CHAPTER XVI.
GLORIOUS NEWS.
Many times during the night the pain and the cold wakened me; but Icontrived to get some sleep, for which I fell much better in themorning. To my dismay, however, I found it impossible to walk; myankle had swollen considerably, and the pain of putting my foot to theground made me cry out in anguish.
Yet, unless I wished to starve, something I must do. Unbuckling mysword, and hiding it in the recess, I began to crawl along, trailing myinjured foot carefully. It was slow work, and I felt faint and dizzy,not only from my hurts, but also from want of food.
Feeling sure that the Spaniards had by this time retired, I ventured tocall for help, though little expecting to obtain it. I cried aloud,both in Spanish and in the native patois, but received no answer.Again I crawled on, but now even move slowly than at first; and when Iagain tried to shout, my voice seemed weak and quavering. My strengthwas nearly exhausted, when suddenly, and rather to my astonishment, Icaught sight of a man peering at me curiously from behind a rock. Hewas evidently a Spaniard, and an ugly customer. He wore a long beard,a half-healed scar disfigured one side of his face, and on his head wasjauntily set a small cap decked with gay-coloured ribbons. On hiscoming forward I saw that he was dressed in the most grotesque manner,and heavily armed.
"By St. Philip," I muttered softly, "I should have done better to givemyself up to the soldiers! Surely this fellow is the prince ofruffians."
He stood a moment, leaning on his gun and regarding me with curiosity.
"I don't know who you are," said I irritably, "but if you have a sparkof human sympathy, you will give me what help you can."
"Are you hurt?" he asked; and the cool tone in which he spoke made meangry beyond measure.
Then he drew a step nearer, saying, "Perhaps the senor will give me hispistols; the mountain air makes one suspicious."
"Take them," I cried, "and anything else you desire; but get me somefood and drink, and I will pay you well."
"Ah," exclaimed the fellow, with renewed interest, "the senor has moneyon him! I had better mind that also. There are lawless people in themountains," and he grinned knowingly at me.
"I have no money here," I answered, "but I will pay you well to get mecarried to Lima."
"That is a long way," he observed cautiously. "No doubt the senor hasrings or some articles of jewellery?"
"I don't possess a single valuable except this," said I, producing thesilver key, "and that I must not part with."
On seeing the key the fellow's manner changed instantly.
"How did you get that?" he asked. "Are you one of us?"
The question could hardly be considered a compliment, but it assured meboth of safety and of good treatment.
"If you belong to the Order of the Silver Key," I remarked, "andrecognize the authority of Raymon Sorillo, all is well. He is myfriend, and will give me shelter."
"The chief is in the mountains, senor, and not far off. I will gethelp, and take you to him. Meanwhile, eat a little coca; it will keepup your strength. I shall not be long gone."
"Thanks," said I, taking some of the coca, and chuckling to myself atthis unexpected stroke of good fortune.
The fellow was as good as his word. He returned shortly with threeIndians, armed like himself, and dressed in the same grotesque way.They were all sturdy fellows, and two of them, raising me gently fromthe ground, carried me in their arms with the greatest ease.
Every step took me farther from the main track, and into a wilder partof the mountains, till at last my bearers stopped in a romantic ravine.There were several huts dotted about in an irregular ring, but most ofthe men were in the open, seated round a blazing fire.
Three-fourths of the band were pure Indians, some were mulattoes, whilea few were Spaniards of the lowest type. They looked what they were,bandits and outlaws, and I must say that my acquaintance of the morningwas not the most villainous of them. They formed a striking company,quite in keeping with the gloomy grandeur of their home, shut in onevery side by overhanging rocks and towering mountains.
"Who is that?" suddenly roared a deep voice, and I saw the giganticleader stride from the ring of men. Approaching us, he looked me fullin the face.
"A stranger?" cried he. "Why have you brought him here?"
