WE LEAVE THE HIDDEN VALLEY
Now, before proceeding with my story, it will be well to mention here one
piece of information which José, not caring, perhaps, to add to my
troubles, did not give me. Indeed, very little was said about it at any
time, for reasons which will be clear to any one who makes himself
acquainted with this narrative.
On the very morning after my flight from Lima, a servant of the
government paid my mother a visit of official importance. He brought
with him a notable document full of curious legal phrases, which, put in
simple language, meant that all my father's vast estates had been
confiscated and given over to that loyal and worthy Spaniard Don Felipe
Montilla. As an act of mercy, my mother was permitted to retain the
house and grounds at Lima during her lifetime.
In presenting this famous letter, the messenger was, of course, only
doing his duty, but it is certain that in some way he failed in the
respect due to a noble lady. He may have been one of those mean-spirited
people who delight in trampling on the fallen. There are, strange to
say, many such in the world.
My mother never alluded to the incident, which was related to me by Tomas
Peraza, an old and faithful servant, next in importance to José himself.
"The man had been with my lady nearly an hour," said he, in describing
the event, "when her bell rang, and I went into the room. She stood in
the centre of the apartment, her cheeks very red, and her eyes flashing
like summer stars.
"'Peraza,' she exclaimed, 'our house has fallen very low, but even so its
members brook insolence from no man. Bid my servants bring stout sticks
and chastise this rude fellow back to the place from which he came!'
"You may be sure that I lost no time in obeying. The fellow drew his
sword even in the presence of a lady; but it was knocked from his grasp,
and we drove him from the grounds with blows and buffets. It was a
strange spectacle, and the people came flocking to us in crowds. At
first they would have interfered, but on hearing me cry, 'This for
insulting the Donna Maria Crawford!' they desisted. And in this way we
pursued him right to the Government House, where he flung himself upon
the protection of the soldiers."
It was a harsh measure, perhaps; but then no man should be wanting in
respect to a woman, and the fellow had but himself to blame.
José, as I have said, withheld the news, or I should have gone at all
risks to Lima. As it was, I stayed contentedly in the valley, waiting
until the Indians received the signal to move.
From that time we heard rumours of hard fighting in various parts of the
country, and about the middle of March 1821 a messenger arrived from
Raymon Sorillo. He brought the order for thirty men to march to Pisco,
on the sea-coast, where a small patriot detachment had landed under the
command of Colonel Miller.
"A countryman of ours, Jack," remarked José, "and, from what I hear, one
of the finest fellows in South America. The patriots think almost as
much of him as they do of the famous Lord Cochrane."
"What is he like?"
"I haven't seen him; but he is quite young--not twenty-four yet--though
he has been soldiering for the last eight years. He served under
Wellington in Spain, fought all through the Chilian War, was Cochrane's
right-hand man at the capture of Valdivia, and now he has come to help
us. He has been shipwrecked, taken prisoner, wounded times out of
number, blown up by a powder explosion--after which he was confined for
six weeks in a dark room and fed through a plaster mask--and nearly
killed by fever. I should say he has crowded as much excitement into his
life as any man in the world."
"He seems to be a lively customer!"
"He is," laughed José; "and nothing will ever kill him, in my opinion!"
"Don't you think we might join him?" I asked, my blood being fired by
José's description.
"Well," said my companion, after a pause, "that's what I was about to
suggest. You must throw in somewhere, and I'm not over anxious for
Sorillo to get hold of you. He's a cruel fellow, though kind enough to
us, and all the cut-throats in the country are likely to flock to him.
I'm sorry for the Spaniards who fall into his hands!"
Quilca was rather opposed to our plans, but finding us determined, he at
last agreed that we should accompany him on the next expedition.
Day had but just broken when we rode from the valley and I turned to take
a farewell glance at the place which had been my home so long. I had not
been altogether unhappy there, yet I was glad to go into the world again,
to take the first step on the road to Lima and my mother.
