Chapter Eleven.
An interview with Murillo—We gain nothing for our pains—I still endeavour to rescue the prisoners—Meet Antonio, who belongs to the guard at the prison—My conversation with him—He promises assistance, but gives me bad news—Our plan arranged—Don José suspects us, and requests us to leave his house—We remain till the following day—Dr Cazalla and Señor Monteverde, with many others, shot—Domingo brings me a disguise, and advises me to escape without delay—Don José requests me not to see him again—Mr Laffan and I separate—He starts for Honda; I go towards the prison, followed by Lion—Outside the prison walls—Joined by Uncle Richard—Our escape from the city—We reach the mountains—Our arrival at a river—No means of crossing—Spanish soldiers in pursuit—A tarabita or rope-bridge—Dangerous crossing—The bridge cut—Our escape—Sounds of firing—We find shelter in the hut of an Indian, whose son undertakes to guide us.
By the aid of Don José and other friends to whom I had letters, I ascertained that Dr Cazalla and Mr Duffield had been brought into Bogota, and were confined, with several other persons whom I knew, in the chief prison of the city—although they had not yet undergone the mockery of a trial, which would precede their execution. Don José had made every exertion to obtain their liberation, but in vain. The savage Murillo, it was said, had resolved to shoot the whole of them. As there was no English Consul at that time in Bogota, and no one who dared openly to take Uncle Richard’s part, I determined, according to the advice I had received, to beard the lion in his den, and threaten him with the vengeance of England should Mr Duffield be injured. I was also to point out to Murillo the disgrace of destroying a man of such high scientific attainments as Dr Cazalla, and to plead that he might be banished to England, where he could render service to the human race.
Mr Laffan was quite willing to accompany me as interpreter. “We may bamboozle the scoundrel, and succeed where others have failed,” observed the dominie. “There is nothing like impudence,—or a bold bearing, as some would call it,—when one has to deal with a fellow of this sort.”
We set out, accordingly, for the viceroy’s palace. On our arrival we found numerous officers hurriedly coming and going, but most of them merely glanced at us and passed on. In the ante-room there was a motley assemblage of persons of all ranks. Some had come with petitions, others had been summoned to undergo examinations; and several—informers, I have no doubt—were hoping to obtain a reward for their treachery. I sent in my card by an aide-de-camp, requesting an interview with his Excellency. To my surprise, we were almost immediately admitted. The general was seated at a table covered with papers—two or three officers standing near him. His countenance did not belie his character. Although the expression of his mouth was concealed by his huge moustache, the dark eyes which gleamed forth from under his shaggy brows, and the frown which wrinkled his high forehead, betokened his savage disposition.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” he asked abruptly in Spanish.
I turned to Mr Laffan and begged him to interpret what the general said.
“Tell him that I am English, and how, hearing that a countryman of mine has been imprisoned unjustly, I have come to demand his release, and permission for him to accompany me back to England.”
“Of what profession is he?” asked the general of Mr Laffan. “Is he a lawyer?”
“No,” I replied; “he is a British naval officer who has resided for some time in this country, but is still under the protection of the English Government, to whom it would be my duty to give information should any harm happen to him.”
“Had he been a lawyer, whether a British subject or not, he should be shot,” answered Murillo. “As it is, I will consider the matter.”
He turned to one of the officers, who handed him a paper.
“Ah! I see he is married to a lady belonging to a rebel family; and he himself was found inciting the peasantry to take up arms. I care not though he is under British protection. He shall die.”
“My countrymen will avenge him,” I answered through Mr Laffan, who assumed an authoritative tone and manner, which I thought would produce some effect. “You know not whether the accusation is true or false.”
Judging that it was best to leave what I had said to produce its effect, I stopped for a minute, and then continued,—“Well, your Excellency, I need not speak further about Señor Ricardo Duffield. I have now to plead for another person, who, although not an Englishman, belongs to all civilised countries in the world, and all will equally stigmatise those who injure him; I allude to the learned Dr Cazalla. I beg that he may be allowed to accompany me to my own country, where he can prosecute his scientific studies without molestation.”
The general’s brow grew darker than ever.
“He is one of the pests of this country. He taught the rebels how to make gunpowder and arms, to be used against their rightful sovereign. He shall die, even although the whole British army, with your Lord Wellesley at their head, were to endeavour to rescue him.”
“That’s an ungrateful remark, your Excellency, considering the service he has rendered Spain,” observed Mr Laffan; “but it’s just what may be expected.”
“Go out of my presence—this instant!” exclaimed the general, irritated by this imprudent remark. “The prisoners shall die; and let me tell you that your errand is bootless.”
I felt, indeed, that such was the case. In fact, I heard the general, turning to the officer who acted as his chief of police, direct him to keep an eye upon us. His suspicions had, I saw, been aroused.
We did not consider it necessary to pay any special mark of respect as we took our leave. The general was talking to the officers at his side, scarcely deigning to notice us. With heads erect, and as calm countenances as we could command, we passed through the crowd in the ante-room, and made our way into the street. We then hurried back to Don José’s, to tell him how fruitless had been our visit to the viceroy.
“I was afraid so,” observed our host. “If Murillo has made up his mind, no power on earth can turn him from his purpose.”
I had not forgotten Antonio, and had formed a plan to try and rescue Mr Duffield and Dr Cazalla, should other means fail. As Antonio had not already betrayed me, I had great hopes that I could rely on his assistance. Always accompanied by Mr Laffan, I went about endeavouring to discover him. I at length ascertained that he belonged to the guard stationed at the prison. In all probability, then, he would at times have charge of the prisoners inside; and if so, he might be able to aid in their escape.
Before long we fell in with him off duty, and near the prison itself. It was late in the evening, but there was sufficient light for us to recognise each other. I made a sign, and he followed us to a dark spot under the prison walls.
“You know me, Antonio?” I asked.
“Ah yes, señor, the moment I saw you, while we were on the march here. I joined the Godos as the only means of saving my life—having obtained the uniform of a corporal who had been killed. My intention, however, was to desert on the first opportunity.”
“Will you venture to assist the escape of Don Ricardo and Dr Cazalla?” I asked.
“Don Ricardo has already spoken to me, and promised a reward. I will do what I can without the reward, although the money would be welcome. He has promised me three hundred dollars.”
“And I will give two hundred more when he is safe away from the city, and five hundred for Dr Cazalla.”
“Ah, señor, that is more difficult, for he is strictly guarded, and, it is said, is to die to-morrow.”
“To-morrow!” I exclaimed; “then he must escape to-night.”
“Impossible!” answered Antonio; “ten thousand dollars would not effect his liberation. And besides, in endeavouring to free him I might be suspected, and thus be unable to help Don Ricardo.”
“I know that I can trust you, Antonio,” and I put some gold pieces into his hand. “Perhaps you can bribe your comrades; and promise them any further reward you think fit.”
“They would take the money, and betray me,” he answered. “I will employ some of it, however, but it will be in supplying them with abundance of strong wine; that will give me a better mastery over them than any bribe. Trust to my discretion.”
After some further conversation, I arranged with Antonio that he was to try and effect the escape of Uncle Richard, and, if possible, that of Dr Cazalla. The following night he was to be on guard inside the prison, and he would then have the keys in his possession. The most likely time was about ten o’clock; and I arranged to be in the neighbourhood to assist, if necessary, in the escape of my friend.
