FRIENDS IN NEED.
Don Filippo did all in his power to make the journey a pleasant one for
Stephen. They travelled on an average about twenty-four miles a day,
twelve in the morning soon after sunrise and as much in the cool of the
evening. During the heat of the day they halted, sometimes in the shade of
a grove, sometimes at the hacienda where they breakfasted. The young
officer chatted freely to Stephen about himself and his life, and as they
lay in the shade during the long hours of the heat, Stephen related his
own adventures on his first cruise, and in reply to questions of the
Spaniard, repeated to him what he had heard from his father of Cochrane’s
exploits. Don Filippo treated him in every way as a friend and an equal,
and no one who saw them together would have dreamt that he was a prisoner.
Even at night no guard was placed at the door of his chamber, the Spaniard
having absolute faith in the honour of an English officer. The journey
occupied nearly three weeks, by the end of which time Stephen was
perfectly at home on horseback. As they approached Callao Don Filippo’s
gaiety deserted him.
“I do not conceal from you, Don Estevan, that I am anxious about you, very
anxious. You can hardly understand the deep and bitter hostility that has
been excited in the minds of my countrymen by the doings of your admiral.
Our hold on Peru when you arrived here was absolute, and it was morally
certain that, with the aid of the ships and men on their way out, we
should have very soon recaptured Chili again. All that has changed. Our
armies have been defeated, our ships captured by inferior forces, our
prestige destroyed; we find ourselves insulted in our ports, our ships cut
out from under our guns, the Peruvians ready at any moment to revolt, our
flag almost swept from the Pacific, and with every prospect that the broad
dominions won for Spain by Pizarro and Cortez will be wrested from us. You
can hardly imagine the wrath and humiliation of every Spaniard at the
misfortunes that have fallen upon us, the more so that these misfortunes
have been inflicted by a naval force that we deemed absolutely
contemptible.
“All this is due to Admiral Cochrane and his English officers. In the next
place, in addition to the political hate there is the religious one. It is
by heretics that we have been defeated, as we were defeated centuries ago
by your people and the Dutch. You know how great is the power that the
priests wield. We have still the Inquisition among us, and though its
power in Spain is comparatively slight, the institution still flourishes
on this side of the Atlantic. All this makes me anxious for you. No doubt
your admiral would exchange some of his prisoners for you, or might, did
he learn it, retaliate upon them for any ill-treatment dealt to you, but
you see he may never get to know in time. He may hear that the ship in
which you sailed was lost, but he may suppose that all hands were lost
with it, for the four Chilian sailors were captured an hour or two after
you were, and were at once shot. I am sorry now that I undertook this
journey. We have been friends and comrades since we started, and I cannot
bear the thought that any evil should befall you. You have an absolute
right to good treatment, for your admiral has always treated his prisoners
with the greatest kindness and consideration, but I regret to say that in
the present state of the feelings of the Spaniards I am not certain that
such treatment will be meted out to you.”
“We must hope for the best, Don Filippo,” Stephen replied. “I do not blind
myself to the fact that my position is not free from danger, but I confide
in the honour of your countrymen.”
“Unhappily,” the young officer said gloomily, “the ideas of honour on this
side of the Atlantic differ materially from those in the old country. It
has been so ever since we set foot in this country. Acts of treachery have
been performed by men who at home would shrink from any deed that savoured
of dishonour; and although even here one Spaniard would not transgress the
code towards another, there are too many who feel no scruples whatever as
to any course that they may pursue towards one of another race and another
religion.”
Stephen nodded.
“I understand that, Don Filippo, and I own that, while I have no great
fear of ill-treatment on the part of the military and civil authorities, I
feel that should I fall into the hands of the Inquisition my chance would
be a slight one. From what I have heard I know that its power is so great
that even the most powerful of the civil authorities have to give way to
it. Of course, being a British subject, they have no shadow of right to
meddle with me, and if they do so and it becomes known in England, it will
be a very serious matter; but my fate might never be known, and even did
it come to the admiral’s ears that I had been brought a prisoner here, any
application on his part might be met by a statement that I had been shot
while attempting to escape, or that I died of fever in prison, and he
would never be able to obtain any proof to the contrary.”