The march to Pisco passed without incident. We suffered horribly, it is
true, from thirst, and from choking, blinding sandstorms; but there were
no Spaniards in that desolate district to bar our way.
A few hours' march from the town we fell in with some Indian scouts, and
learned from them that the Patriots lay encamped in the Chincha Baja, a
beautiful valley. Our joy at these tidings was, however, soon dashed by
the report that they were in a deplorable condition--suffering from fever
and ague, and unable to move.
The gloomy picture was not overdrawn. The valley was a hospital, but
almost destitute of doctors and medicine. The sentries, selected from
the strongest of the troops, could barely stand, staggering even under
the weight of their muskets. Privates and officers alike were prostrate,
and a score of strong men could have killed them all without effort.
As it chanced, the enemy, stationed in an adjoining valley, though
suffering less severely, were in no condition to make an attack, and the
two parties could do no more than idly watch each other.
Ordering his men to dismount, Quilca went to find an officer, and soon
returned with the startling intelligence that the colonel himself lay
dangerously ill in one of the huts.
"Not an encouraging start!" I remarked.
"A bad beginning often makes a good ending," answered José cheerfully.
"Let us go to see him."
The doctor, a Spaniard, was attending his patient when we entered the
hut, and he beckoned us toward the bed.
I could not repress a start at the sight which met our eyes. The colonel
was turning restlessly but feebly from side to side; his eyes were
unnaturally bright; his cheek bones stood out sharp and prominent. He
mumbled to himself in short snatches, but so faintly that only a word
here and there reached us.
Once he smiled pleasantly, saying, "Yes, I see the steeple! Dear old
Wingham!"
I did not at that time understand the allusion, but afterwards it became
plain that he referred to his home, the home of his childhood, a place
called Wingham, in Kent.
"Do you know," said José sharply, turning to the doctor, "that your
patient is dying?"
"Perfectly; but what can I do?" replied he. "He is suffering from the
tertian ague; the valley is permeated with it."
"We must get him out of it," said José, with decision.
"But where will you take him? the town is as bad."
"On shipboard, and give him a sea-breeze."
"The Chilian squadron is absent, cruising."
"Then we must beg, borrow, or steal a trading-vessel; for go he must and
shall."
It was wonderful how the doctor brightened up at these words, and still
more wonderful how he allowed himself to be commanded by a stranger. But
José was a strong man though not often exerting his strength, and there
was that in his face which made most men chary of coming to handgrips
with him.
"Come, Jack," said he, "let us go to the bay and find a ship, if we wish
to save the colonel's life. Another week of this pestilence and he will
be dead, and Peru can't afford to lose him just yet."
"But suppose," said I, as we rode away from the valley, "that the
authorities won't allow him to be moved?"
"Why, we'll move him in spite of them. Quilca's men can be trusted to
help us. 'Twill be a little campaign on our own account!" said he, with
a jovial laugh.
Even José, however, could not impress a vessel that had no existence, and
the bay was empty. A few boats only lay peacefully resting on the placid
waters, but of a ship there was no sign. We stood for an hour staring
seaward, as if our will could conjure up a vessel, and then returned to
the town. We paid a visit to the governor, but he could not help us. It
was unlikely there would be a vessel, he said, until Lord Cochrane
returned with the squadron from Callao.
"When will that be?" I asked.
The governor gave his shoulders an expressive shrug.
"The gallant Englishman does not confide in me," he replied. "He may
come to-day; he may not come for a twelvemonth."
It was getting late now, and nothing further could be done till the
following morning. José was disappointed, but in no way disheartened.
"If we can't get what we want," said he, "we must be satisfied with what
we can get. There's a fine bit of philosophy for you!"
"And what can we get?"
"A house at the seaside. We'll look for a sheltered place on the beach
to-morrow, bring down some men to build a hut, and have the colonel
removed to it. With the sea air filling his lungs, he may yet have a
chance of recovery."
Instead of returning to camp, we slept that night at Pisco, and after an
early breakfast went again to the beach. José had just selected an
admirable spot for the hut, when we suddenly heard a shout of "Sail ho!
sail ho! There's another--and another! Why, it must be Cochrane's
squadron!"