Mr Laffan approved of the plan, but thought that it would be imprudent for him and me to be seen again near the prison, although we might afterwards join the fugitives. I proposed, therefore, having horses in readiness, and making our way down to Honda, whence we might embark on the river Magdalena; and the current being rapid, we should not occupy more than five days, and might at Carthagena get on board the first vessel about to sail. If we could once reach any of the British West India Islands, we should be safe.
On our return Don José met us as we entered, with an expression of anxiety on his countenance.
“I fear, my friends, you are not exactly what you represent yourselves to be,” he said. “You are honest, I doubt not, and well-conducted, and I wish to fulfil my engagement as far as I can to assist you; but I must advise you to leave this house and the city as soon as possible, or I shall be compromised by your remaining.”
“I am deeply grateful for all your kindness, and will do as you advise,” I answered. “I shall be thankful if I have ever the opportunity of proving my sincerity.”
We should at once have left Don José, but that it was too late to seek a lodging; and as he did not express a wish that we should do so, we remained, promising to bid him farewell the next morning. I sincerely hoped that he would not suffer in consequence of his kindness to us.
We were about to start on the following day, after breakfast, to which our kind host insisted we should remain, when, on looking from the window across the square, we saw, as we had on the morning of our arrival, a body of troops marching from the prison. There was to be another execution, then. My heart sank within me. Was Murillo about to carry out his threat? As they approached I could scarcely support myself, for I saw my uncle, Dr Cazalla, with several other prisoners, nearing the spot where so many of the Patriots had already yielded up their lives for the liberty of their country. There were four other persons. It was certainly some relief not to see Uncle Richard among them; and my whole attention was now concentrated on Dr Cazalla. I pointed out the doctor to Don José, in the vain hope that something might even now be done to save him.
“I know him. He is talented, learned, and noble-minded,” said Don José.
“The world will suffer if he dies,” I said.
“I know it, my friend,” answered Don José; “but his doom is sealed.” He took my arm as he spoke. “I would not have you seen,” he continued. “Be warned by me, and remain concealed until nightfall. Your horses are in my stable, and your servant is prepared for the journey.”
Even while he was speaking the rattle of musketry was heard, and Mr Laffan, who had, notwithstanding Don José’s advice, gone back to the window, exclaimed, “They have murdered our friend! I hope they will not treat the other in the same way.”
“Do you speak of my uncle?” I asked in English.
“Too truly—I do. There he lies, like a clod of earth; and there, too, will lie many more, in a few minutes. There is another! I did not notice him at first. Poor Dona Dolores! what will become of her?”
“What! has Juan been captured?” I exclaimed, my thoughts running back to my friend, who might, I feared, have fallen into the hands of the enemy.
“No, not Juan; but Señor Monteverde.—Yes, I am sure it must be he, though he is poorly dressed, and walks with a tottering gait. Yes; they are leading him up to the place of execution.”
Forgetting Don José’s caution, I sprang forward to the window and caught a glance—it was but a momentary one—of our poor friend. It was sufficient, however, to convince me that I was not mistaken. Don José again took me by the arm and led me back; but a moment afterwards a volley was fired, and an exclamation uttered by Mr Laffan told me that Señor Monteverde was among those slaughtered by the savages.
“It will be sad news to carry to my mother and father, and to Dona Dolores. What will become of her? Her father dead—her property destroyed; but, probably, she herself is by this time in the hands of the Spaniards, and may ere long share the fate of Dona Paula. Shall I ever meet them again?” I murmured.
Other volleys of musketry, which sounded horrible in our ears, too plainly told us what was continuing to take place.
By Don José’s advice, we kept close in our room during the remainder of the day; and it was growing dark when Domingo appeared, with a bundle under his arm.
“I have been provided with this for you to put on, señor,” he said, producing a serving-man’s dress, similar to that which I had worn at Popayan. It was curious that the same disguise should have been chosen. “You are suspected of being a Liberal; and whether you are so or not, you are to be arrested to-night, and probably share the fate of those who were shot this morning. I am desired to tell you, therefore, that you must make your escape as soon as it is dark—you taking one direction, while Señor Miguel and I take another.”
Before I had time to ask further questions, Domingo retired.
I began to put on the dress he had brought me, and was quickly changed into a serving-man. While I was thus engaged Mr Laffan came in, and I told him what Domingo had said.
“But I cannot desert you, Duncan!” he exclaimed. “I will stick by you, whatever happens.”
I soon convinced him that we should thus only increase the risk of being arrested, and advised him at once to make his way to Honda, as we had told Murillo we intended doing. If not molested, he might thence, instead of embarking on the Magdalena, travel over the mountains westward to one of the towns on the Cauca. As he had no proposal to offer against this plan—indeed, there was no other to be pursued—he agreed to it.
“But how will you be able to travel alone?” he asked.
“I do not intend to travel alone, if I can help it,” I answered. “I believe that Antonio will succeed in liberating Uncle Richard, and that I shall be able to help him to make good his escape.”
I was unwilling to leave the house without wishing Don José and his family farewell; and as I was thinking how I could best manage to do so, I discovered a slip of paper pinned on to the front of the jacket, on which was written in a feigned hand,—“I know your feelings, and what you would desire to say; but it is safer that we should not again meet. Farewell. Destroy this when you have read it.”
The paper was not signed, but I guessed it came from Don José.
Domingo having now reappeared, and announced that the horses were ready, we descended to the courtyard. “It will be safer for me to slip out first,” I observed.
To this Mr Laffan agreed.
“You had better take Lion with you,” I said; and I ordered my faithful dog to remain with Mr Laffan. But on this occasion the usually obedient animal was disobedient. When I had made my way out of the yard I found him following me, and I had not the heart to send him back.
I resolved at all risks to join Uncle Richard, should he be able to make his way out of prison; so towards that gloomy building I at once directed my steps. As the town was in total darkness, there being no lamps in the streets, I ran little chance of being detected, while Lion could not be seen a few paces off. In a short time I reached the spot where I had had the conversation with Antonio; and there, crouching down, I awaited the hour he had named. There was but one clock in the city which struck the hours. The time appeared to go very slowly by. Perfect silence reigned through the streets. Neither Royalist nor Republican were at that time inclined to move about in the dark, as assassins too frequently plied their deadly trade, and several persons of both parties had been murdered.
At last ten o’clock struck. I sat with my hand on Lion’s head, listening attentively. The prison door opened; the sentinel challenged, “Quien vive?” and the countersign was returned. Then the door closed, and I heard the sound of footsteps approaching, but they did not seem those of persons attempting flight. My hopes sank. After all, some officer might have visited the prison, and was now leaving it with a guard. I was afraid, consequently, to move; but in another instant Lion rose to his feet, and, though he uttered no sound, bounded forward towards one of the persons approaching.
“That must be Uncle Richard,” I thought. “The dog knows him.”
I was not mistaken; and I was quickly by his side, when I found that he had on the cap and cloak of an officer. The other person who followed close behind him was, I guessed from his uniform, which I could but indistinctly see, Antonio.
Uncle Richard divined who I was, and he put out his hand and grasped mine. I returned the pressure; but we did not venture to speak.
Antonio led the way to the western side of the city. “We must make for the mountains immediately; there will be less risk of the Godos looking for us there,” he said, when we had got between some high convent walls, where no one was likely to overhear us.
One thing was certain, we must get to a distance from the city before daybreak. On that point we were all agreed.
When there was no risk of being seen, we moved as fast as possible; but as we drew near the guard at the entrance of the city we had to walk at a dignified pace. Antonio had given the sign and countersign to Uncle Richard and me, so we passed through without question; it being supposed, in all likelihood, that the officer was on his way to visit some outpost attended by an orderly, while I concluded that I was taken for a guide.
