At the Point of the Sword Part 8

After his departure I felt much easier. True, there was a terrible journey before him, which hardly one man in a thousand could hope to accomplish successfully; but he was a daring and plucky rider, used alike to desert and mountain. Then, too, any Indian on the route would give him food and shelter, and warn him of any lurking soldiers.

He would relate my story to Raymon Sorillo, and I knew that the gigantic chief would carry the news to my mother. I no longer fretted at being shut up in the valley, but pa.s.sed my time merrily with the boys and younger men of the tribe, learning their patois, riding, and practising shooting with the musket, and with bow and arrow.

On my fifteenth birthday Quilca organized some sports, and though not gaining a first prize in any event, I performed so creditably that the Indians were delighted with my prowess.

"The young chief will make a warrior," said they, and I felt proud of their praise.

Let me try to give you a picture of myself at that time. I was tall for my age, standing five feet five inches in height. I had curly dark hair, cut rather short, and brown eyes. My face was tanned through exposure to the weather and regular exercise had made my muscles hard as iron. Like my companions, I wore a short woollen jacket, dark in colour, and breeches open at the knees, and caught up with strips of coloured cotton. My cap was of wool gorgeously embroidered; dark woollen stockings without feet covered my legs, and in place of boots I had a pair of goatskin sandals. Thrown over my left shoulder was a small poncho, which dangled like the cloak worn by some of our cavalry soldiers.

Some time during the month of April Sorillo's messenger returned, bringing me two letters--one from my mother, the other from the chief.

I need not say how eagerly I opened the first. It was very long, consisting of several closely-written pages, but it did not contain a word too much. I read it over and over again, until I could almost say it by heart. No word had reached Lima of the wreck of the _Aguila_; but the British merchants, though bidding my mother be of good cheer, had put the schooner down for lost. My message had shown their fears to be well grounded, but at the same time it had carried joy and thankfulness to my mother's breast.

"I grieve for poor Jose," she wrote, "but I thank G.o.d every hour for your safety."

The letter from Sorillo was brief. After saying how glad he was to get my message, he went on,--

"For the present, stay in the Hidden Valley; there is no safer place in Peru. The fruit ripens slowly, and even yet is not ready for plucking.

San Martin has not left Valparaiso, and little beyond skirmis.h.i.+ng will be done this year."

Apparently, however, he had sent definite orders to the tribe, as from this date I noticed a great difference in our hitherto peaceful abode.

Every man went armed day and night, scouts were posted on the mountains, and swift riders scoured the desert for miles.

Once, too, a band of hors.e.m.e.n, twenty strong, led by Quilca, left the valley at night. I could not learn their business, because Quilca said they were acting under the secret orders of the great chief. They were absent three days, and when, in the gray dawn of the fourth morning, they rode back up the valley, three were missing. The leader had a bloodstained bandage round his head, and several men bore signs of a fierce conflict.

"You are hurt?" said I, as Quilca dismounted.

"It is nothing," replied he carelessly.

"And three of your followers have not returned!"

"It cost six lives to kill them," he answered, with fierce satisfaction, pa.s.sing into the hut.

This expedition was followed by others, and from the talk in the valley I gathered that Sorillo had started the Indians on the war-trail.

Already the Spaniards were safe only in large numbers, for on every weak and isolated detachment the fierce mountaineers swept down like hawks on their prey.

Now and again they were beaten off; but this did not happen often, because they knew the number of their enemy almost to a man, and had learned the most effective method of attack. Generally speaking, the little body of Spanish soldiers had no chance whatever, either of flight or of victory.

From time to time strange and startling rumours reached us. In September we heard that the Chilian army had landed on the coast, and soon afterwards that the Englishman Cochrane had swept the Spanish fleet from the seas. Jose had often spoken of this daring sailor, who, after performing many glorious deeds in the British navy, had taken command of the Chilian fleet, and had done much to make Chili independent of Spain. Now, with his s.h.i.+ps and sailors, he was helping to do the same for Peru.

On hearing these things I became impatient, not wis.h.i.+ng to remain cooped up in the valley while the Liberating Army was marching on Lima.