“I am but too well aware of it,” the young Spaniard replied. “Men are
constantly missing—not military men, but merchants, land-owners, and
others who have been known to entertain liberal opinions. No one knows
what has become of them. No one dares to make inquiry. I tell you, señor,
that I, a Spaniard, acknowledge that the state of affairs here is
detestable, and I am not surprised at the efforts of the colonies to break
away from us. Even in the middle ages in Spain priestly tyranny was never
carried to a greater point than still prevails here. We have been here for
centuries, and what have we done for the countries under our sway? So far
from enriching, we have impoverished them. The great proportion of the
population are little more than slaves, and we are hated as bitterly as
Cortez was hated by the Mexicans when he overthrew the empire of
Montezuma. It is three years since I came out here full of enthusiasm, and
eager to bear a part in putting down the rebellion of Chili. Now I feel
that Chili was more than justified, and that ere long we shall lose all
the possessions that the swords of our ancestors won for us, and which
were regarded with so much natural pride by Spaniards; and the worst of it
is, that it is the outcome of our own work, our own oppression and
misgovernment. Were I to speak like this in public, not even the influence
of my two uncles could save me. I too should disappear and be heard of no
more. I have been thinking,” he went on after a few minutes’ silence, “for
the last two or three days whether it would not be better for me to give
you back your parole and to suffer you to escape. Of course I should be
blamed, but the offence would not be a tithe of the gravity of that of
speaking as I have just spoken to you.”
“I would not think of such a thing, Don Filippo,” Stephen replied warmly.
“I would not take my freedom at the cost of involving in my trouble one
who has behaved so kindly to me. I have still a great hope that everything
will turn out well, and that I shall be exchanged for some officer in the
admiral’s hands. He is sure to hear of my being at Callao, for his last
letter said that many deserters were coming in, and from some of these he
is likely to learn that I am a prisoner; and in that case he would not, I
am sure, lose a day in sending in a flag of truce with a request for my
exchange, and a notice that if this was refused he would quickly follow it
by retributive measures if any harm befell me.”
The Spaniard did not reply. He felt sure that every pains would be taken
by the authorities to prevent the news of his companion’s capture becoming
public; and his uncle, on appointing him Stephen’s escort, had laid strict
injunctions on him to say nothing of the matter on his arrival at Callao
until he had delivered his prisoner over to the authorities, and had
received permission from them to speak of it. On the following day they
entered the town. As they rode to the house of the military governor no
one paid any heed to their passage; it was but two young officers
returning perhaps from Lima or from some other station. On reaching the
governor Filippo went up alone to make his report, leaving Stephen in
charge of the soldiers. He was absent half an hour.
“I have said all I could for you,” he said gloomily on his return. “The
governor is one of the old type, obstinate, bigoted, and arrogant. I have
not been all this time with him; in fact only a few minutes. He dismissed
all I had to say with a wave of the hand:
“‘You will take the prisoner, Lieutenant Conchas, to the military prison,
and hand him over to the governor there. Until you hear further you will
maintain an absolute silence as to his arrival here, and will simply state
that you are here on a short leave.’
“I had nothing to do but to bow and retire, but if possible I will send a
message to your admiral that you are here. At present, however, that is
out of the question; for while I was waiting in the anteroom I learned
that the blockading fleet has sailed away, and that there is no news
whatever as to the direction which it has taken. It is very unfortunate,
but you may be assured that, as soon as it returns, I will somehow or
other communicate with the admiral.”
Remounting they rode to the prison. They said good-bye to each other
before they reached its door, for, as Filippo said, it would be better
that he should part ceremoniously.