Long before morning dawned we were well among the mountains. Antonio had thoughtfully filled his knapsack with provisions, which, in addition to those I had brought from Don José’s, would serve us for several days. The corporal had also furnished himself with a remarkably good rifle, and a quantity of ammunition. Our intention was to make our way to some place occupied by a Patriot force, of which we hoped to gain intelligence from the peasantry, either Creoles or Indians, the greater portion of whom were likely to prove friendly. It was most important, however, to put as great a distance as possible between the city and ourselves, for as soon as our flight was discovered parties would certainly be sent out to scour the country in search of us.
We rested for a couple of hours under an overhanging rock—to take some food and regain our strength—just before daybreak, and then once more pushed on. None of us, unfortunately, had any exact knowledge of the country. We had therefore to steer by the sun, and to follow the tracks which appeared to lead in the direction we wished to go. Occasionally, when we reached a height from which a view eastward could be obtained, we looked back to ascertain if any one was following. A party on horseback, by galloping over the more level ground, instead of climbing the mountains on foot, might even now overtake us.
The sun was still shining over the hills to the westward, but would shortly disappear behind them, when we saw before us a rapid river rushing between lofty and precipitous cliffs. How to cross it, was the question. We could see no bridge or canoe, and it ran too furiously for us to breast its foaming billows; while it would be dangerous to cross on a raft, even if we could find materials for forming one.
We made our way over the rough ground down the stream.
“I should think we must be safe from pursuit here; but I will just take a look-out from yonder height,” observed Uncle Richard.
He had scarcely got to the summit of the hill when he shouted out, “Here come some suspicious-looking fellows; but they are a good way astern at present, so that we must somehow or other leave them on this side of the river.” After taking another look, to assure himself that he was not mistaken, he rejoined us, and we hurried along the bank.
We had not gone far when Antonio exclaimed, “I see a tarabita! It will serve our purpose; and we must take care that it does not help our enemies across.”
He pointed, as he spoke, towards a long thin rope thrown across from one cliff to the other. On getting up to it we found the bridge—for so it might be called—consisted of a long rope made of hides, the ends secured by stakes driven into the earth; to this a sort of basket was suspended, with two smaller ropes fastened to it—the one reaching to the side we were on, the other to the opposite bank, where a man—apparently the guardian of the so-called bridge—was seated on a log smoking. Antonio shouted to attract his attention; and getting up, he made a sign for one of us to enter.
“You go first, Señor Ricardo,” said Antonio to Uncle Richard.
But the latter insisted on going last, and made me and Lion get into the basket. The bridge-keeper immediately began to haul away, and I soon found myself dangling over a fearful chasm. I was, however, quickly across; and, by means of a rope passing through a block on the side I had left, the basket was immediately drawn back.
Antonio was passed over in the same way, and joined me.
Uncle Richard had, in the meantime, gone to the height overlooking the path behind us, but he soon hurried back and took his seat in the basket.
“Tell the old Indian to be smart in hauling me across,” he shouted out.
The man obeyed; but Uncle Richard was not more than half-way over when we saw a party of soldiers on the height above the river, and I clearly made out that they were Spanish soldiers. Should they reach the end of the rope before Uncle Richard was safe, they might, by threatening to cut it, compel us all to come back; so we hastened to seize hold of the tackle, in order to assist the Indian in dragging the basket over more quickly.
“Take care, señores; you will break it, if you pull too hard,” he observed.
We were not aware whether he had seen the Spaniards coming.
“Haul away,” shouted Uncle Richard.
We obeyed him, and he was soon able to spring on to the ground. His first action on doing so was to grasp Antonio’s sword, and to hack away at the rope, to the great astonishment of the old Indian, who loudly expostulated, and attempted to stop him. But Antonio and I seized the bridge-keeper and held him fast while Uncle Richard finished the operation, and soon the rope swung across to the opposite cliff.
“Now,” said Uncle Richard, “we shall have to make the best use of our legs, or we may chance to have some bullets whistling about our ears.”
We hurried on, hoping to get beyond the range of the firearms of our enemies before they had reached the bank; and we had completely lost sight of them when we heard a volley fired. We only hoped that the poor old Indian had hidden himself in time, and that it was not aimed at him. Whether there was any ford, or other means of crossing the river, further down, we could not tell; it was therefore important to make as rapid progress as possible. A moon was in the sky, about half full, which, in that atmosphere, allowed us to see our way for some distance, so we took great care to profit by it.
At length we saw a light ahead of us. It proceeded from an Indian’s hut, in the centre of which a large fire was blazing. We made our way towards it, hoping to obtain a guide; besides, we required rest, and it was necessary to obtain it at all risks.
The owner of the hut was seated before the fire boiling a pot of cocoa, and he did not appear to be surprised on seeing us.
“Travellers are constantly coming this way, and I was getting some cocoa ready lest any should come in,” he observed.
Uncle Richard said that we should be glad to rest for a few hours, and inquired whether he would guide us over the mountains.
“I cannot do so myself; but my son, who will be here shortly, will willingly do so. He has guided many travellers across the Paramo,” was the answer.
We took our seats around the fire, and the Indian cooked some plantains, which, with the cocoa, served us for supper.
In a short time the son of whom our host had spoken made his appearance. He was a fine, strong youth, and seemed well fitted for acting in the capacity of guide.
He told us that as he was coming over the mountains from a village on this side of the river, to which he had escorted some travellers, he had heard firing, and concluded that there had been a fight between some Liberals and the Godos. “I hope the last were well beaten,” he muttered, looking at Uncle Richard’s military cap.
“So do I,” I observed. “You do not take us for Godos?”
“I judge of people by their conduct, and as yet I have had no opportunity of learning how you behave,” answered the young Indian, with a laugh.
“He is the right sort of fellow,” observed Uncle Richard; “we may trust him.”
I asked him if he had any food for my dog; and going out, he at once returned with some pieces of flesh, off which, although somewhat odorous, Lion made a substantial supper.
“It is the remains of a bear we killed some days ago,” observed the young Indian.
We all lay down round the fire,—Lion sleeping between Uncle Richard and me, and both of us feeling assured that he would give us timely notice should any danger be at hand.
Chapter Twelve.
Our journey continued—Beautiful scenery—Preparing to cross the Paramo—Description of a Paramo—Commence the passage—Skeletons of men and mules—Intensity of the cold—Antonio suffers greatly—He recovers by drinking a draught of cold water—Darkness—Our sufferings on the increase—A strong inclination to sleep—I sink to the ground—Lion arouses me—We reach the Tambo—A night in the hut—Intense cold—Daylight at last—Our passage across the Paramo—Sad sights—The descent of the mountains—Reaching a forest—Padillo goes off to obtain intelligence—We build a hut, and go to sleep—Our hut on fire—A narrow escape.
For several days we had been travelling westward over the mountains. The young Indian, Padillo, as he called himself, had proved a faithful guide. If we were pursued, we had evaded our enemies, and, we hoped, had done so effectually. The scenery through which we passed was extremely wild and grand. Round us appeared mountains piled on mountains, rocks heaped on rocks; and when we fancied that we had reached the summit of an elevation whence we could look down below, another mountain, more grand and terrific, appeared through the veil of mist which before had shrouded it from our sight. It seemed as if we should never escape from this chaos of rocky pinnacles and snow-covered heights. The sky above us was of a clear, bright blue; in some places beautifully streaked, and varied with a silvery hue or pale straw colour, but not a cloud dimming its lustre. Severe as was the cold, as we were in constant exercise we scarcely felt it; while the rarity of the air imparted wonderful lightness and elasticity to our frames, so that sometimes I could scarcely help leaping and bounding forward. At night we generally found shelter in a cave or under an overhanging rock—always keeping up a blazing fire, to scare wild beasts, as well as to afford us warmth.
