TIM IS HELD TO RANSOM
Tim had many acquaintances but few friends among the youth of San
Rosario and the neighbourhood. He often felt the lack of a chum of his
own age, and looked forward eagerly to the time, now drawing very near,
when he would return to England and enter an engineering college. His
most intimate friend in Peru was a young fellow, two or three years
older than himself, named Felipe Durand, who lived on his father's
hacienda, about twelve miles north of the town. Durand had been
educated in England, and being a very fair batsman, he sometimes joined
Tim in getting up a cricket match between elevens of the Japanese
workers.
On the day after Pardo's dismissal, Tim rode out to Durand's house to
arrange for a match in the following week. The path was only a rough
track; it was indeed not a public thoroughfare at all, but was
maintained by Senor Durand and Mr. O'Hagan for their own convenience.
Much of it ran through woods, and on each side the ground rose gradually
to a considerable height.
Tim met nobody on the way, but within a few miles of the hacienda he
noticed a group of men at the edge of the wood some little distance from
the path. Thinking that they were peons of Senor Durand he gave them
only a fleeting glance and passed by. He reached his friend's house
about twenty minutes after starting, and discussed the proposed match in
a little summer-house, over a dish of fruit and a glass of lemonade.
"I say, O'Hagan," said young Durand, after arrangements had been made,
"I wish I had seen your performance with the gobernador. It must have
been great sport."
The two boys always used English when together.
"Indeed, it was good fun," said Tim. "The pater was in a bit of a fizz:
he thinks the Mollendists won't like it."
"I dare say not. He should do as my governor does."
"What's that?"
"Pay up. My father gives them a regular subscription."
"That's rather dangerous, isn't it? The Prefect would drop on him if he
knew."
"The Prefect has dropped on him as it is. He has borrowed a good deal
that he'll never pay back. My father grumbles, of course; but he likes
a quiet life, and would rather pay than be worried. He subscribes to
the Mollendists' funds for the same reason; they leave him alone. He
says that old Mollendo will get the better of the Prefect one of these
days, and as the old chap is fairly honest he won't be sorry. Your
pater had better do the same."
"I'm sure he won't. He says corruption is the curse of this country,
and he won't have anything to do with either of the parties."
"That's very honourable and British, but it won't pay.... Have those
robbers been caught yet?"
"They have not. D'you know, I believe our man Pardo had a hand with
them; the pater gave him the sack yesterday. He resigned, but only to
avoid a sacking. I'm not sorry.... Well, you'll come over on Monday,
then. It's a holiday, so we'll make a day of it."
Tim had ridden only a few miles on his homeward way when he was brought
to a sudden check. The path was blocked by a tree which had apparently
fallen since he passed a couple of hours before. He dismounted, resting
his bicycle against the trunk. The tree was obviously too heavy to be
lifted, and he was looking for a way round it when a number of men
rushed at him from the bushes on each side of the track, and in a few
seconds he was a prisoner. Among his captors he saw one of the brigands
who had snapped up the gobernador.
"You will not get away this time, Senor Ingles," said the man, laughing.
"You will please to come with us."
Tim was helpless. He could only put the best face on it. The men led
him along the track northward, in the direction of Durand's house, two
following with the bicycle. As they neared the house, they struck into
the woods on the left, not returning to the track until they were some
distance beyond, at a wooden bridge over a ravine. The district to the
north had a bad name. It was the immemorial haunt of outlaws, whether
revolutionist or criminal. The outlawed criminal was invariably a
revolutionist; though among the revolutionists there were many, like
their leader, Mollendo himself, who were quite respectable members of
society.
After a few miles the country became very wild and rugged. The men in
charge of the bicycle grumbled at their laborious task; they were not
used to wheeling so heavy and cumbersome an object, and in the rougher
places it was difficult to balance. Every minute Tim expected to see
the machine escape from their hands, topple over, and dash itself to
pieces on the rocky declivity.