“We must not show any affection for each other,” he said, “or, should the
English admiral learn that you are here, or should you manage to make your
escape, suspicion would at once light upon me. Believe me, Don Estevan, I
shall do all in my power to aid you.”
The parting inside was therefore brief. Don Filippo handed Stephen over to
the chief official of the prison, saying that the orders of the governor
were, that he was to be kept apart from all other prisoners and allowed no
communication with anyone.
“Adieu, señor. I trust that you have had no cause to complain of your
treatment during your journey hither.”
“None whatever,” Stephen said gravely. “You have treated me with the
courtesy that an officer has a right to expect at the hands of his
captors.”
The young Spaniard bowed, saluted the prison officer, and left without
another word. The governor struck a bell, and on an assistant entering he
gave Stephen into his charge. “Place him in the end cell of the long
corridor,” he said. “If it is occupied at present, remove whoever is there
to another cell. This prisoner is to hold no communication with others,
and an extra strict watch must be kept on him. He is one of the heretic
officers of the Chilian fleet, and will want looking after closely.”
The cell happened to be untenanted, and Stephen was at once conducted
there. It was apparently intended as a place of confinement for officers
who had fallen into disgrace. It was some twelve feet square, and
contained a table and a chair. From the window, which was very closely
barred, a view of the bay could be obtained, and Stephen felt that his
quarters were better than he had expected. As soon as he was alone he
examined the apartment more closely. Looking down as well as he could
between the bars he could see the top of a wall some twenty yards away,
and decided that a courtyard surrounded the building, so that even could
he find any means of descending from his window it would be necessary
afterwards for him to climb this wall. At present, however, he had no idea
of trying to escape. To do so would, were he caught, greatly prejudice his
case, and might be used as an excuse for his instant execution. However,
he concluded that if he could loosen the bars it would be as well to do so
without loss of time, as it might be necessary to make the attempt at very
short notice.
Upon examining the bars he found that they were so strongly built into the
wall that it would be a task demanding a very long time to execute.
Turning from this he examined the door. The framework was massive, and he
had noticed as he had entered that it was fastened outside by two heavy
iron bolts. “There is not much to be done that way,” he said. “Now I must
wait to see how my meals are brought in. The only possible way that I can
think of is that of overpowering the warder and getting out in his
clothes. I don’t suppose that there is much order or discipline in a
Spanish prison, and if I could once get down into the yard after dark, I
might walk quietly out if there is a gate open, or climb that wall if
there isn’t.”
That evening his supper was brought in by the warder into whose charge he
had been given. He was accompanied by another armed with sword and musket.
“Two of them,” Stephen said to himself, as, after retiring without having
spoken a word, his guards closed and bolted the door behind them. “I think
I could manage them at a pinch. It seems to me that an escape is possible,
but the question is what should I do with myself when I got out. If the
fleet had been still off the town I might have made along the shore,
stolen a boat, and rowed out; but as it has gone there is nothing to be
done that way. A journey on foot from here to the frontier and down
through Chili would be a tremendous affair. I should be pursued, and as it
would be guessed that I had gone that way, orders would be sent to every
town and village to look after me, and a man in the dress of a Spanish
officer on foot would be remarked by every soul I met.”
Three days passed without incident, but at dinner-time on the fourth he
thought that the warder, as he placed the hunch of bread on the table,
gave him a significant glance. As soon as the door was closed he seized
the bread and pulled it to pieces. Inside was a tiny pellet of paper. He
opened and smoothed it out. In a female hand was written in tiny
characters: “_The Inquisition has demanded you. You will be handed over
to-morrow. If it be possible, make an escape to-night. If you can do so,
turn to your right from the front of the prison, take the second street on
the left, and knock three times on the fifth door on the right-hand side.
A friend will be awaiting you. If you cannot escape, hope still. We will
try other means. Destroy this when read._”
Stephen read it through three or four times to be sure that he had his
instructions by heart, then he put the paper into his mouth, chewed it up
and swallowed it.