At last we reached the entrance of a gloomy valley, between lofty and snow-topped mountains, their sides in some places almost perpendicular.
“We must be prepared to push rapidly across the Paramo,” observed Padillo. “It is late in the year, and I do not altogether like the look of the weather. We shall require two days at least to get to the further end. Frequently three days are occupied by persons on horseback, but you march so quickly that we may do it in less time; and there is a tambo about midway where we can obtain shelter.”
“Cross it we must, at all risks,” answered Uncle Richard, who was especially eager to get back to the neighbourhood of Popayan, to ascertain how his family were faring. He intended also to try and raise a corps.
It was not without reason that we dreaded passing across this bleak region. The name of Paramo is given to those inhospitable desert-regions high up among the mountains, of which there are so many in the Andes. No human being can exist in them without keeping in incessant and violent motion. Artificial means are incapable of sustaining life while a person is exposed to the inclement air. Ardent spirits are entirely void of any good effect, and generally increase the evil consequences. These Paramos are usually long deep valleys between lofty elevations, so shut in and obscured by the neighbouring hills as to possess all the severities of their extreme height, while not a ray of sunshine can enter to shed its gentle influence through them. Death almost invariably overtakes those who attempt to rest in them unsheltered at night. The extent of some of them is so great that it requires two or three days to cross them; and in these small houses have been erected, in which cooking utensils and other articles of convenience are kept for the accommodation of travellers, as well as stabling for their mules. Here, by means of large fires, they may manage to keep themselves warm, though even then people suffer greatly.
In consequence of the highly rarefied air, the traveller at first experiences great difficulty in breathing, accompanied by a sharp, piercing pain at each inspiration. This increases until he becomes what the natives call “emparamento,”—when his extremities are benumbed, and he can no longer continue in motion. Soon after this he is seized with violent raving and delirium; froth issues from his mouth; he tears the flesh from his hands and arms with his teeth, pulls his hair, and beats himself against the ground, meanwhile uttering the most piercing cries, until he is quite exhausted. The cold then deprives him of all motion and feeling, his body becomes much swollen, and fearful distortion of the features is produced by the dreadful convulsions he is suffering, while the surface of his skin becomes nearly black. The only remedy the natives know of is to scourge each other, and to drink the cold water from the springs, which are found here and there in most of the Paramos.
We had all of us heard this account of the Paramos, and were fully prepared for the danger we must encounter. Being on foot, we should the better be able to keep ourselves warm; at the same time, we should be the longer exposed to the piercing wind. Already, as we mounted towards this fearful region, we began to experience unpleasant sensations when breathing.
Having taken an ample breakfast, we determined to push on to the tambo, where we must rest until the following morning. It was most important to reach it before dark, for should we be benighted our position would become critical in the extreme. Nerving ourselves for the undertaking, we marched forward. Providentially there was but little wind. As we advanced we saw the skeletons and carcasses of numerous mules; some perfectly blanched by the wind, others still partly covered with flesh, on which numberless galenachas, or black vultures, were busily feasting. The stench proceeding from others not long dead, close to which we had to pass, was most offensive.
“At all events, no human beings appear to have died here,” I observed to our guide.
“Don’t say that, until you have got further,” he answered.
In a few minutes we came in sight of a grinning skull placed on the top of a rock, the body lying below it. A few steps further on we came upon the skeletons of several persons lying with their legs across their mules; both the animal and its rider having evidently succumbed at the same moment.
“This does not look pleasant,” observed Uncle Richard; “but we must not allow it to depress our spirits.”
In spite, however, of the severe exertions we were making, we felt the cold every instant becoming greater. Antonio, though apparently as strong as any of us, became so benumbed that he could scarcely walk. He had brought a small flask of aguardiente, which he confessed he had drained to the bottom, but it had apparently had a bad effect on him. At length his sufferings became so great that we began to fear we must leave him behind, as to carry him on to the tambo would be impossible; though, if left behind, he would certainly die in a few minutes. While he was in this state, Padillo volunteered to go forward, recollecting that there was a spring in the neighbourhood, and urging us to try and reach it. In a short time Padillo returned with the information that the spring was only a little way on; so, while Uncle Richard took one of Antonio’s arms, I took the other, and Padillo, with a stick, kept beating him severely about the body. Whenever Antonio cried out, Padillo answered, “Never mind, friend, never mind; it’s all for your good.” At length, what with pinching his arms, and Padillo’s flagellation, he was kept alive until we reached the spring. Here we compelled him to drink a draught of water, though at first he showed a great unwillingness to swallow it, like a person afflicted with hydrophobia. In a wonderfully short time, however, he perfectly recovered, and declared that he felt warm and comfortable.
Uncle Richard and I then tried the experiment, as we were beginning to feel the sensations Antonio had at first complained of. The attempt, however, was extremely painful; indeed, I felt as if I had swallowed a handful of needles, the which were pricking and tearing the whole interior of my throat in their passage downwards. Directly I had swallowed the water, however, I began to feel a comfortable glow, which in a short time spread equally over me.
The delay, however, might have been fatal to all of us, as darkness had already begun to spread over the deep valley, and we could see no tambo ahead. From the experience we had had, we were sure we could not rest anywhere for an instant, while the danger was great in proceeding in the dark. Still Padillo said he could find the way, and led us on at a swinging trot, we doing our utmost to keep up with him; often, however, I felt a strong inclination to sink down and enjoy a short sleep, if only for a minute or two. I thought that I should soon catch up my companions. The wind had increased, too, and a thick sleet drove through the air, which made us feel as if pins and needles were sticking in our faces.
“This is very unpleasant,” cried Uncle Richard; “but it won’t last for ever, that’s one comfort.”
The darkness increased, and the thought that we should have to go on through such weather as this during the whole night was terrible.
Padillo was leading. Uncle Richard made Antonio walk before him; I, with Lion, who kept close to my heels, continued talking to Uncle Richard for some time, until the desire to stop suddenly overpowered me.
“I hope we shall soon reach the hut,” I said.
“Cheer up—in a few minutes we shall be there,” I heard Uncle Richard say, and at that instant I sank to the ground. I heard the footsteps of my companions as they moved on; but, seized with a kind of insanity, I flattered myself that after a few minutes’ rest I should be able to get up and follow them. For some time, as it appeared to me, though it may have been only for a moment or two, my senses completely left me; then I became conscious that Lion had placed himself above me, and was licking my hands and face. Then I heard him utter a loud bark; after which he began to pull at my clothes, and bark louder and louder, until he succeeded in arousing me. Mercifully, I had still strength sufficient to get up; and as I did so, Lion still pulling at my trousers, I heard Uncle Richard’s voice shouting out, “Duncan! Duncan! come along.” Presently he appeared through the gloom; when he took my hand, and I stumbled forward.
Soon afterwards we heard Padillo shout out, “The tambo, the tambo!”
