THE SILVER KEY.
It would be hard for me to tell just what happened during the next day
or two. I did not lose consciousness altogether, but my nerves were so
shattered that I mixed up fact and fancy, and could hardly separate my
dreams from events which actually took place.
On the third or fourth day my senses became clearer I lay on a bed in a
small cell-like apartment. In the opposite corner was a mattress, with
a blanket and rug rolled neatly at the head; above it, on the wall,
hung a sword and various military articles, as if the room belonged to
a soldier.
Presently, as I lay trying to recall things, the door was pushed open,
and a man entered. He was young; his face was frank and open, and he
had fine dark eyes. He was in undress uniform, and I judged, rightly
as it turned out, that he was a Spanish officer. Seeing me looking at
him, he crossed to the bed, and exclaimed in the Spanish tongue, "Are
you better this morning?"
I nodded and smiled, but could not speak--my throat hurt me so.
"All right!" he cried gaily. "Don't worry; I understand," and at that
he went out, coming back presently with the military doctor.
Now I had no cause, then or afterwards, to love the Spaniards; but I
hold it fair to give even an enemy his due, and it is only just to say
that this young officer, Captain Santiago Mariano, treated me royally.
In a sense I owed my life to him, and I have never forgotten his
kindness.
As my strength returned he often sat with me, talking of the wreck,
from which I was apparently the only one rescued. Three men, he said,
had been washed ashore, but they were all dead. Two were ordinary
sailors, and from his description I easily recognized the third as
Montevo, the skipper.
There was a rumour, the young officer continued, that a man had been
picked up by some Indians further along the coast; but no one really
knew anything about it, and for his part he looked on it as an idle
tale.
There was small comfort in tills; yet, against my better judgment, I
began to hope that José had somehow escaped from the sea. He was a
strong man and a stout swimmer, while for dogged courage I have rarely
met his equal.
One morning Santiago came into my room--or rather his--with a troubled
expression on his face. I was able to walk by this time, and stood by
the little window, watching the soldiers at exercise in the courtyard.
"Crawford," said he abruptly, "have you any reason to be afraid of
General Barejo?"
Now, until that moment I had not given a thought to the fact that in
escaping one danger I had tumbled headlong into another; but this
question made me uneasy. As far as safety went, I might as well have
stayed at my mother's side in Lima as have blundered into a far-off
fortress garrisoned by Spanish soldiers.
"I ought not to speak of this," continued Santiago, "but the warning
may help you. Did you hear the guns last night?"
"Yes," said I, wondering.
"It was the salute to the general, who is inspecting the forts along
the coast."
"I have heard my father speak of General Barejo."
"Well, after dinner last evening the commandant happened to speak of
your shipwreck, and the general was greatly interested. 'A boy named
Crawford?' said he thoughtfully; 'is he in the fort now?' and on
hearing you were, told the commandant he would see you in the morning.
This is he crossing the courtyard. He is coming here, I believe."
I had only time to thank Santiago for his kindness when the general
entered the room. He was a short, spare man, with closely-cropped gray
hair and a grizzled beard. His face was tanned and wrinkled, but he
held himself erect as a youth; and his profession was most pronounced.
The young captain saluted, and, at a sign from the general, left the
room.
Barejo eyed me critically, and with a grim smile exclaimed, "By St.
Philip, there's no need to ask. You're the son of the Englishman
Crawford, right enough."
"Who was murdered by Spanish soldiers," said I, for his cool and
somewhat contemptuous tone roused me to anger.
He smiled at this outburst, and spread out his hands as if to say, "The
boy's crazy;" but when he spoke, it was to ask why I had left Lima.
"Because I had no wish to meet with my father's fate," I answered
brusquely; and he laughed again.
"Faith," he muttered, "the young cockerel ruffles his feathers early!"
and then, again addressing me, he asked, "And where were you going?"
"On a sea voyage, for the benefit of my health--and to be out of the
way."
To this he made no reply, but his brows puckered up as if he were in
deep thought. I stood by the window watching him, and wondering what
would be the outcome of this visit.
After a short time he said, slowly and deliberately, so that I might
lose nothing of his speech, "Listen to me, young sir. Though you are
young, there are some things you can understand. Your father tried,
and tried hard, to wrest this country from its proper ruler, our
honoured master, the King of Spain. He failed; but others have taken
his place, and though you are only a boy, they will endeavour to make
use of you. We shall crush the rebellion, and the leaders will lose
their lives. I am going to save you from their fate."
I thought this display of kindness rather strange, but made no remark.
"In this fortress," he continued, "you will be out of mischief, and
here I intend you shall stay till the troubles are at an end."
"That sounds very much as if you mean to keep me a prisoner!" I
exclaimed hotly.
"Exactly," said he; then turning on his heel he walked out.
From the window I watched him cross the courtyard and enter the
commandant's quarters. Ten minutes afterwards Santiago appeared with a
file of soldiers.
"Very sorry, my boy," said the young captain, coming into the room,
"but a soldier must obey orders. You are my prisoner."
"I couldn't wish for a better jailer," said I, laughing.