“It must be done when they bring in my supper,” he said to himself. “I
know that I am the last to be served in this corridor, for I can hear them
stop at the door next to me before they come here. That is an advantage,
as they would go straight down the corridor on leaving me. The first thing
is to tear up these two rugs into strips, and make ropes for binding them.
Of course I shall have to tackle the soldier first. The warder has
evidently been bribed and he will make no resistance. When I have once
overpowered the soldier, I may get some hints from the other as to which
is my best way of getting out of this. Of course this is Filippo’s doing.
What a good fellow he is to run such a risk! There is one thing, if I once
get fairly out of the cell I will be killed rather than be taken and
handed over to the Inquisition.”
Although he had not once been visited between meals, he thought it prudent
not to begin the work of making his rope until the sun was getting low.
When it did so he tore up the blankets, twisted and knotted together the
strips, and then sat down to await the coming of the jailers. He had
already tried to wrench off one of the legs of the table, but it was too
heavy and strongly made for him to succeed. He then thought of using the
chair, but he could not feel certain of stunning the soldier with the
first blow, and the latter might fire off his musket, or shout so loudly
as to give the alarm; he therefore determined to trust to his hands alone.
He knew that he was greatly superior in strength to any of the little
Spanish soldiers, and that with the advantage of surprise he ought to be
able to succeed without noise.
About an hour after it became dark he heard the footsteps come to the next
cell, then he took his place close against the wall by the side of his
door and waited.
As the bolts were drawn back he took a deep breath. The warder as usual
came in first, followed closely by the armed guard. As the latter entered,
Stephen sprang upon him, and his hands closed upon the man’s throat with
so fierce a grip that the musket fell instantly from the fellow’s hands.
Without losing his grasp in the slightest Stephen whirled him round and
threw him against the warder, whom the shock brought to the ground,
Stephen hurling the already almost insensible soldier upon him. Seizing
the musket he brought the butt end down upon the soldier’s head with a
force amply sufficient to stun him; then he rolled him off the warder’s
body and helped the latter to his feet.
“I was obliged to be rough with you,” he said, “in order that that fellow
when he comes to his senses may confirm your story that you were at once
knocked down. Of course I shall tie and gag you both.”
“Yes, and before you go you had better give me a tap with that musket. You
need not hit me quite so hard as you did him, but it must be hard enough
to make a good bump. You needn’t be afraid of hurting me. I am well paid
for anything that may happen, though indeed I did not expect it to come
like this.”
“In the first place I am going to take your clothes,” Stephen said. “You
can say that you were insensible when I stripped you; but first I want you
to tell me how I can get out.”
“You won’t have much difficulty about that,” the man replied. “When we
have taken round supper our work is done for the night, and half of us are
free to go out and spend the evening. You turn down the first staircase
you come to, follow it to the bottom, then take the corridor to the right
and go on until you come to an open door. Two soldiers will be standing
there on sentry, but they ask no questions of the warders. You had better
wait when you get in sight of the door till you see that no one else is
going out, or it might be noticed that you were a stranger and questions
might be asked you. Now you had better lose no time, or the others may be
out before you get there, and the door be shut.”
[Illustration: STEPHEN MAKES A DASH FOR LIBERTY, AND GRAPPLES WITH THE
GUARD.]
As he spoke he was taking off his uniform, which consisted of a dark
jacket, trousers, and cap, and a brown belt from which hung a sword.
Stephen put them on, then tightly bound the insensible man, whose lungs
were now playing, stuffed a portion of the rug into his mouth and fastened
it there with a strip tied at the back of the head. Then he similarly
bound and gagged the warder, and then gave him a heavy blow on the head,
feeling that it was best for the man himself that it should be a severe
one. Then he took the sentry’s musket and hid it under the bed, so that,
if by any chance he managed to free himself of his bonds, he could not
fire it to give the alarm. Then putting the cap on his head Stephen went
out, bolted the door, and proceeded down the corridor. Following the
instructions that had been given him he made his way towards the door.
