Chapter XVI: Glorious News

Many times during the night the pain and the cold wakened me; but I contrived to get some sleep, for which I fell much better in the morning. To my dismay, however, I found it impossible to walk; my ankle had swollen considerably, and the pain of putting my foot to the ground made me cry out in anguish.

Yet, unless I wished to starve, something I must do. Unbuckling my sword, and hiding it in the recess, I began to crawl along, trailing my injured 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 to call 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 I again tried to shout, my voice seemed weak and quavering. My strength was nearly exhausted, when suddenly, and rather to my astonishment, I caught sight of a man peering at me curiously from behind a rock. He was 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 was jauntily set a small cap decked with gay-coloured ribbons. On his coming 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 give myself up to the soldiers! Surely this fellow is the prince of ruffians."

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 spark of human sympathy, you will give me what help you can."

"Are you hurt?" he asked; and the cool tone in which he spoke made me angry beyond measure.

Then he drew a step nearer, saying, "Perhaps the señor will give me his pistols; the mountain air makes one suspicious."

"Take them," I cried, "and anything else you desire; but get me some food and drink, and I will pay you well."

"Ah," exclaimed the fellow, with renewed interest, "the señor has money on him! I had better mind that also. There are lawless people in the mountains," and he grinned knowingly at me.

"I have no money here," I answered, "but I will pay you well to get me carried to Lima."

"That is a long way," he observed cautiously. "No doubt the señor has rings or some articles of jewellery?"

"I don't possess a single valuable except this," said I, producing the silver 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 me both of safety and of good treatment.

"If you belong to the Order of the Silver Key," I remarked, "and recognize the authority of Raymon Sorillo, all is well. He is my friend, and will give me shelter."

"The chief is in the mountains, señor, and not far off. I will get help, and take you to him. Meanwhile, eat a little coca; it will keep up your strength. I shall not be long gone."

"Thanks," said I, taking some of the coca, and chuckling to myself at this unexpected stroke of good fortune.

The fellow was as good as his word. He returned shortly with three Indians, armed like himself, and dressed in the same grotesque way. They were all sturdy fellows, and two of them, raising me gently from the ground, carried me in their arms with the greatest ease.

Every step took me farther from the main track, and into a wilder part of the mountains, till at last my bearers stopped in a romantic ravine. There were several huts dotted about in an irregular ring, but most of the men were in the open, seated round a blazing fire.

Three-fourths of the band were pure Indians, some were mulattoes, while a few were Spaniards of the lowest type. They looked what they were, bandits and outlaws, and I must say that my acquaintance of the morning was not the most villainous of them. They formed a striking company, quite in keeping with the gloomy grandeur of their home, shut in on every side by overhanging rocks and towering mountains.

"Who is that?" suddenly roared a deep voice, and I saw the gigantic leader stride from the ring of men. Approaching us, he looked me full in the face.

"A stranger?" cried he. "Why have you brought him here?"

"I must have changed much since we last met," I interposed. "But if you don't remember me, you will doubtless remember the present you gave me," 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 honoured guest--room for the son of Don Eduardo!"

The name carried no meaning to the Spanish brigands; but the Indians received it with a great shout, for they knew how greatly my father had suffered in his efforts to make their lives easier. They would have pressed 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, and Sorillo himself attended to my injuries.

"No bones broken," said he, after making an examination with as much skill as a surgeon. "We have only to reduce this swelling of the ankle. 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 against the Spanish government. He had extraordinary courage and ability, and no 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 always my father's opinion that, but for the coming of San Martin, he would in time have transformed Peru into an Indian kingdom. I am at least certain that his ambition tended in that direction.

When the war broke out, numerous desperadoes flocked to him, and he was held responsible for many acts of cruelty. Whether he was deserving of blame I cannot say. José held him to be cruel, and he generally had that reputation. Perhaps it was only a case of giving a dog a bad name. However that may be, it is certain he had a high opinion of my father, and for his sake was exceedingly kind to me. But for him I might have lain long enough in the Spanish fortress, or perished in the sandy coast deserts. Another service he did, which we only heard of afterwards, and then by accident, was the guarding of my mother. From the time of my escape till the withdrawal of the Royalists from Lima, several of his men, unknown to her, kept ward over the hacienda. They had received strict orders to protect its mistress against every danger, even at the risk of their lives. In case of anything occurring, 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 hardly judge this remarkable man without bias; but even his most bitter enemies could not truly say he was wholly bad. And it may be stated here 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 the band, were compelled to behave peaceably in my presence.

After I had eaten and slept for a time, I told the chief the story I had heard from the young Spanish officer, Santiago Mariano, concerning my father, and asked his opinion.

"I would build no hopes on that," said he, shaking his head thoughtfully. "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," I remarked.

"Yes; his provisions must be gone by now. Your San Martin is an old woman. Why did he allow Canterac to escape? My men and I have been marched about from place to place just where we could do no good. I shall not trouble to obey orders any more. We are not children to be treated thus."

Sorillo was very sore on the subject, and returned to it over and over again. In the evening one of the band arrived with the information that Colonel Miller had sent out search-parties to look for me, and that three men were waiting at the entrance to the ravine.

"Tell them," said the chief, "that Don Juan Crawford is with me. He has 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 him home."

"I wish the colonel would let my mother know," said I; "she would be less anxious."

"That is a poor compliment to me," observed Sorillo, smiling. "My messenger is already on his way to the hacienda with the news. I have told him to say you are in absolutely no danger, so that your mother will not be alarmed."

"Then I am more than ever in your debt," said I gratefully, for the chief's action showed a thoughtful consideration quite unexpected.