However, my deliverance, though slow in coming, came at length, but before that time I had a most startling surprise. One morning, in the last week of January 1821, I had gone out very early, half expecting to see Quilca returning from one of his excursions. Most of the Indians were astir, when suddenly a man came running from the mouth of the pa.s.s.

"Here they are!" he cried; "here they are!"

We pushed down quickly to meet them, I in the very front. Quilca appeared first, riding slowly, as if his horse were tired out. His men, lolling on their animals, followed, some of them with closed eyes and half asleep.

Presently I caught sight of Sorillo's messenger, nearly at the end of the line; and then I opened my eyes wide, thinking they had played me false. Was I awake, or was I dreaming? Was I--

"Jack!"

That settled it! The Indians stared in astonishment, as with a startled cry I ran past them to where in the rear a man had jumped from his horse to the ground.

"Jose!" I cried, "Jose!" and for the life of me could say no more, but stood staring at him as if he had been some strange, unnatural animal.

Had I the skill of an artist, I should love to draw his face as he looked into mine. It was strong and firm and purposeful, but the gray eyes softened into almost womanly tenderness.

"Why, Jack," said he, s.h.i.+fting the reins and laying a hand on my shoulder, "you're quite a man! Your mother would be proud of you!"

"Have you seen her?" I asked.

"Yes; all's well at home. But we'll talk of that later on. So you've turned Indian, eh?"

"It's better than living in a cell!"

"So it is; and you didn't go down in the s.h.i.+p, after all?"

"No; but I must tell you the story when you've had something to eat.

Give your horse to this youngster, and now come on to Quilca's hut; you must be tired."

"I was," replied he, "but the sight of you woke me up. I wondered if you'd be waiting to see the braves come home. That Quilca of yours is a born soldier. He'd make a good general if they didn't train him!"

He rattled on, and I listened, glad just to hear the sound of his voice, without reference to what he said.

Quilca bade us welcome to the hut, and his womenfolk brought in the food and drink they had prepared.

Jose, as I have said, knew the Indian patois, which during the meal, he used for the benefit of our host, whose Spanish was rather halting. He talked of the war, and told how the Chilians had landed, and how the Royalists were broken up and in full retreat. The campaign, he said, was as good as over, and San Martin could be President of Peru any day he chose.

At that I was much astonished, for knowing the Spanish leaders, I had expected them to fight to the death; but it was pleasing news, all the same, and I began to speculate on how soon we should be in Lima.

After breakfast Jose had a long nap, and then I took him for a stroll in the valley, where we could talk without interruption.

I was anxious to hear about my mother, but first I told my own story--the rescue by the Spanish soldiers, the coming of General Barejo, and the power of the silver key, as also the escape by the underground pa.s.sage, just as I have related it here.

"Barejo's a dangerous man," remarked Jose thoughtfully. "He'll spend the last drop of blood in his body to keep this country for Spain.

He's Loyalist and Royalist to the core. It's a pity, too, because he is fighting for a lost cause."

"The more honour to him!" I answered warmly.

"Just so," exclaimed Jose, with a queer smile; "but, all the same, he makes things more difficult for us."

"Well, put him on one side now. Tell me your own adventures, and where you were when my message reached Lima."

"On the way there. When the schooner foundered, I reckoned it was all over. I went down to a great depth, but, as luck would have it, came up just clear of a broken mast. One of the sailors was holding to it, and I joined him, though without any hope of being saved. You know I'm pretty strong, but I was helpless in that wild sea. The waves just flung me about anyhow. The other chap lasted an hour or two, when down he went with a scream, and I heard no more of him. But I needn't dwell on the horrors of that night; you had a strong taste of them yourself.

About daybreak I was flung like a spent ball on to a sandy beach. I had just strength to crawl a few yards further up, and then collapsed.

It seems some Indians carried me away, and nursed me back to health, but for weeks I was wild as a loon. They searched the coast, but found nothing, and I concluded you were at the bottom of the sea. Then I got a pa.s.sage to Pisco in a coasting brig, and from there made my way overland to Callao."