Though we could not see him, guided by his voice we made our way to the hut. Antonio had already got in and thrown himself on the ground, but Uncle Richard roused him up, and compelled him to assist in lighting the fire. We soon had a genial blaze, at which we warmed our chilled limbs. I saw Lion looking up in my face, as much as to say, “Master, that was a foolish thing you did just now; in another minute you would have been dead, had I not kept some warmth in you with my body.” I patted his head, and he wagged his tail, and smiled as dogs can smile when pleased. In spite of the blazing fire we kept up all night, we felt the cold greatly. Indeed, I had never felt so chilled in all my life; it seemed to pierce to the very marrow. Lion lay down close to the fire, and almost singed his hair, showing that he too was suffering from the cold.
Fearing that the fire might go out, Uncle Richard insisted that one of us should remain awake; and he himself undertook to keep the first watch. We first took our supper, but I fell asleep with a piece of food in my mouth. The training Uncle Richard had had at sea enabled him to keep awake, although I dare say he was as sleepy as any of us.
He at last aroused me, and charged me not to let the fire get low. “I can trust you better than I can Antonio or the guide,” he observed. “However strong may be your impulse to sleep, do not yield to it, as our lives may depend on the fire being kept up.”
I promised to keep a faithful watch, and, rising to my feet, began to walk about. In a moment more Uncle Richard was fast asleep. So strong was the desire I felt to lie down and close my eyes, that I was afraid of stopping, and kept pacing up and down the hut, rubbing my hands together, and every now and then putting on an additional stick, or scraping up the ashes. The time passed slowly by; the wind moaned amid the bleak crags which overtopped the hut, and I fancied I heard the cries of wild beasts. The sleepers, overcome with fatigue, did not even move, and as I gazed at them they looked as if stretched out in death. Every now and then, however, Lion lifted up his head, as if to see that all was right; and just as my watch was over, and I was about to call Antonio, he got up and stretched himself. “Now, Lion, if Antonio drops asleep, remember to call me or Uncle Richard. I will trust you, good dog. You understand?” Lion wagged his tail, and gave a low bark; and I felt confident that he would do as I had ordered him.
I then called Antonio, and gave him the same instructions and warning which Uncle Richard had given me.
“Do not fear, señor,” he answered—giving, however, an ominous yawn; “I’ll keep my eyes open.”
Trusting more to Lion than Antonio, I lay down, and in a few seconds was again fast asleep. How long I had remained in that state I could not tell, when I heard Lion bark close to my ear, and felt him pulling at my clothes. On sitting up, I saw that the fire had burned much lower than it was when I gave up my watch, and that Antonio was asleep. I quickly roused him up.
“It was but for a moment, señor; my eyelids are so very heavy.”
“Look at the fire!” I exclaimed. “It must have been a very long moment since you put anything on. Now, help me to make it up.”
We soon had the fire blazing brightly again, and Antonio promised to keep awake until daylight. Had it not been for Lion, I should not have trusted him. He probably was not aware that the dog had aroused me.
Again I heard Lion bark loudly. The fire, as before, had burned down, and Antonio was again asleep; but on looking out of the door I found that day had broken. I was convinced that Lion had been observing the fire rather than Antonio—considering it his duty to watch it—and that he had called me simply because he saw that it ought to be made up.
I now awakened the whole party, and by the time we had eaten a hearty breakfast the light had increased sufficiently to enable us to continue our journey.
We encountered the same sad sights as on the previous day. There were fewer animals, but many more dead bodies,—some evidently, from their dress, being those of women and children.
“They are those of unfortunate people who were attempting to escape from the Godos,” observed Padillo. “The mountains hereabouts are full of the skeletons of those who have thus perished. But Heaven will punish our oppressors.”
All we saw must have died on their first day’s journey across the Paramo. Those only who had strong mules, or who had found shelter in the tambo, could have escaped. But it would not do to allow our thoughts to dwell upon the subject. Our business was to push on as fast as our legs would carry us. Directly we felt any of the sensations we had experienced on the previous day, we drank at the nearest stream we could reach, but we did not stop to take food.
At length the fearful Paramo was passed; and yet this was only half the size of many which exist in the country. Before dark we reached a tambo situated at a lower level and exposed to the free air, but even there we felt it very cold. In a few days we were rapidly descending, and at last found ourselves almost on a level with the valley of the Cauca, enjoying a tropical temperature, and on the borders of a dense forest. By keeping more to our left we should have continued along the road to Antioquia, but we were uncertain which party then possessed that town. Padillo, however, volunteered to ascertain this while we remained in the forest. We had already paid him his well-deserved reward, with which he seemed highly satisfied.
He had been absent some time, and we were anxiously waiting his return.
“I am afraid he has been seized by the Spaniards, or compelled to conduct one of their parties over the mountains,” I observed.
“He’ll not come back, depend on that,” remarked Antonio. “He has fulfilled his engagement, and will not trouble himself further about us.”
“I will trust the man; and if he can, he will return,” said Uncle Richard. “Here he comes, too!”
Presently Padillo was seen hurrying towards us. “The Godos have possession of all the towns and villages in this neighbourhood,” he said. “If you wish to avoid them, you must keep further down the valley before you cross the Cauca, and then continue up the other side. I wish that I could remain with you, but I know nothing of those western mountains, and should be of no use as a guide.”
He now finally took his leave, promising not to forget us.
Following his advice, we commenced our journey through the forest,—often having to cut our way with our swords, and sometimes to wade across rapid streams which threatened to carry us off our legs. We ran a risk, too, of being bitten by serpents; several of those we observed being of large size, and others of an especially venomous character. Tribes of monkeys were seen on either side of us, leaping from bough to bough, and swinging on the sipos—sometimes running forward jabbering and grinning, as if excited with anger at our daring to invade their domains. As our food had run short, we were compelled to shoot a couple of the rogues for supper.
Night approaching, we made preparations for camping. We had to guard not only against human enemies, but against jaguars, pumas, prowling bears, and snakes. But having cleared a space of sufficient size, we ran some sticks into the ground, which were interwoven with smaller branches, so close together that no jaguar could thrust in its paw, or a bear its snout, nor could any but the smallest snake crawl in. We then thatched it over with large leaves of sufficient thickness to keep out the heaviest rain. As close to the entrance as we dared we piled up sticks, that we might keep a fire blazing all night. There was certainly some little risk in having a fire, as it might attract the attention of any Spaniards in the neighbourhood; but we believed that we were so far off a highroad that no enemies were likely to discover us.
Uncle Richard and I discussed our plans for the future, leaving Antonio to go to sleep, that he might be the better able to watch when it came to his turn. We alternately went to sleep for some hours, until we thought Antonio could be trusted to keep the regular watch.
I was awakened by Lion’s loud bark, and by feeling him pulling at my clothes. Seeing that I was aroused, he next attacked Uncle Richard in the same way. On sitting up, what was my dismay to find that we were in the midst of a bright blaze! The hut was on fire. Antonio, in order to save himself trouble, had raked the embers close up to the entrance, and had then fallen asleep. Uncle Richard, seizing him by the shoulders, dragged him out; while I caught up his gun and the rest of our possessions, and sprang after him through the flames, followed by Lion, who would not leave the hut until he saw us in safety. The whole, however, was the work of a few seconds. Had we remained much longer, the roof would have come down upon us, and, at all events, have burned us severely. As it was, we got pretty well singed.
As we looked back and saw the flames ascending, we had good cause to fear that the trees overhead would catch fire; and if so, a fearful conflagration might ensue. It would be scarcely possible to cut our way through the forest so as to escape it. The danger, therefore, was imminent. Uncle Richard setting the example, we attacked the thatch, and brought it to the ground; while with our swords we cut the grass around wherever we saw the fire creeping along the ground.
A few minutes more, and we should have been unable to subdue the fire. Already some of the shrubs were singed in two opposite directions, but fortunately we saw the snake-like flames creeping forward in time to extinguish them.