"I must have changed much since we last met," I interposed. "But ifyou don't remember me, you will doubtless remember the present you gaveme," and I showed him the silver key.
He looked at me again, and this time with a gleam of recognition.
"I know you now!" he cried.--"Make way there. Room for an honouredguest--room for the son of Don Eduardo!"
The name carried no meaning to the Spanish brigands; but the Indiansreceived it with a great shout, for they knew how greatly my father hadsuffered in his efforts to make their lives easier. They would havepressed round me to touch my hand, but the chief waved them back,saying I wanted food and rest. They made a space beside the fire, andSorillo himself attended to my injuries.
"No bones broken," said he, after making an examination with as muchskill as a surgeon. "We have only to reduce this swelling of theankle. You can make yourself comfortable for a fortnight, at least.Now you must have some food, and then we'll talk."
Now, I have no wish to give you a false impression of Raymon Sorillo.He was a wild, lawless man, who had passed his life in fighting againstthe Spanish government. He had extraordinary courage and ability, andno man of his band was ever known to question an order issued by him.He had himself founded the Order of the Silver Key, and it was alwaysmy father's opinion that, but for the coming of San Martin, he would intime have transformed Peru into an Indian kingdom. I am at leastcertain that his ambition tended in that direction.
When the war broke out, numerous desperadoes flocked to him, and he washeld responsible for many acts of cruelty. Whether he was deserving ofblame I cannot say. Jose held him to be cruel, and he generally hadthat reputation. Perhaps it was only a case of giving a dog a badname. However that may be, it is certain he had a high opinion of myfather, and for his sake was exceedingly kind to me. But for him Imight have lain long enough in the Spanish fortress, or perished in thesandy coast deserts. Another service he did, which we only heard ofafterwards, and then by accident, was the guarding of my mother. Fromthe time of my escape till the withdrawal of the Royalists from Lima,several of his men, unknown to her, kept ward over the hacienda. Theyhad received strict orders to protect its mistress against everydanger, even at the risk of their lives. In case of anythingoccurring, one was to rouse the natives belonging to the order in Lima,while another rode post-haste to the chief.
Remembering these things, and others not here set down, I can hardlyjudge this remarkable man without bias; but even his most bitterenemies could not truly say he was wholly bad. And it may be statedhere that during my stay in the ravine I was treated like a prince.The best of everything was set before me, my slightest wish was law,and even the fiercest of the white men, forming a small minority of theband, were compelled to behave peaceably in my presence.
After I had eaten and slept for a time, I told the chief the story Ihad heard from the young Spanish officer, Santiago Mariano, concerningmy father, and asked his opinion.
"I would build no hopes on that," said he, shaking his headthoughtfully. "If your father is alive, we shall find him at Callao;but I doubt it."
"The governor was expected to capitulate when I left Lima last," Iremarked.
"Yes; his provisions must be gone by now. Your San Martin is an oldwoman. Why did he allow Canterac to escape? My men and I have beenmarched about from place to place just where we could do no good. Ishall not trouble to obey orders any more. We are not children to betreated thus."
Sorillo was very sore on the subject, and returned to it over and overagain. In the evening one of the band arrived with the informationthat Colonel Miller had sent out search-parties to look for me, andthat three men were waiting at the entrance
to the ravine.
"Tell them," said the chief, "that Don Juan Crawford is with me. Hehas sprained his ankle very badly, and cannot move for several days;otherwise he is unhurt. As soon as he is well enough we will take himhome."
"I wish the colonel would let my mother know," said I; "she would beless anxious."
"That is a poor compliment to me," observed Sorillo, smiling. "Mymessenger is already on his way to the hacienda with the news. I havetold him to say you are in absolutely no danger, so that your motherwill not be alarmed."
"Then I am more than ever in your debt," said I gratefully, for thechief's action showed a thoughtful consideration quite unexpected.
