including both men and horses. No time was wasted in talk; a manbrought me a horse, and a loose cloak with a hood in which to muffle myhead. I mounted, the others sprang to their cumbrous saddles, and at aword from the guide we set off.
The route now lay over a desert of loose sand, in which the animalssank almost to their fetlocks; every puff of wind blew it around us inclouds, and but for the hood I think I must have been both blinded andchoked.
I have not the faintest idea how the leader found his way, unless itwas by the direction of the wind, as there were no stars, and it wasimpossible to see beyond a few yards.
Hour after hour passed; dawn broke cold and gray. The choking sand wasleft behind, and we approached a narrow valley shut in by two giganticranges of hills. Here a voice hailed us from the rocks, the guideanswered the challenge, and the whole party passed through the defileto the valley beyond.
It was now light enough to observe a number of Indian huts dotted abouton both slopes; and the horsemen who had formed my escort quicklydispersed, leaving me with the guide.
"We are home," said he, "and the dogs have lost their prey."
Dismounting and leading the horses, we approached a hut set somewhatapart from the rest. An Indian boy standing at the entrance took ouranimals away while we entered the hut.
"Will you eat, senor, or sleep?" asked my rescuer.
"Sleep," said I, "as soon as you have answered a question or two."
I cannot repeat exactly what the man told me, as his Spanish was noneof the best, and he mixed it up with a patois which I only halfunderstood. However, the outline of the story was plain enough, andwill take but little telling.
My late jailer belonged to the Order of the Silver Key, a powe
rfulIndian society, acting under the leadership of Raymon Sorillo. He hadbeen placed in the fort both as a spy on the garrison and to assistcomrades if at any time they endeavoured to capture the stronghold byway of the secret passage. Only the commandant and his chief officerwere supposed to know of its existence, but a strange accident hadrevealed it to the Indians some years previously.
The jailer, of course, could have set me free, but in that case he musthave joined in my flight. The plan he adopted was to communicate withhis friends, and then, by feigning illness, to divert suspicion fromhimself. As soon as we descended the steps, he replaced the trap-door,removed all signs of disturbance, and crept cautiously back to his room.
When the Indian had finished his explanation, I asked him to what placehe had brought me.
"The Hidden Valley," he replied, "where no Spaniard has ever set foot.Here you are quite safe, for all the armies of Peru could not tear youfrom this spot."
"Does Sorillo ever come here?" I asked.
"Rarely; but his messengers come and go at their pleasure."
"That is good news," I remarked, thinking of my mother. "I shall beable to get a message through to Lima. And now, if you please, I willgo to sleep."
He spread a rug on the earth floor, covered me with another, and in afew minutes I was fast asleep, forgetful even of the dismal tunnel andits horrible associations.
At the Point of the Sword Page 4