As there was no appearance of rain, we scraped the ashes of the fire together, and placing on them a few unburnt sticks, sat ourselves down close to it to wait until daylight, without which it would be impossible to travel through the forest.
Chapter Thirteen.
A hard struggle to get out of the forest—Antonio finds some Cherimoias—Our escape from the wood—Dancing at a marriage-feast—Hospitable entertainment—Guides—Down the river in a canoe—The Spaniards ahead—We camp, and wait to pass them at night—Again embarked—The Spanish camp—A narrow escape—We reach the Cauca—We cross to the left bank, and see Juan with a party of cavalry on the right bank—Pacheco swims across the river, and returns with a note—Juan comes for me on a raft—Uncle Richard and Antonio proceed to Popayan—We reach a farm on the Llanos, and catch and train wild horses for Juan’s troop—Mode of catching wild horses—Joined by Mr Laffan.
The morning found us hacking our way through the forest. As we could discover no path to follow, it was slow work, and the trees seemed to become thicker and thicker as we advanced. Under other circumstances, we might have stopped to admire the wonderful variety of shrubs and creepers which formed the undergrowth; as it was, we had to keep our eyes constantly about us, for at any moment we might have to encounter a huge boa or anaconda, or we might tread upon some venomous serpent, or a tree-snake might dart down upon us from the boughs above. Monkeys, as before, chattered and grinned at us. Parrots, and occasionally large gaily-plumed macaws, flew off from amongst the topmost boughs, startled by our approach.
Hunger and fatigue told us that we had been struggling on for some hours, so, coming to an open space, we determined to stop and dine. Uncle Richard, taking Antonio’s gun, shot a monkey and a couple of parrots; and Antonio and I lighted a fire at which to roast them. But we had no water, and the food made us feel very thirsty. I proposed, therefore, looking for some cocoa-nuts, which, in that part of the country, grow a long way from the sea. We searched around in all the openings we could discover; at last Antonio shouted out that he had found something which would satisfy our wants, and he appeared with a huge melon-looking fruit under each arm. They were the wild cherimoia, which grow to a larger size than the cultivated ones, although not possessing their richness. The slight acidity of the fruit was, however, very refreshing; and, our strength restored, we were soon able to push on as before.
Another day of hard toil was about to close. To pass the night without a fire would be dangerous in the extreme, but as yet we had found no open space in which we could venture to make one. As long, therefore, as the light lasted we continued to press on, in the hope of discovering some suitable spot. Antonio climbed up a palm, by forming his sash into a belt which embraced the trunk—hoping to obtain a good view of the surrounding region from the top. He told us, on his descent, that he had seen the glittering of a river at no great distance to the south-west, and that we should soon be out of the forest. Our continued thirst, which even the fruit did not quench, made us wish to reach the river as soon as possible; so we pushed on, and at length had the satisfaction of getting out of the denser part of the forest, though trees and shrubs extended down to the banks of the river. Darkness overtook us; but the moon rose, and we were able to move forward without much difficulty, expecting every instant to reach the stream.
We were hurrying on, when strange sounds reached our ears. We advanced towards the spot from whence they proceeded, and, on an open space near the bank of the river, we caught sight of what at a distance might have been mistaken for a dance of demons or hobgoblins. But as we drew near we saw, as we had surmised, that they were Indians. Some of them were performing a wild dance in couples, holding their arms above their heads and snapping their fingers; while others were seated on the ground looking at their companions.
“There has probably been a marriage, and they are now performing the dance which usually follows the ceremony by the light of the moon,” observed Antonio. “They are sure to be in good humour, and as they will have plenty of food, they will be ready to treat us hospitably.”
On this assurance we approached the strange group, but the dancers appeared too much engaged in their amusement to notice us. The music was apparently produced by a sort of flageolet, accompanied by a calabash containing some hard seeds or stones, which was rattled in time to the wind instrument.
Some of those seated on the ground at last catching sight of us, advanced and inquired who we were and what we wanted. We told them that we were travellers—our object being to reach the western side of the valley; that we should be glad if one of them, well acquainted with the country, would act as our guide, and that his services should be liberally rewarded. This at once made them friendly; and begging us to sit down, they brought us a calabash of chica, with which they were regaling themselves, some venison, and a variety of cooked roots, and some fruit. The feast was abundant, if not served in a very civilised way, and we did ample justice to it.
We found that our new friends were, as Antonio had supposed, celebrating the marriage of one of their young men by a moonlight dance and feast. The happy bridegroom had just reached his eighteenth year, and his friends had helped him to build a hut and clear a spot in the forest for sowing maize. Being an expert hunter, he had bought mats and earthen pots with the produce of the chase, and had also made several utensils in wood, besides a store of calabashes; these, with a few other articles, served amply to furnish the abode to which he was to take his young wife. He had also, they told us, presented his father-in-law with a deer, part of which we were eating. The conjurer, who performs an important part on such occasions, presented himself to us. Of course he had been invited to the feast, since he acts as the officiating minister and declares the couple united. Our friends, who had already indulged somewhat freely in chica, continued passing the calabash round until they grew very noisy; the old conjurer especially, who, with several others, at length rolled on the ground and dropped off to sleep. The more sober of the party, however, assisted us in putting up a little hut, in which we took shelter,—while they, in spite of their scanty clothing, lay down round the fire, more for the smoke which kept off the mosquitoes than for warmth; indeed, we were now in a complete tropical climate, differing greatly from that of Popayan.
The provisions collected for the feast were sufficient to afford us a good breakfast; and having rewarded our entertainers, we expressed a wish to set out. Instead of one guide, three volunteered to come, saying that each of us would require one; indeed, none of them were disposed to go alone. We found, on reaching the river, that they proposed proceeding down it some distance in a canoe. This, too, would save us from fatigue; and there would be less risk, we hoped, of our falling in with the Spaniards.
We found, on conversing with the Indians, that they had anything but friendly feelings for the Godos, who had carried off several of their people, and on other occasions ill-treated them, compelling them to work without reward. We therefore felt ourselves perfectly safe in their company. Whenever we approached a spot—whether hamlet or farm—where they thought it likely the Spaniards might be quartered, one of them would go on ahead, and, keeping under shelter, creep up and ascertain if such was the case. On each occasion finding that the coast was clear, we continued down the stream. Throughout its course the country on either side was wild and uncultivated, only small patches here and there being occupied by settlers, who owned some of the vast herds of horses and cattle roaming over the broad savannas which extend from the Cauca to the foot of the mountains.
In this region we met with three or four Indian families of the same tribe as our companions, and we learned from the last we encountered that a party of Spaniards occupied a spot on the bank of the river some way lower down, but whether they were marching north or south we could not ascertain. One thing was certain—we must either land on the opposite side to that where they were posted, or pass by during the night. Our Indian friends decided that the latter would be the safest plan to pursue, so we ran the canoe a short distance up a creek with reeds on either side and thickly wooded beyond; a place which afforded us ample concealment, while there was abundance of wild fowl to supply us with food.
The Indians had brought some network hammocks composed of fibre, which they hung up between the trees, and advised us to occupy while they prepared supper. No sooner had we landed than Uncle Richard shot a wild turkey, which we left with the Indians, while we went along the banks of the stream in search of ducks. Our friends’ eyes sparkled in the anticipation of an abundant feast, as they saw us return with four brace of fat birds. The Indians had a big pot, into which they put some venison they had brought with them, and some of the birds cut up, with vegetables of various sorts. These they stirred over the fire, and made a very satisfactory mess, flavoured as it was with chili pepper and other condiments. We ate our turkey simply roasted, however, as it suited Uncle Richard’s palate and my own.