"We shall never pay all that is owing to the son of Don EduardoCrawford," he answered gravely. "And now let me carry you to my hut.A bed has been prepared there for you; it is a simple affair, but youwill be comfortable."
I slept well that night. The pain had considerably decreased, and Ihad no cause for fear or anxiety. Sorillo slept in another corner ofthe hut, going out so quietly in the morning that he did not disturbme. Indeed the sun was high in the heavens when I wakened.
The chief's messenger had not returned, and another day passed beforehe appeared; then, to my delight, he brought Jose with him.
"Well, Jack," exclaimed my old friend, on finding that I was really notmuch hurt, "you gave Miller a fine fright. He thought you were eitherdead or carried off. His troops are back in Lima. It seems Canteracwas too good for you."
"He flung half his army at us," I responded rather sulkily, for onedoes not like being reminded of a beating. "It must have been a matterof ten to one. But never mind that. What news do you bring from Lima?How is my mother? and how are events moving there?"
"Your mother is well, and sends her love to you, and events are shapingjust as we could wish them to. We are masters of Callao."
"Then the forts have fallen? O Jose, tell me quickly--I am burningwith excitement--was my father there?"
"Keep cool!" said he, smiling; "I don't want you to throw yourself intoa fever. Yes, we found your father there."
"Thank God for that!" I murmured reverently. "You can tell me the restat your leisure."
"There isn't much to tell," he replied. "It seems that your father wassuddenly surrounded in the mountains by a body of regulars, and orderedto submit. Taken by surprise, there was nothing else to do; but whilehe stood hesitating, some one--not the captain in charge--shot himdown, and he remembers nothing more till he found himself in Callao.The governor, La Mar, happens to be a kind-hearted fellow; so he hadyour father's wound dressed, gave him the most comfortable cell, andaltogether treated him so well that, in spite of a long illness, he isentirely recovered."
"This is better and better, Jose! I hope we shall have a chance ofdoing La Mar a good turn."
"Your father will be in a position to see to that, as San Martin hasalready made him a member of the government."
"That's all right then.--By-the-bye, have you seen Montilla?"
"Yes. The old fox plays the game well. He is delighted--so hesays--to be able to hand over the estates, which he was keeping intrust for you, to the rightful owner."
"Do you think my father believes him?"
"I can't say. Your mother doesn't; neither do I."
"Nor I."
We remained silent for some minutes, when, Sorillo joining us, I toldhim the good news. At first he did not seem to comprehend. When hedid, I thought he would take leave of his senses. Even Jose, who wasnot given to judging by outward show, was impressed by the man'sgenuine pleasure.
But the grand event took place some days later, when my father himselfcame to remove me to Lima. Sorillo marshalled his Indians at the mouthof the pass, and they escorted him up the ravine in a triumphalprocession, amidst enthusiastic cries of "Long live Don EduardoCrawford! long live the Indians' friend!"
There is not much to tell about our meeting. It was all very simple,though I suppose there were not at that moment two happier people inPeru. My father was exceptionally loving and kind-hearted, but henever made a fuss, while my English blood kept me from being toodemonstrative.
"Well, Jack, my boy," he exclaimed, giving me a warm grip of the hand,"I reckon you never expected to see me again?"
"Well, father, I had heard it was possible you were alive, but I hardlydared hope so."
As Jose said, he was looking very well, considering the circumstances.His cheeks were thinner, and had lost their colour; his hair had turnedgray; he seemed less robust than formerly; but his mind was brisk andalert, and his eyes retained their old fire.
Sorillo would have kept him awhile as an honoured guest; but he wasanxious to return, and the carriage waited at the foot of themountains. On one point, however, the guerilla chief would not bedenied. Leaving the Spaniards and mulattoes in the ravine, he insistedon accompanying us, with his Indians, to Lima, and my father did notlike to refuse him. From the ravine they carried me on a comfortablelitter to the foot of the mountains, where Jose had stayed with thecarriage. Then forming up in front, they marched along singing andcheering for Don Eduardo Crawford.
