Part 9 (1/2)

”Where you heard I was alive?”

”Yes; I hardly know whether I stood on my head or my heels when I was told. It was old Mr. Warren who informed me. I went to him because I dared not go to your mother. I was afraid that--”

”All right; I understand.”

”So I went to Warren, and he began a long yarn; but as soon as he said you were alive, I was off like a shot to Lima.”

Then he talked of my mother, repeating the messages she had given him, and I could have listened for hours. As it was, I plied him with questions, asking this and that--if my pony was well; had he seen Rosa Montilla; was my mother less sad; and a hundred other things, many of them trivial enough, yet full of interest to me.

At the end I asked how he had found his way to the Hidden Valley.

”Oh!” replied he with a jolly laugh, ”that was simple. I hunted up your black-browed bandit, who pa.s.sed me on to one of his band. How he found the way I can't tell you, but he brought me along all right.”

”And now what are we going to do?”

”Well, that depends. If the Spaniards give in, we can just go quietly back home.”

”And if they don't?”

”Well, in that case--”

”We must join General San Martin!” I exclaimed.

”I suppose so,” he said, half reluctantly. ”You're only a boy, but there are many youngsters of your age with the army, and you've a big stake in the country. But we can afford to let that matter stand for a day or two longer.”

CHAPTER VI.

WE LEAVE THE HIDDEN VALLEY

Now, before proceeding with my story, it will be well to mention here one piece of information which Jose, 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 doc.u.ment 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 n.o.ble 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 Jose 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 flas.h.i.+ng 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.

Jose, 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 Jose, ”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.”