We had still some hours to wait until the Spaniards were likely to be asleep, and the men on guard less watchful. At present, too, the moon was so bright that we should certainly have been seen had we attempted to pass their camp; but clouds were gathering in the sky, and we hoped that before long the moon would be obscured, when we might slip by on the opposite side unobserved. We therefore took advantage of the offer the Indians had made us, and occupied their hammocks; while they sat round the fire talking, and finishing the remains of the stew. Lion had come in for his share of the bones, and now lay down under my hammock with his nose between his paws. The moment I looked out he lifted up his head, showing that, if not wide awake, he was as vigilant as need be, and ready to give notice should there be any cause of alarm.
We were completely in the power of the Indians, no doubt, who might at any moment have deserted us, or delivered us up to the Spaniards, or put us to death for the sake of our clothes and whatever valuables we carried. But we had entire confidence in them. It must be confessed that foreigners have occasionally been killed by the Indians, but in all the instances I have heard the former were the aggressors. We had from the first shown the simple-minded people that we trusted them, and their wish was to prove that our confidence was not misplaced.
The night was far spent when Pacheco, our chief guide, roused us up.
“The moon has kindly veiled her face to enable us to pass the Godos unperceived,” he said. “Up, señors, up! we will start at once.”
Jumping out of our hammocks, the Indians quickly rolled them up and carried them down to the canoe, on board which they had already placed the rest of their property. By their advice we lay down in the bottom. I kept Lion by my side, so that in case he should be inclined to bark I might at once silence him. Pacheco steered, while the other two Indians rapidly plied their paddles, and we glided at a quick rate down the stream. We soon approached that part on the northern shore at which the Spaniards were supposed to be posted, and we therefore kept to the opposite side. Not a word was spoken, and we all lay close; so that, had the canoe been seen, the enemy would have supposed that only three Indians were in her. We could hear the guard relieved, with the sentries exchanging the sign and countersign; and during the time this ceremony was going forward our canoe shot by the place without challenge.
In the hope that we were safe, we were about to get up out of our uncomfortable position, when a voice hailed us and ordered the canoe to be brought up to the bank.
“Paddle on!” I heard Pacheco say to his men; and directly afterwards a shot came whistling over our heads. “Don’t be afraid of that,” again whispered Pacheco—“we shall soon be out of sight of the Godos; although they may fire, they will not hit us.”
The Indians, without uttering a sound to show that they felt any alarm, continued paddling away. Shot after shot was heard; but the Spaniards must have at length discovered that their prey had escaped them.
We continued our course until the morning, when we saw before us the Cauca, on the opposite side of which we wished to land. The Indians crossed the larger river, and pulling up for some short distance, we entered a creek thickly shaded by trees. Here there was no risk of being seen by enemies on the other shore. Pacheco, who had engaged to act as our guide, landed with us, and gave directions to his people to wait his return.
The stream by which we had entered the Cauca had carried us much further down the course of that river than we had intended to go; we had, therefore, now to make our way up it before we struck westward to Oro, the town at which I had arranged to meet Mr Laffan. Our guide advised us to continue along the bank of the river, as we should thus make our way more easily than by striking diagonally across the country. Having carefully husbanded our powder and shot, too, we were enabled to supply ourselves amply with food; and we were never in want of wild fruits which in most countries would be considered very delicious.
It was towards the evening of the second day, and we were about to encamp, when Antonio, who had gone down to fill a calabash with water at the river, came back saying that he had seen a small party of cavalry, who had come down to let their horses drink.
“Are they Spaniards?” asked Uncle Richard.
“No, señor; they appear to me, by their dress, to be Patriots.”
On this we all crept down to the bank, keeping under shelter, to observe the strangers; and on seeing them we were convinced that Antonio was right. While I was looking I observed another horseman, who by his dress appeared to be an officer, join the people, and on watching his movements I felt almost certain that he was my friend Juan. So convinced was I of this, that I advanced to the water’s edge and hailed him; but the noise of the horses prevented him hearing my voice. “What would I give to communicate with him!” I exclaimed. “Is no canoe to be found near, by which we can cross the stream?”
I explained my wishes to Pacheco.
“If you are certain that they are friends, I will swim across,” answered Pacheco.
I assured him of this, and hastily wrote a note to Juan, begging him to wait for me, and I would try to get across the river to join him.
Pacheco placed the note inside his hat, on the top of which he fastened the short trousers and girdle he wore. He then cut two thick pieces of bamboo, with a still larger piece pointed at both ends, and taking them in his hand plunged into the water.
“Are you not afraid of the alligators?” asked Uncle Richard, under the idea that those creatures frequented the stream.
“There are few above the rapids, and those only of small size,” answered Pacheco; “if one comes near me, he will feel the point of this bamboo.”
Resting his chest on the stout pieces of cane, and striking out with his hands and feet, he made rapid progress towards the opposite shore. At length Juan saw him coming, and at the same time observed us waving, though he might not have known who we were. He probably guessed, however, that we were friends, and that the Indian was coming across to speak to him, for he rode towards the spot where our guide was about to land.
Pacheco gave Juan the note, and I saw him take a paper from his pocket and write an answer, which he delivered to the Indian, who, without stopping to rest, recrossed the river. Once I saw him give a dig with his bamboo, but the object at which he aimed was not visible. It might have been an alligator, or a water-snake, or a big fish; but it seemed to concern him very little, for he again came towards us, and landed in safety.
I eagerly took Juan’s note.
“I will wait for you,” it ran. “Come across, if you can find a canoe; if not, wave your handkerchief, and I will have a raft formed, and come for you. No time for more.—Juan.”
As Pacheco assured us that we were not likely to find a canoe within a considerable distance, I at once made the sign agreed on, whereupon I saw Juan’s men immediately begin to cut down with their manchettes a number of large canes which grew near. These they bound together with sipos, and in a very short time a raft sufficiently large to bear several persons was formed. The thick ends of some of the canes were shaped into scoop-like paddles, and Juan with four of his men at once embarked and commenced the passage of the river. As soon as the raft was sufficiently near the shore he sprang to the land, and embraced Uncle Richard and me. He looked paler and considerably older than when we last parted, and as if he had seen much hard work.
Uncle Richard’s first question was, very naturally, for his wife and daughter; and I too asked after my family.
“They are still residing among the mountains, among some faithful Indians, with Paul Lobo as their guardian. Dr Sinclair thinks it prudent to keep in hiding while the Godos occupy Popayan, in case the monster Murillo should order his arrest. I lately heard that he was well, in spite of the trying life he, in common with so many other Patriots, is obliged to lead.”
“And Dona Dolores?” I asked.
“She is safe with your mother and Dona Maria; I myself escorted her to their cottage, after I had the happiness of rescuing her from the Spaniards.”
“Is she aware of her father’s death?” I inquired.
“What!” exclaimed Juan, “has the tyrant dared to murder the old man?”
“I grieve to say so; as well as my poor uncle, Dr Cazalla, and many other of our country’s noblest Patriots.”
Juan lifted his hands to heaven, and prayed that their deaths might be avenged. What a change a few months had produced in him! Instead of the gay, thoughtless youth, he was now the stern soldier, ready to dare and do any deed full of peril. I told him of the murder of Dona Paula; at hearing which his eyes flashed fire, while he uttered expressions I dare not repeat.