"I'm glad you take it like that, but unfortunately you won't be under
my care. Have you all your things? This way, then."
We marched very solemnly side by side along the corridor, the soldiers
a few paces in the rear. At the end stood a half-dressed Indian,
holding open the door of a cell.
"Oh, come," said I, looking in, "it's not so bad."
The cell was, indeed, almost a counterpart of Santiago's room, only the
window was high up and heavily barred. The furniture consisted of
bedstead and rugs, a chair, small table, and one or two other articles.
The floor was of earth, but quite dry; and altogether I was fairly
satisfied with my new home.
"You'll have decent food and sufficient exercise," said the captain,
who had entered with me; "but"--and here he lowered his voice to a
whisper--"don't be foolish and try to escape. Barejo's orders are
strict, and though it may not appear so, you will be closely guarded."
"Thanks for the hint," said I as he turned away.
The Indian shut the door, the bolts were shot, the footsteps of the
soldiers grew fainter, and I was alone.
I shall not dwell long on my prison life. I had ample food, and twice
a day was allowed to wander unmolested about the courtyard. The
general had gone, and most of the officers, including Santiago, showed
me many acts of kindness, which, though trifling in themselves, did
much towards keeping me cheerful.
Several weeks passed without incident, and I began to get very tired of
doing nothing. There seemed to be little chance of escape, however.
Every outlet was guarded by an armed sentry, and I was carefully
watched. One day I dragged my bedstead under the window, and making a
ladder of the table and chair, climbed to the bars. A single glance
showed the folly of trying to escape that way without the aid of wings.
That part of the fort stood on the brink of a frightful precipice which
fell sheer away for hundreds of feet to the rocky coast.
Of course I had no weapon of any kind, but the Spaniards had allowed me
to keep the silver key, which hung around my neck by a thin, stout cord.
I had almost forgotten the mountaineer's strange words, when a trifling
incident brought them vividly to my mind. One morning the Indian, as
usual, brought in my breakfast, and was turning to go, when he suddenly
stopped and stared at me with a look of intense surprise. He was a
short, stout, beardless man, with a bright brown complexion and rather
intelligent features.
"Well," I exclaimed, "what is it? Have I altered much since yesterday?"
The man bent one knee, and bowing low, exclaimed in great excitement,
"It is the key!"
Then I discovered that, my shirt collar being unfastened, the silver
key had slipped outside, where it hung in full view.
"Yes," said I, "it is the key right enough. What of it?"
His eyes were flashing now, and the glow in them lit up his whole face.
"What is the master's name?" he whispered eagerly.
Now this was an awkward question for me to answer. In the first place,
the man might or might not be trustworthy; and in the second, the only
name I knew was that of the bandit chief. However, I concluded the
venture was worth making, and said, "Men call the owner of the key
Raymon Sorillo."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Indian, with a sigh of satisfaction, "he is a great
chief. Hide the key, señor, and wait. A dog's kennel is no place for
the friend of our chief."
With that he went out, and the door clanged after him, while I stood
lost in astonishment. What did he mean? Was it possible that he
intended to help me? Thrusting the mysterious key out of sight, I sat
down to breakfast with what appetite I could muster. All that day I
was in a state of great excitement, though at exercise I took care to
appear calm. I waited with impatience for the evening meal, which, to
my disgust, was brought by a strange soldier.
"Hullo!" I exclaimed, "a change of jailers? What has become of the
other fellow?"
"The dog of an Indian is ill," answered the man, who was evidently in a
very bad temper, "and I have his work to do."
Placing the things on the table, he went out, slamming the door behind
him, and shooting the bolts viciously. The next morning he came again,
and indeed for four days in succession performed the sick man's duties.
Now you may be sure I felt greatly interested in this sudden illness.
It filled me with curiosity, and to a certain extent strengthened my
hope that the Indian intended to help me to escape from the fort. What
his plans were, of course I could not conjecture.
On the fifth night I undressed and lay down as usual. It was quite
dark in the cell, and the only sound that reached me was the periodical
"All's well!" of the sentry stationed at the end of the corridor. For
a long time I lay puzzling over the strange situation, but at length
dropped into a light sleep.
Suddenly I was awakened by a queer sensation, and sat up in bed. It
was too dark to see anything, but I felt that some one was creeping
stealthily across the floor. Presently I heard a faint sound, and knew
that the object, whatever it might be, was approaching nearer. At the
side of the bed it stopped, and a muffled voice whispered, "Señor, are
you awake?"
"Yes," said I. "Who's there?"
"A friend of the silver key. Dress quickly and come with me; the way
is open."
"Where is the sentry?" I asked.
"Gagged and insensible," replied the voice. "Quick, while there is yet
time."
Perhaps it was rather venturesome thus to trust myself in the hands of
an unknown man, but I slipped on my clothes, and keeping touch of his
arm, accompanied him into the dimly-lighted corridor.
Turning to the left, we glided along close to the wall. At the end of
this passage the body of the sentry lay on the ground, while near at
hand crouched an Indian, keeping watch.
This man joined us, and my guide immediately led the way into an empty
room, the door of which was open. As soon as we were inside he closed
it softly.