Just as he neared it he saw a group of three or four warders going out
together, and waiting for a moment till they had disappeared boldly
followed them, and passed between the sentries into the open air. So
rapidly and easily had the escape been managed that he could scarcely
believe that he had escaped from the hands of the military authorities,
still less from the fate that would have awaited him had he fallen into
the hands of the Inquisition. Not knowing which was the front of the
building, he followed the lane, upon which the side door opened, to its
end, and then finding that he was now at the rear of the prison he
returned; and gaining the street in which was the main entrance, followed
out his instructions and tapped three times at the door of the house
indicated. There was a little pause and then it was opened a short
distance.
“Is it you, señor?” a female voice asked.
“It is the man whom you are, I believe, expecting, and who received your
message.”
With an exclamation of gladness the woman opened the door and, as he
entered, closed it behind him.
“Follow me, señor,” she said; “there is nothing in the passage to run
against.”
A few steps further Stephen heard a door open, a flood of light poured
into the passage, and his guide said “Quick!” He entered and she closed
the door behind him.
“Thanks to the saints that you have escaped, señor!” a voice said. “It
seemed to us well-nigh impossible that you could do so; but, knowing how
brave and enterprising you English are, Filippo said that he had great
faith that you might manage it.”
Stephen now saw that the speaker was a young and very pretty girl.
“I am speaking to the Señorita Inez Conchas,” he said respectfully. “How
can I thank you and Don Filippo sufficiently for your action in my behalf.
You have saved my life, for assuredly had I not known that I should be
handed over to the Inquisition no thought of making my escape to-night
would have entered my mind.”
“It is all Filippo’s doing,” she said. “He made me write the letter, and
got me to come here because he could not come himself,—I and my old nurse
with me. She is sitting in the front room on watch; it was she who opened
the door to you. You see, we could not be sure whether the note would
reach you; the man whom we bribed might have turned traitor and given it
to the governor. My nurse arranged it; for it would never have done for
Filippo to have appeared in the matter, and I am so well known in the
place that it would have been very dangerous. However, we hoped that all
would be well, for half the man’s bribe was not to be paid to him until
you were free. However, we placed her at the corner of the street this
afternoon in order to watch if anyone came to this house or stopped to
look at it earnestly. The people are away in the country, and my nurse,
who knew the woman who is left in charge here, got her to lend her the key
until to-morrow morning, on some excuse or other. Filippo brought me round
just before dark; there is an entertainment to-night at the Viceroy’s, and
he had to be there. Indeed, it was the best place he could be, as no
suspicion can now fall upon him of having aided in your escape. How did
you manage it, señor?”
Stephen briefly related how it had been brought about.
“That was well done indeed!” the girl said, clapping her hands merrily. “I
scarce thought that it could be your knock when you came, for we had
agreed that if you did manage to make your escape it would not be until
very late, and it seemed impossible that you could have got out so early.
However, that is all the better, as you will now have a long start. Now,
señor, the first thing for you to do will be to put on the disguise
Filippo has prepared for you in that bag on the table. Here is a piece of
burnt cork for darkening your eyebrows and eyelashes, and a false
moustache that will quite change your appearance. I will go into the next
room with nurse; when you are dressed you can call, and I will come back.”
As soon as he was alone Stephen opened the bag and drew out an attire such
as would be worn by a respectable Peruvian merchant. This he put on,
darkened his eyebrows, and stuck on the moustache, and acknowledged when
he viewed himself in a small mirror that he should not have known himself.
On his opening the door the girl came in from the other room again.