In an instant we were gazing seaward, and there, sure enough, rounding
the corner of the bay, were several vessels, led by a stately ship.
By this time a number of people had assembled, and more were coming in
hot haste from the town. They talked and gesticulated violently--the
majority, I observed being doubtful if the incoming vessels were friends
or foes.
As they drew nearer, however, all misgiving vanished, every one agreeing
that the leading ship was the _San Martin_, so named in honour of the
great general.
"The luck's with us!" cried José joyfully. "Before nightfall we'll have
the colonel on board one of those craft. How beautifully the admiral's
ship is handled! she comes sweeping in like a great sea-bird."
"Hadn't we better get a couple of men to pull us out to her? she'll
anchor soon."
"The very thing! we can't afford to lose time."
Our arrangements did not take long to make, and we were soon speeding
across the bay, our crazy boat being propelled by two wiry Indians. The
whole squadron was now well within the bay, the smaller craft lying close
in, and flying the Chilian colours; but José directed the boatmen to pull
for the flagship.
"_San Martin_ ahoy!" he yelled, standing up in the stern and hailing the
ship in what he believed to be sailor fashion.
"Hullo! Who are you?" came the answer.
"Is Admiral Cochrane on board?"
"Well, he was a minute ago."
"Throw a rope, will you? we're coming up."
This conversation was carried on in English, for many officers in the
Chilian navy were Englishmen; and now the man on the _San Martin_
exclaimed, "Well, you're a cool customer anyhow! Walt a bit while I tell
the captain."
"Hang the captain!" roared José; "it's a matter of life and death." And
those on deck, seeing how terribly in earnest he was, flung over a rope,
and we scrambled up the ship's side.
"Now, my man," exclaimed a sharp voice, "what is it you are in such a
tremendous hurry about?"
"I want to see Lord Cochrane immediately," said José.
"His lordship is engaged in his cabin. Give your message to me."
"I prefer to manage my own business, thank you," replied José coolly.
"Tell the admiral I have come from Colonel Miller."
As he finished speaking, a distinguished-looking officer, accompanied by
several others, appeared on deck, and I knew instinctively that we were
in the presence of the famous Admiral Cochrane, whose marvellous exploits
had gained for him the admiration of the world.
Hearing the name of Miller, he stopped, and looking at us, said, "What is
that about Colonel Miller?"
"He is dying, sir!" exclaimed José, as much at ease with an admiral as
with a private sailor. "His men are all down with ague, and the colonel
will be dead inside a week unless you remove him at once."
"Mr. Welsh," remarked the admiral to a handsome young fellow standing
near, "this is your affair. Do whatever you think best; but remember, I
would rather lose a ship than Miller. He's the one man we can rely upon
ashore." Then looking at us, he added, "You are not soldiers?"
"This lad," replied José, pointing to me, "is Jack Crawford. His father
was one of the largest landowners in Peru, and a great patriot. The
Spaniards shot him some time ago, and the boy has been hiding ever since.
Yesterday we arrived at Pisco to join the detachment there, as
volunteers, and found the colonel delirious with fever. A few days
longer in camp will finish him."
"He shall be removed at once," exclaimed the Admiral.--"Captain
Wilkinson, will you order a boat to be lowered!" and then he began to
question José further concerning the condition of the troops.
Very quickly the boat was got ready, Mr. Welsh took his seat, and at his
suggestion we followed, giving instructions to our own men to return to
shore.
"Are you a doctor?" asked José of our companion.
"Yes; I am Lord Cochrane's private surgeon, though, fortunately, he gives
me but little work to do," and he laughed merrily. I have said that he
was a handsome fellow, with a boyish, fresh-coloured face, and bright,
sparkling eyes. He talked to us cheerfully about the campaign, and would
not allow that Colonel Miller was in danger of dying.