"We shall never pay all that is owing to the son of Don Eduardo Crawford," 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 you will be comfortable."

I slept well that night. The pain had considerably decreased, and I had no cause for fear or anxiety. Sorillo slept in another corner of the hut, going out so quietly in the morning that he did not disturb me. Indeed the sun was high in the heavens when I wakened.

The chief's messenger had not returned, and another day passed before he appeared; then, to my delight, he brought José with him.

"Well, Jack," exclaimed my old friend, on finding that I was really not much hurt, "you gave Miller a fine fright. He thought you were either dead or carried off. His troops are back in Lima. It seems Canterac was too good for you."

"He flung half his army at us," I responded rather sulkily, for one does not like being reminded of a beating. "It must have been a matter of 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 shaping just as we could wish them to. We are masters of Callao."

"Then the forts have fallen? O José, tell me quickly--I am burning with excitement--was my father there?"

"Keep cool!" said he, smiling; "I don't want you to throw yourself into a fever. Yes, we found your father there."

"Thank God for that!" I murmured reverently. "You can tell me the rest at your leisure."

"There isn't much to tell," he replied. "It seems that your father was suddenly surrounded in the mountains by a body of regulars, and ordered to submit. Taken by surprise, there was nothing else to do; but while he stood hesitating, some one--not the captain in charge--shot him down, and he remembers nothing more till he found himself in Callao. The governor, La Mar, happens to be a kind-hearted fellow; so he had your father's wound dressed, gave him the most comfortable cell, and altogether treated him so well that, in spite of a long illness, he is entirely recovered."

"This is better and better, José! I hope we shall have a chance of doing La Mar a good turn."

"Your father will be in a position to see to that, as San Martin has already 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 he says--to be able to hand over the estates, which he was keeping in trust 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 told him the good news. At first he did not seem to comprehend. When he did, I thought he would take leave of his senses. Even José, who was not given to judging by outward show, was impressed by the man's genuine pleasure.

But the grand event took place some days later, when my father himself came to remove me to Lima. Sorillo marshalled his Indians at the mouth of the pass, and they escorted him up the ravine in a triumphal procession, amidst enthusiastic cries of "Long live Don Eduardo Crawford! 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 in Peru. My father was exceptionally loving and kind-hearted, but he never made a fuss, while my English blood kept me from being too demonstrative.

"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 hardly dared hope so."

As José said, he was looking very well, considering the circumstances. His cheeks were thinner, and had lost their colour; his hair had turned gray; he seemed less robust than formerly; but his mind was brisk and alert, and his eyes retained their old fire.

Sorillo would have kept him awhile as an honoured guest; but he was anxious to return, and the carriage waited at the foot of the mountains. On one point, however, the guerilla chief would not be denied. Leaving the Spaniards and mulattoes in the ravine, he insisted on accompanying us, with his Indians, to Lima, and my father did not like to refuse him. From the ravine they carried me on a comfortable litter to the foot of the mountains, where José had stayed with the carriage. Then forming up in front, they marched along singing and cheering for Don Eduardo Crawford.

We slept that night in a deserted hacienda, and arrived at our home next day. José had ridden forward to inform my mother of her coming visitors, 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 that the people for whom he had suffered so much were grateful for his efforts to do them good.

As the journey had made me rather excited, I took no part in the rejoicings which were kept up through the night; but after breakfast the Indians took their departure, and the noise of their cheering might have been heard at the other end of the town.

"It's rather rough on you, Jack," laughed my father, coming into my room; "but now you will have a chance of a little quiet."

"I am not sure of that," observed my mother, who was looking from a window: "here are two cavaliers crossing the park. By the way they ride, 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 were in 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. I hope there is no permanent injury to the foot?"

"Oh no, colonel; only I shan't be able to do any more mountain climbing yet awhile."

"There's none to do," broke in O'Brien; "we've taken to dancing instead."

"I shall not be able even to join in that for some time."

"No? What a pity! We are enjoying ourselves immensely, though it seems rather an odd way of carrying on a war."

"The general perhaps considers that his troops require rest," suggested my mother.

"Even so, staying here is a great mistake," said the colonel. "We are giving the Royalists time to recover their strength, and we shall suffer for it later on. Unfortunately the general appears to think that Lima is Peru."

"Not the general only," remarked my father; "many of his officers would be 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 so comfortable that we wish to stay here as long as possible."

"In that case," said my mother, smiling, "we must steel our hearts against you."

"And drive us into the wilderness again!" laughed O'Brien gaily. "Señora, you will not be so cruel?"

"I will not begin to-day," she replied merrily, "because I hope you will stay and dine with us. To-morrow--"

"Ah! let us think of to-morrow when it comes; to-day we will enjoy ourselves."

"A pleasant creed," remarked my father, "though more often than not it leads to ruin. I shall begin to think you are falling a victim to our South 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 quite agree 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 of argument."

Although talking in this bantering way, it must not be thought that he was really in favour of remaining idle; but he was a soldier, and had to obey orders, however much he disliked them.

My father, being a member of the government, was in a much worse position, as many held him responsible in a measure for the lazy way in which the war was being conducted. Really he had no power over the army at all, and could not on his own authority have moved a section of recruits.

O'Brien had spoken truly in saying that the officers had taken to dancing instead of climbing. All the chief families opened their doors to them, and our neighbour, Montilla, who had so suddenly been converted to our side, gave a ball more brilliant than even the oldest inhabitant could remember.

Thus the days passed into weeks; my ankle grew strong and well, I was able to resume my duties, and still there was no sign of moving. We held possession of Lima and Callao, but on the other side of the mountains the Royalists did as they pleased.

"I hope," remarked my father more than once, "that when we wish to move we shall be able to do so."