“We have talked over, Filippo and I, the way you had best go, and we both
agree that the journey south would be altogether too dangerous. It will
naturally be supposed that you have gone that way, and the news will be
sent down by horsemen, so that the troops and the authorities will be on
the look-out for you everywhere. We both think that, although the journey
is very long and toilsome, your best plan will be to ride straight inland,
cross the Andes, and come down into Brazil. You are not likely to be
questioned on that line, which no one would imagine that you would be
likely to take. You may meet with adventures on the way, but you English
people are fond of adventures. At any rate that plan will be safer for
you, and indeed for us.”
“Why for you, señorita?”
“If you were to be captured,” she said, “you would be questioned as to who
aided you, and there are means in these prisons by which they can wring
the truth from the strongest and bravest. There are tortures, señor, that
flesh and blood could not withstand.”
“You are right, Donna Inez,” Stephen said gravely. “For myself I should be
ready to run the risk of getting through to the south, but what you have
said decides me. I would die rather than say a word that could betray you
and your cousin. But no one can say what one would do under fiendish
tortures; therefore I at once accept your plan.”
“That is right,” the girl said. “Filippo said that he was sure that for
our sake you would consent to it. Now for your instructions. Nurse will,
in the first place, take me home; then she will return here; she will be
back in half an hour. She will take away with her the things that you have
worn, and will to-night cut them up and burn them, so that no trace may
remain of your visit here. When she returns she will guide you through the
town. At a cottage a quarter of a mile outside a muleteer with two animals
is awaiting you; he does not know who you are, but believes you to be a
Brazilian who has been on this side of the continent for some years,
chiefly in Chili, and so speak that language, and now, being afraid to
proceed by water, are about to return by the passes. How far you will be
able to get him to accompany you I cannot say, but at present he has
promised to take you over the Andes. The best course to take then you can
talk over with the muleteer. You will find many details of the various
routes in a letter Filippo has given him for you. And now adieu, señor. We
shall think of you often, and I shall pray for your safe return to your
friends. Possibly we may meet again some day, for Filippo has a powerful
relation who, it is expected, may some day be the Spanish ambassador in
London, and he says that he shall try and get him to take him on his
staff.”
“I should indeed be glad if it could be so, señorita. I shall to the end
of my life entertain the liveliest feelings of gratitude to you and Don
Filippo for your kindness. Have you a pencil and paper?”
The girl pointed to the table, on which stood writing materials. Stephen
wrote his father’s address upon it and handed it to her.
“That is my address in England,” he said. “I pray you, when you return to
Spain, to beg Don Filippo to write to me there, and I am sure to get it
sooner or later. Directly I receive his letter I shall make a point of
taking a passage for Spain in order to thank you more fully and heartily
than I can now do. It would be dangerous were I to write to you here.”
She nodded. “Adieu, señor.”
“Adieu, señorita. May your life with Don Filippo be as happy as you both
deserve!”
He put the hand she gave him to his lips. A minute later she and her nurse
left the house, and Stephen remained wondering over the events that had
happened.
“It is certainly the best plan,” he said to himself. “I daresay there will
be lots of hardships to go through, but it will be a glorious trip. Fancy
going down the Amazon from almost its source to the sea! The señorita said
nothing about money, but Filippo has shown himself so thoughtful in every
other way that I have no doubt he has not forgotten that for such a
journey some money at least will be required. Happily I am now in a
position to pay anything he may advance me, so I need not scruple to take
it. He told me that his father was very rich, but that money was very
little good to him in Peru, and that he had a very handsome allowance, but
no means whatever of spending it, especially in such a place as San
Carlos. I will write him a line or two now, and will give it to the old
woman after I have read his letter.”
He sat down and wrote a note expressive of his warmest gratitude to
Filippo, and concluded: “_In other matters too I am deeply your debtor,
but this fortunately I can, as I told you, discharge far more easily than
I can my debt of gratitude. As soon as I reach England I will pay in the
amount to a house having connections in Spain, and order them to have it
placed to your account with some good firm there, with instructions to
write to you saying that they hold it payable to your order. My name will
not be mentioned, so that in case of any accident the money will not be
traceable to me. My other and greater debt must for ever remain unpaid,
but to the end of my life I shall remain the debtor of you and Donna Inez.