We slept that night in a deserted hacienda, and arrived at our homenext day. Jose had ridden forward to inform my mother of her comingvisitors, so that she might be able to provide them with food and drink.
It was a grand home-coming for me, and a great triumph for my father.Though not a vain man, the incident pleased him, because it showed thatthe people for whom he had suffered so much were grateful for hisefforts to do them good.
As the journey had made me rather excited, I took no part in therejoicings which were kept up through the night; but after breakfastthe Indians took their departure, and the noise of their cheering mighthave been heard at the other end of the town.
"It's rather rough on you, Jack," laughed my father, coming into myroom; "but now you will have a chance of a little quiet."
"I am not sure of that," observed my mother, who was looking from awindow: "here are two cavaliers crossing the park. By the way theyride, I should say they are Englishmen."
"Is one a big, handsome man?" I asked.
"Well, yes, he is certainly big!"
"That is O'Brien, then; and the other most probably is the colonel."
I was not mistaken. In a short time Colonel Miller and his friend werein the room, and each in turn shook me heartily by the hand.
"We hardly expected to see you again so soon," said the colonel,laughing. "We thought Canterac had taken a fancy to your company. Ihope there is no permanent injury to the foot?"
"Oh no, colonel; only I shan't be able to do any more mountain climbingyet awhile."
"There's none to do," broke in O'Brien; "we've taken to dancinginstead."
"I shall not be able even to join in that for some time."
"No? What a pity! We are enjoying ourselves immensely, though itseems rather an odd way of carrying on a war."
"The general perhaps considers that his troops require rest," suggestedmy mother.
"Even so, staying here is a great mistake," said the colonel. "We aregiving the Royalists time to recover their strength, and we shallsuffer for it later on. Unfortunately the general appears to thinkthat Lima is Peru."
"Not the general only," remarked my father; "many of his officers wouldbe sorry to exchange Lima for the mountains."
"That is so," admitted O'Brien frankly. "The truth of the matter is,the citizens have treated us too well. They have made us socomfortable that we wish to stay here as long as possible."
"In that case," said my mother, smiling, "we must steel our heartsagainst you."
"And drive us into the wilderness again!" laughed O'Brien gaily."Senora, you will not be so cruel?"
"I will not begin to-day," she replied merrily, "because I hope youwill stay and dine with us. To-morrow--"
"Ah! let us think of to-morrow when it comes; to-day we will enjoyourselves."
"A pleasant creed," remarked my father, "t
hough more often than not itleads to ruin. I shall begin to think you are falling a victim to ourSouth American vice."
"What is that?"
"Never to do to-day what can be put off till to-morrow."
"That is exactly what we are doing," remarked the colonel, "and I quiteagree with you that it is not a paying game, especially in time of war.A chance once missed never presents itself again."
"An excellent reason for accepting Donna Maria's gracious invitation,"laughed O'Brien. "Colonel, I congratulate you on your powers ofargument."
Although talking in this bantering way, it must not be thought that hewas really in favour of remaining idle; but he was a soldier, and hadto obey orders, however much he disliked them.
My father, being a member of the government, was in a much worseposition, as many held him responsible in a measure for the lazy way inwhich the war was being conducted. Really he had no power over thearmy at all, and could not on his own authority have moved a section ofrecruits.
O'Brien had spoken truly in saying that the officers had taken todancing instead of climbing. All the chief families opened their doorsto them, and our neighbour, Montilla, who had so suddenly beenconverted to our side, gave a ball more brilliant than even the oldestinhabitant could remember.
Thus the days passed into weeks; my ankle grew strong and well, I wasable to resume my duties, and still there was no sign of moving. Weheld possession of Lima and Callao, but on the other side of themountains the Royalists did as they pleased.
"I hope," remarked my father more than once, "that when we wish to movewe shall be able to do so."
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