At the Point of the Sword Part 45

Pedro was a brave man; indeed, all the Indians in Sorillo's band held their lives cheap. He did not exactly understand what was happening, yet he seemed to think that all was not right.

"The chief!" he exclaimed. "Does he--"

"Get down!" I cried once more, brandis.h.i.+ng my weapon.

With a thundering shout of "The Silver Key! Help for the Silver Key!"

he clubbed his musket and dashed straight at me, regardless of the levelled pistol.

One moment's pressure on the trigger and he would have dropped to the ground helpless, but I refrained; instead, I pulled the rein, and my horse swerved sharply, though not in time. The musket descended with a thud; the pistol slipped from my nerveless fingers; I seemed to be plunging down, down beneath a sea of angry waters.

How long I lay thus, or what happened during that time, I do not know; but I awoke to find myself beside a roaring fire, and to hear the hum of many voices. A soldier, hearing me move, came and looked into my face.

"Where am I?" I asked anxiously.

"Not far from Lima," said he. "A few hours since you weren't far from the next world. How did you get that broken head?"

I tried hard to remember, but could not; the past was a total blank.

"Well, well, never mind," exclaimed the man kindly. "Try to sleep; you will be better in the morning."

With the coming of dawn I saw that I was in the midst of a large camp.

Thousands of soldiers wrapped in their ponchos lay motionless before smouldering fires. Presently there was a blowing of bugles, and the still figures stirred to life. Officers rode hither and thither issuing orders, the men ate their scanty rations, the cavalry groomed and fed their horses--there were all the sights and sounds connected with an army about to march.

Then the infantry formed in battalions, the hors.e.m.e.n mounted, bugles sounded in numerous places; there was a cracking of whips, the creaking of wheels, and all began to move slowly forward. Soon but a few men remained, and it seemed that I had been forgotten.

At length a man came to me. He was dressed in uniform, but his words and actions proved him to be a surgeon.

"Feel better?" he asked. "Can you eat something? I can only give you army food; but that will fill up the hollows. Now let me look at the damage. Faith, I compliment you on having a thick skull. A thinner one would have cracked like an egg-sh.e.l.l. Don't try to talk till you've had something to eat."

"Just one question," I said faintly. "Who are the soldiers just moved out?"

"Why, General Canterac's troops. I see you belong to the other side.

But don't worry; we shan't hurt you."

"Then I am a prisoner?"

"That's always the way--one question leads to a dozen, Yes, I suppose you are a prisoner; but that's nothing very terrible," and he hurried off to procure food and drink for me.

Later in the day he came to have another talk, and I learned something of what had happened.

"We crossed the mountains almost without a check," he began. "The Indians did us some damage; but they were only a handful, and we saw none of your fellows."

"But how came I to be here?"

"Ah! that's a queer story. A party of scouts screening our left flank had just reached the base of the mountains, when they heard a fellow yelling at the top of his voice. By the time they got in sight, the man had evidently knocked you down, and was off at a mad gallop."

"Alone?" I asked.

"No; that's the strange part of it. He was leading a spare horse which carried something on its back. Our men could not get a good view, but it looked like a full sack, or a big bundle of some sort. They followed rapidly, and were wearing the runaway down when the Indians appeared in force on the hills. Of course that stopped the pursuit, and after picking you up, they came on with the army."

My memory returned now, and I understood what had happened. Pedro had escaped, and carried Don Felipe with him to the Indians of the Silver Key.

"Poor Rosa!" I sighed; "it is all over now. She will never see her father again. Sorillo will take care that he doesn't escape a second time."

My thoughts dwelt so much on this that I took little interest in the rest of the doctor's conversation. He was very jubilant, though, I remember, about his party's success, telling me that in a short time General Canterac would be master of Callao, and that the Patriots had nowhere the slightest chance of victory.

"What will be done with me?" I asked.

"I shall send you with our sick to the hospital at Jauja. The air there is bracing, and will help you to recover more quickly."

"Thank you," I said, though really caring very little at that time where I was sent.

Next day I was placed with several Spanish soldiers in an open wagon, one of a number of vehicles guarded by an escort of troopers. My friendly surgeon had gone to Lima; but I must say the Spaniards behaved very well, making no difference between me and their own people.

As to the journey across the mountains, I remember little of it. The worthy Pedro had made such good use of his musket that my head was racked with pain, and I could think of nothing. Most of the sick soldiers were also in grievous plight, and it was a relief to us all when, after several days' travelling, the procession finally halted in Jauja.

Here we were lifted from the carts and carried to a long whitewashed building filled with beds. They were made on the floor, and many of them were already occupied. Accommodation was found for most of us, but several had to wait until some of the beds became vacant.

Two or three doctors examined the fresh patients, and one forced me to swallow a dose of medicine. Why, I could not think, unless he wanted me to know what really vile stuff he was capable of concocting.

I shall pa.s.s quickly over this portion of my story. For weeks I lay in that wretched room, where dozens of men struggled night and day against death. Some s.n.a.t.c.hed a victory in this terrible fight, but now and again I noticed a file of soldiers reverently carrying a silent figure from one of the low beds.

By the end of September I was strong enough to get up, and the doctors p.r.o.nouncing me out of danger, I was taken to another building. This was used as a prison for captured officers of the Patriot forces, and the very first person to greet me as I stepped inside the room was the lively Alzura.

"Juan Crawford," cried he, "by all that's wonderful! From the ballroom to the prison-house! There's a splendid subject for the moralist.

Where have you been, Juan? your people think you are dead. Miller is frantic; all your friends in Lima are in despair."

"Do you know anything of Don Felipe Montilla?" I asked.

"Montilla? No; there is a mystery about him too. It is given out that he was abducted by brigands, but some people whisper another story."

"What?"

"That he fled to the Royalists, my boy, as I prophesied he would."

"Then you were a false prophet."

"Then I ask the worthy Don's pardon for suspecting him without cause.

But how did you get here?"

"I was brought in a wagon."

"Lucky dog! Always lucky, Juan. I had to walk," and he showed me his feet, naked, and scored with cuts.

After sympathizing with him, I asked him how events were shaping.

"Canterac did not capture Callao, as he hoped, and is now back in the highlands. Many things have happened, however; let me be your chronicle. Where shall I start?"

"From the day that Canterac swooped down on Lima."