The track became steeper and steeper. It wound this way and that, a
rough wall of rock rising high on the left hand; on the right long
slopes and sheer descents, crossed by yawning gullies, stretching
downwards for hundreds of feet. Now and then white gull-like mountain
birds flew screaming in front of the party; hundreds of squirrels were
disporting on the rocky ramparts, darting among the trees that clothed
the ravines when they saw the intruders upon their solitudes. They
marched on for hours, covering, perhaps, a mile and a half an hour,
until night threw its purple shade upon the hills. Then they halted in a
narrow glen. The leader of the party gave Tim the option of being tied
up or passing his word not to attempt escape.
"You are Ingles," he said. "I can trust your word."
Tim did not appreciate the compliment; but since it was quite clear that
he could not escape with his bicycle, he gave his word, looking as
pleasant as he could. The men bivouacked, making a supper of parched
maize, which they took from their wallets, and weak spirits from their
flasks. They offered Tim a share of their provisions; he accepted the
maize, but declined the spirits, longing for a draught of water.
He spent a very uncomfortable night. The rocky ground cut into his light
summer clothes, which afforded but a poor defence against the cold of
this upland region. He slept fitfully, wondering in the wakeful
intervals what was going to happen to him, and thinking of the distress
his parents must suffer at his absence. "Durand was right," he thought.
"When I get free I'll ask Father to give these Mollendists a
subscription. But I bet he won't."
The march was resumed in the morning. The track still ascended, until it
reached a ridge, from which Tim caught glimpses on the other side of a
river meandering far below between wooded banks. In front the ridge
rose gradually. In about three hours the party, passing between two
tall rocks like gate-pillars on either side of the track, found
themselves suddenly in an encampment of considerable size. Two or three
hundred men were assembled in a sort of courtyard surrounded by
tumble-down buildings of unworked stone. Tim knew at a glance that he
was in the ruins of an ancient Inca fortification, castle, or
observation plaza, built by that vanished race on a hill-top which had
probably been flattened artificially. The men were encamped on two
sides of the enclosure; on the other two sides a number of horses were
hobbled.
Tim had no time to take in more details of the scene. The arrival of
his captors was hailed with shouts, and he was led through the excited
throng to an angle of the courtyard, where, in a little recess, a
Peruvian between fifty and sixty years of age, and of benevolent aspect,
was reclining on rugs before a slab that served as a table.
"Senor," said the leader of the party, "this is the young Ingles who
released the man Fagasta."
Senor Mollendo rose and made a courtly salutation.
"Good-morning, Senor Ingles," he said. "I have heard of you and your
respected father. It gives me the greatest pain to see you in your
present unhappy plight."
"You can relieve your pain at once by releasing me, senor," said Tim
boldly.
Mollendo gave him an indulgent smile.
"I have to consider the claims of justice, my young friend. See how the
case stands. You were taken with the man Fagasta, the hireling of the
usurping Prefect. You were released, but with rank ingratitude returned
and set free the gobernador, the agent of the odious dictator, the man
who had been heard to boast of his intention to root out the friends of
liberty from this oppressed region. Your offence could scarcely be more
serious. It is dangerous for a foreigner to interfere in our domestic
affairs; especially is it unbecoming in an Englishman, a citizen of that
glorious land of freedom, a lover of liberty and of equal laws, to
associate himself with the agents of a corrupt and shameless tyranny.
It is necessary to signalise the abhorrence with which such action must
be viewed by all right-thinking men. You shall be a recipient of such
poor hospitality as I can extend to you until your unworthy conduct is
redeemed by the payment of L250, and the engine by means of which you
effected your reprehensible intervention on behalf of the oppressor will
be confiscated to the use of the patriots."
Tim was quite unused to having such eloquence hurled at him. His head
master had contented himself with a few sharp words and half a dozen
swishes--infinitely preferable to such a lot of "jaw." He felt
overwhelmed, and had nothing to say. "Jolly cheek!" he thought, "asking
L250. I wish he may get it."