"You don't know him as well as we do," he said, with a laugh. "Most men
who had been through what he has would be dead already; but Miller stands
alone. The last time we brought him from Pisco he had a ball in the
right arm, another had smashed his left hand, while a third had gone
through his chest, fractured a rib, and passed out at the back. Of
course we gave him up, but he pulled through comfortably."
"Well, he is pretty bad now," said José significantly.
"He'll be leading a bayonet charge in a month," laughed the young
surgeon, "if the war lasts as long. For my part, I expect it to be over
sooner."
"I had no idea," said I, "that the Spaniards would be beaten so easily."
"The odds are all against them, you see. Lord Cochrane has scooped up
their navy, San Martin is waiting to pounce on Lima, they have to watch
General Bolivar in the north, and most of the people are in favour of the
revolution. Hullo! here we are! I suppose you'll come with me to the
camp?"
"Yes," said José, "and back to the ship if you will let us. We can do no
good here."
"All right. I daresay we can find you a berth."
The young surgeon came near to losing his self-possession when he saw the
actual state of things.
"Whew!" exclaimed he, "this will have to be altered. Why, the men are
dying on their feet! And I suppose it's the same old story--not enough
doctors, no proper attendants, and musty drugs. Well, we'll clear the
colonel out of it first, and then see what can be done for the others."
While he attended to his patient, we had a litter made ready, in which
the colonel was placed and carried to the water's edge, where the ship's
boat was in waiting. The sailors rowed steadily and well, and we soon
had the satisfaction of seeing the sick man comfortably installed in one
of the ship's cabins.
Lord Cochrane showed the greatest concern at his old friend's shocking
condition, and did everything possible to help forward his recovery.
As it chanced, I was much in the sick man's cabin; the doctor, to whom I
had taken a singular liking, using me as a sort of assistant. In the
early evening he went ashore with the admiral, who also took José with
him, and together they visited the sick camp. It was late when they
returned, but our patient had suffered no hurt during their absence.
Indeed he lay very still and quiet, while from time to time I wiped the
sweat from his brow and gave him cooling drinks.
José did not come into the cabin again, but I heard from the doctor that
it had been decided to bring the soldiers on board, in the hope that a
sea voyage would set up their strength. Our own particular Indians
returned to the Hidden Valley, but in the course of a day or two the rest
of the troops were embarked on the flagship. Then we stood out to sea,
bearing southward, the other vessels of the squadron taking the opposite
direction.
Thanks partly to the young surgeon's skill, but chiefly, perhaps, to his
own marvellous constitution, the colonel began to mend slowly. The fever
abated, he was able to take some nourishing food, and at last a day came
when we carried him on deck.
It was extraordinary to behold the joy with which his appearance was
greeted, not only by his own troops, but by every man on board. Some of
them knew him only by report, but most of the sailors had witnessed his
daring deeds, while the marines had taken part in them.
The officers, too, from the admiral downward, came about him, and though
too weak as yet for much talk, he acknowledged their kindness by a
charming and fascinating smile.
At the end of an hour the doctor gave orders that he should be carried
back to his cabin, saying with a laugh, "That's enough excitement for the
first day, colonel. Mustn't overdo it, you know."
Whether it was the bracing effect of the fresh sea air, or the sight of
his men's most obvious improvement, I know not, but from that day his
strength increased with astonishing rapidity.
During this period of convalescence he talked with me a good deal, and in
the kindest manner, so that shortly I became as ardent a hero-worshipper
as the others. He sent for José, too, thanked him for his prompt action,
and declared that in a sense he was indebted to him for his life.
"But," said he, smiling, "I don't know yet who you are, or how you came
to turn up at Pisco just at the right moment!" Whereupon José gave him
an outline of our story.
He listened attentively, and at the end said, "I have heard of your
father, my boy, through General San Martin, who will be glad to make your
acquaintance. Meanwhile I shall charge myself with your welfare--that
is, if you care to share my fortunes."
"I ask for nothing better, sir," I replied, flushing with pleasure.
"There is no leader I would rather choose to follow."
"Then you shall have your wish," said he, "unless the general finds other
work for you."