Wishing you both a long life and every happiness together, I remain always
your grateful friend._”
He folded the letter up and put it into his pocket, and then waited until
he heard the three knocks on the door. Stephen blew out the candle, went
along the passage to the front door, opened it, and went out. Without a
word the old woman turned and walked along the street. He followed at a
short distance, and was presently in a busy thoroughfare. Twenty minutes
walking took them beyond the town, and they presently stopped at a cottage
where a candle was burning in the window.
“This is the house, señor,” she said, speaking for the first time.
She went up to the door and tapped at it. It was opened by a man in the
attire of a muleteer.
“This is the señor who will accompany you, Gomez,” she said. “Now, señor,
my work is done.” And she turned to go.
“Wait a moment,” he said. “Gomez has a letter for me, and I want to read
it before I give you a note that I wish you to take back and to hand to
Donna Inez.”
“Here is the letter, señor,” the muleteer said.
Stephen took it to the light and opened it. It was a long one, but he
skipped the first part, which was full of directions and hints for the
journey. Running his eye down it fell upon some figures, and he read:
“_Gomez will hand you a bag containing eight hundred dollars. This, I have
no doubt, will be sufficient for your journey down the Amazon and to pay
your passage-money home. You are heartily welcome to it. Some day, if it
please you, you can pay me back; but if aught befalls you on your way down
do not let the thought of this paltry debt trouble you in any way. I know
not whether this will ever reach your hands, but pray that it may do so,
and that I may have the satisfaction of knowing that Inez and I have had
some part in saving the life of a brave English gentleman._” Then with a
few more words of adieu the letter closed.
Stephen had already felt that there was some money in the pockets of his
trousers, and he now handed his letter to the old woman and pulled out
some gold.
“No,” she said, drawing back; “I would die to please my young mistress,
but not one penny would I touch from the hand of a foreign heretic.”
A minute later and she was gone. The muleteer laughed at her outbreak.
“Well, well,” he said, “how people differ; now, for my part, when I
receive payment for the work of my mules I care not in the least whether
it comes from a heretic’s pockets or those of a good Catholic. But I did
not know that you Brazilians were heretics, señor.”
“As a rule we are not,” Stephen said, “but my case is an exception; I will
tell you more about it on the journey. Callao is not the town where it is
safe to be a heretic.”
“No, indeed,” the muleteer said with a laugh; “however, it is no business
of mine, señor. A gentleman whose name I know not, but to whom I was
recommended by a cousin of mine, who is a relation of the old woman who
has just left us, made a bargain with me to take you to the Amazon or a
river running into it. He agreed to give me my own terms. He paid me a
third of the money in advance, and said that you would pay me the
remainder at the end of the journey. He said that you were a Brazilian,
and spoke Chilian better than our tongue; though, indeed, they are so much
alike that one passes as well as the other, or did till this war began.
That account of you may be true or it may not, it is no business whatever
of mine. A man says to me, I want you to carry a bag of salt to such a
place. I agree as to the terms, and it is no matter to me whether the sack
contains salt or sand as long as the weight is the same. Your things all
came up here to-day, señor—your wallet, and your sword, and a brace of
pistols, a rifle and a bird gun. You will find everything right. I
understood that it was your wish, for some reason which was again no
business of mine, to start as soon as you arrived, and I have three mules
standing saddled in the stable if you are ready to start.”
“I should certainly be glad to do so, Gomez. I have, as you say, my
reasons for wanting to be off as soon as possible.”
Accordingly the three mules were at once brought round, the baggage
divided between them, and five minutes later, after blowing out the candle
and locking the door behind him, the muleteer mounted and rode off with
Stephen.