"Keep close to me," he whispered, and then said something to an unseen
person in a patois I did not understand.
Presently he stopped, and I could just distinguish the figure of a
third man, who, grasping my hand, whispered, "The silver key has
unlocked the door, señor."
Before I could recover from my astonishment--for the man who spoke was
the sick jailer--my guide let himself down through a trap-door, and
called to me to follow. I found myself on a flight of steep steps in a
kind of shaft, very narrow, and so foul that breathing was difficult.
At the bottom was a fair-sized chamber, with a lofty roof--at least I
judged it so by the greater purity of the air--and here the guide
stopped until his companion caught up with us. The jailer, to my
surprise, had remained in the fort, but there was no time for
explanation.
The exit from the chamber was by means of an aperture so low that we
had to lie flat on the ground, and so narrow that even I found it hard
work to wriggle through.
Of all my adventures, this one impressed itself most strongly on my
mind. People are apt to smile when I speak of what one man called
"crawling along a passage;" yet had the terrors of the journey been
known beforehand, I think I could hardly have summoned the courage to
face them.
We went in Indian file, I being second, and my shoulders brushed the
sides of what was apparently a stonework tube. There was not a glimmer
of light, and the foul air threatened suffocation at every yard. I
could breathe only with great difficulty, my throat seemed choked, I
was bathed in perspiration, while loathsome creatures crawled or
scampered over every part of me.
Before half the distance was covered--and I make the confession without
shame--I was truly and horribly afraid. However, there was no turning
back--indeed there was no turning at all--so I crawled on, hoping and
praying for light and air.
Presently I caught sight of a dull red glow like that from a burning
torch, my breath came more easily, and at the end of another hundred
yards the guide, rising to his feet, stood upright: we had arrived at
the exit from the tunnel. Clambering up, I once more found myself in
the open air, and was instantly followed by the second Indian. Two
other men waited for us, and the four, with some difficulty, rearranged
a huge boulder which effectually blocked the aperture.
Then the light from the torch was quenched, and I was hurried off in
the darkness. For an hour perhaps we travelled, but in what direction
I had no idea. At first we had the roar of the thundering sea in our
ears, but presently that grew faint, until the sound was completely
lost. The route was rocky, and I should say dangerous; for the guide
clutched my arm tightly, and from time to time whispered a warning.
At last he stopped and whistled softly. The signal was heard and
answered, and very soon I became aware of several dusky figures,
including both men and horses. No time was wasted in talk; a man
brought me a horse, and a loose cloak with a hood in which to muffle my
head. I mounted, the others sprang to their cumbrous saddles, and at a
word from the guide we set off.
The route now lay over a desert of loose sand, in which the animals
sank almost to their fetlocks; every puff of wind blew it around us in
clouds, and but for the hood I think I must have been both blinded and
choked.
I have not the faintest idea how the leader found his way, unless it
was by the direction of the wind, as there were no stars, and it was
impossible to see beyond a few yards.
Hour after hour passed; dawn broke cold and gray. The choking sand was
left behind, and we approached a narrow valley shut in by two gigantic
ranges of hills. Here a voice hailed us from the rocks, the guide
answered the challenge, and the whole party passed through the defile
to the valley beyond.
It was now light enough to observe a number of Indian huts dotted about
on both slopes; and the horsemen who had formed my escort quickly
dispersed, leaving me with the guide.
"We are home," said he, "and the dogs have lost their prey."
Dismounting and leading the horses, we approached a hut set somewhat
apart from the rest. An Indian boy standing at the entrance took our
animals away while we entered the hut.
"Will you eat, señor, or sleep?" asked my rescuer.
"Sleep," said I, "as soon as you have answered a question or two."
I cannot repeat exactly what the man told me, as his Spanish was none
of the best, and he mixed it up with a patois which I only half
understood. However, the outline of the story was plain enough, and
will take but little telling.
My late jailer belonged to the Order of the Silver Key, a powerful
Indian society, acting under the leadership of Raymon Sorillo. He had
been placed in the fort both as a spy on the garrison and to assist
comrades if at any time they endeavoured to capture the stronghold by
way of the secret passage. Only the commandant and his chief officer
were supposed to know of its existence, but a strange accident had
revealed it to the Indians some years previously.
The jailer, of course, could have set me free, but in that case he must
have joined in my flight. The plan he adopted was to communicate with
his friends, and then, by feigning illness, to divert suspicion from
himself. As soon as we descended the steps, he replaced the trap-door,
removed all signs of disturbance, and crept cautiously back to his room.
When the Indian had finished his explanation, I asked him to what place
he had brought me.
"The Hidden Valley," he replied, "where no Spaniard has ever set foot.
Here you are quite safe, for all the armies of Peru could not tear you
from this spot."
"Does Sorillo ever come here?" I asked.
"Rarely; but his messengers come and go at their pleasure."
"That is good news," I remarked, thinking of my mother. "I shall be
able to get a message through to Lima. And now, if you please, I will
go to sleep."
He spread a rug on the earth floor, covered me with another, and in a
few minutes I was fast asleep, forgetful even of the dismal tunnel and
its horrible associations.