His parole was demanded again, and he was strictly forbidden to stray
beyond the limits of the enclosure. He was given a dinner consisting of
mutton boiled with vegetables, and toasted maize, with water from a
stream, almost dried up by the summer heat, that flowed into the broader
river below. Mollendo offered him a Manilla cigar, which he put in his
pocket.
He was allowed to roam about the encampment. So well placed that one
might approach within a few yards without discovering it, it overlooked
the surrounding country for hundreds of square miles. On the east he
could see the track by which he had come, winding east and south-east
through the hills. On the west a few steps cut in the rock led to what
had once been an Inca road, running into the path that led southward to
the highway to San Juan. Southward flowed the hill-stream, through a
rough and precipitous gully. To the north the ground rose steeply to
inaccessible snow-capped peaks.
Tim passed a restless and unhappy day. He supposed that Mollendo had
sent one of his men to demand the ransom from his father; but no
information was given him. The only mitigation of his captivity was
afforded by the brigands' experiments with the motor-cycle. None of
them was able to ride it; few were anxious to try. They were good
horsemen, no doubt; but Tim soon came to the conclusion that they would
never make motor-cyclists. He watched with amusement their first
attempts in the middle of the courtyard. One man tried to mount the
bicycle when stationary, and became violently angry at each failure to
maintain his balance. Then he got two of his comrades to support him,
one on each side, and thrust at the handles. No movement resulting, his
supporters pushed the machine for a few yards, then let it go. It
toppled over, and the rider's leg being crushed between the cycle and
the ground, he swore bitterly, and retired to digest his discomfiture.
Senor Mollendo looked on at all this with much disappointment. The
confiscated machine, apparently, was not to be so valuable an
acquisition as he had supposed. He smiled with pleasure, however, when
the machine was set in motion by a series of accidents. While one man
was in the saddle; held up on both sides, another happened to discover
the petrol tap, and turned it on. The supporters pushed the bicycle for
a few feet, the engine began to fire, and the rider chancing to move the
throttle switch, the machine started forward with a suddenness that
caused the two men at the sides to lose their grip. There were shouts
of delight from the onlookers; but the rider was so much amazed at his
own inadvertent skill that he lost his head, and could neither stop nor
steer his unmanageable steed. Only by sprinting across the courtyard at
full speed did Tim save man and cycle from being dashed disastrously
against the stone wall.
After this the machine was left severely alone, until Tim, weary for
want of something to do, offered to instruct the men in its
manipulation. This won Senor Mollendo's warm approval, and Tim spent
several hours of that day and the next in teaching the younger members
of the party how to ride. They had no personal feeling against him; and
with the prospect of their lean treasury being increased by L250 on his
account, they began to regard him with even more kindliness than his
willingness and good temper had already won.
On the third day the messenger sent by Senor Mollendo to claim the
ransom, returned, bringing with him not merely the money, but a rumour
of the manner in which the midnight raiders had been received at Mr.
O'Hagan's house. That they were part of the Prefect's escort was an
open secret. Mollendo called Tim to him and asked if the story was
true. Tim saw no reason to conceal anything, and gave a full
description of what had happened, only suppressing the fact that his
information had come from the gobernador.
"You showed remarkable ingenuity, my young friend," said Mollendo,
greatly tickled by the picture of the spluttering crew stumbling out
into the darkness. "I quite understand why your good father should
consider you worth L250. He has sent the money; you are free. And as a
mark of my appreciation of your service to the cause of liberty by
discommoding the usurper's minions, I have much pleasure in
returning"--("How much?" wondered Tim in excitement)--"your motor-cycle.
Four of my supporters will assist you to the path below. When you meet
your father, convey to him my salutations, and assure him that the money
will be put to a good use in upholding the flag of freedom."
He shook hands warmly, bowed with his hat to his breast, and with a
polite _a reveder_, the Spanish equivalent of _au revoir_, he ended
Tim's captivity.