I asked him what object he had in view in coming in this direction.
“I am proceeding to Llano Grande, for the purpose of collecting horses, and training them for our cavalry, as a large number of those in my troop have died from hard work and exposure on the Paramo of Purace, when we crossed the mountains to attack the Spanish convoy. I earnestly hope that you, Duncan, will join me; you will be of the greatest assistance, and I am certain that you are not required to help your father or mother. They are less likely to be molested than if it were known that you had joined them.”
I felt a great desire to accept Juan’s proposal, and put it to Uncle Richard whether I might not do so.
He considered a minute. “Yes; I see no objection,” he answered. “I will continue my journey with Antonio, and try to communicate with Mr Laffan. Possibly he may join you, and be of service.”
Accordingly, without hesitation, I at once agreed to accompany Juan; and wishing my Uncle Richard and his two companions farewell, I embarked with my friend.
“As soon as I have seen Señor Ricardo safe, I intend to make my way back to rejoin you,” said Antonio. “If you are going to tame wild horses, you will find it a long business, and are not likely to have left the neighbourhood before I can get back to you.”
Juan told me that he intended to ride some miles further before camping, as we were near a Spanish force; and should the enemy gain intelligence of us, they might attempt to surprise us.
When Lion saw me embark, he gave a look at his former master, as if to ask which of us he should accompany; but Uncle Richard pointed to me, and he immediately leaped on the raft.
By the time we landed, Juan’s small troop were in readiness to move on. He had, fortunately, a spare horse, which I mounted; and I confess that I felt my spirits rise wonderfully when I found myself in the saddle, after so many days’ journeying on foot.
We rode on until we reached the borders of a wood which would serve to shelter our camp-fires. There the horses were picketed, while patrols were sent out to give due notice of danger. Though in our native land, we had to act as if in an enemy’s country. However, we invariably found the country-people ready to give us all the information we required as to the whereabouts of the Spaniards, and were thus able to avoid them. Had it not been for this, the Patriots would have been crushed by the superior force the Spaniards were bringing against them. While we could always learn the movements of our enemies, and obtain an ample supply of food, the Spaniards were unable even to trust their own spies; and it was only by means of strong foraging-parties that they could collect provisions.
We thus reached our destination,—a farmhouse situated on a slope at the foot of the mountains, with the wide llanos stretching out before it. Having an extensive view over the plain from this point, we could see the approach of an enemy from a great distance; and, according to the strength of their force, we might either prepare for resistance, or make our escape. An enclosure ran round it, formed by trunks of trees driven into the ground close together. It had been formed years before, for the purpose of resisting attacks by the Indians, and would still enable a body of men to hold their own against any small force of infantry or cavalry, though, for the present, we did not expect to be molested.
The men Juan had brought with him were accustomed to the life of the llanos, and no time was lost in commencing the work for which they had come. The very next morning the whole party started off provided with lassoes,—Juan and I accompanying them. The herds of wild horses were accustomed to come close up to the farm, so that we had not to go far before we fell in with a herd. The men then separated into parties of two, forming a circle round the animals they wished to capture. The wild horses, seeing strangers advancing from all sides, closed up towards the centre, not knowing in which direction to make their escape; when the men galloped forward, lasso in hand, each singling out an animal, round whose neck he seldom failed to throw the noose. The horse would then dash forward, but was as speedily brought up by the rope; and the well-trained steed of the Llanero, throwing itself back, and pressing its fore, feet against the ground, effectually checked it, and threw it upon its haunches, or right over on its back. Another Llanero would then dexterously cast his lasso round the animal’s fore-feet, and by a jerk bring it round its legs. By slightly slackening the rope round its neck, the horse was enabled to get up, when its first impulse was to dash forward; but it was brought to the ground by the lasso round its legs, with a jerk sufficient, it would seem, to break every bone in its body. The horse would then lie motionless while its hind feet were secured.
The first horse I saw caught in this manner, I thought was dead; but after a time it regained its consciousness, and, giving some convulsive plunges, again got on its legs. Before it had even time to look about, it was led off by some of the Llaneros to a post near the farm, where, in spite of its desperate struggles, it was saddled and bridled. Its strength regained, it began to bite, plunge, and kick in all directions, the Llaneros nimbly getting out of the way. One of the more experienced riders, watching his opportunity, then leaped into the saddle, and signed to one of his companions to cast off the lasso from its legs. The animal, finding itself free, darted off, and then commenced to back, plunge, and whisk round and round, sometimes dashing on for a few paces at a furious pace, and then recommencing its eccentric movements. The rider, however, stuck on; and another Llanero coming behind, administered a lash with his long cutting whip, which made the poor animal start off with a snort like a scream. No one but a well-trained horseman could have kept his seat in the way our men did. As it darted ahead, two other Llaneros rode on either side to keep the wild animal straight. Off it went across the level country for a league or more, occasionally stopping to back and kick; each time its efforts grew fainter, until at last we saw it come back, its eyes bloodshot, its whole body covered with foam and blood, and perfectly bewildered. It was then unsaddled and tied to a post, there to remain until hunger made it willing to accept the food and water offered to it. Thus, in the course of a day a number of horses were captured; but they were all young animals, and as yet scarcely fit for work.
Next came the operation of breaking them in, which occupied a much longer time. In this, Juan and I took a part. Every man we had with us was engaged from sunrise to sunset—or even later, when the moon shone brightly—as it was of the greatest importance to have some well-trained animals ready for service as soon as possible.
Fresh men continued to arrive, having made their way over the mountains to avoid the Spaniards, bringing their saddles and bridles, arms and accoutrements. Of course, they at once took part in catching and training the horses. The young animals were most easily broken-in, but they were less capable of enduring fatigue than the older horses.
We had been about a month thus engaged, when, as Juan and I were leaving the farm for an afternoon’s sport, as we called it, we caught sight of a horseman—evidently, from his costume, not one of our own men—galloping across the plain towards us. As he drew nearer, I thought I recognised his bearing and figure.
“Hurrah!” I exclaimed; “I believe that’s Mr Laffan.”
“I hope so, indeed,” answered Juan. “He will be a host in himself; and I suspect he will be able to train a horse as well as the best of us.”
Mounting our steeds, we galloped forward to meet him; and with unfeigned pleasure I soon saw that it was no other than my former tutor.
“I am thankful to fall in with you again, my dear fellows,” he exclaimed. “I thought at one time that I should never have got here. Mr Duffield told me where to find you, but those rascally Spaniards nearly caught me. I escaped them, but I had to hide away for several days until the coast was clear. However, here I am, and shall be mighty glad of some food, for I’m desperately sharp-set.”
We returned to the farm with Mr Laffan, where we gave him our usual fare,—dried beef and plantains; for we were not living luxuriously. Except some chica, we had no beverage stronger than coffee or cocoa to offer him; but he declared that such provender would serve him as well as any other.
As soon as the meal was over, Mr Laffan begged to have a fresh horse, and insisted on accompanying us. “I have had a little experience in this sort of work,” he said, “and may be able to catch a horse or two. At all events, I can break-in a few. I have no wish to eat the bread of idleness.”
Mr Laffan was as good as his word, and took good care to select a first-rate animal for himself, which, by dint of constant practice, he got well broken-in. Juan and I were equally fortunate, and were much indebted to him for the training of our steeds.
As few persons came near the farm, which was remote from all thoroughfare, the Spaniards did not get notice of our proceedings; and we were thus, by dint of hard work, and the valuable assistance rendered by Mr Laffan, able to get together a very efficient body of cavalry.