At the Point of the Sword | Page 6

their way."
"Which he will," interrupted Mr. Warren. "My poor friend was hand in glove with the Indians, and they'll rally round the boy."
"There are other things, too, which need not be gone into now, however," said José; "but the long and the short of it is that Jack must be got out of the way at present."
"And his mother?"
"She has sent him to you."
"But he can't be hidden here. The rascally Dons will have him in the casemates before one can say 'Jack Robinson!'"
"We don't mean to stay here, sir," replied José. "Our idea is to go to Valparaiso, and we thought if you had a ship--"
"The very thing, Joseph," and the thumbs went backward and forward taster than ever. "Maxwell has a schooner leaving in the morning. You can go on board to-night if you choose, but you had better have some supper first."
As it happened, both José and I had been some time without food, so we were glad to have something to eat; after which Mr. Warren took us to the quay, where the schooner Aguila lay moored.
"There she is," he remarked; "let us go aboard. Most likely we shall find Maxwell there.--Hi, you fellows, show a light!--Lazy dogs, aren't they? Mind your foot there, and don't tumble into the harbour; you won't get to Valparaiso that way.--That you, Maxwell? I have brought a couple of friends who are so charmed with your boat that they want to make a trip in her. Where do you keep your cabin? Let's go down there; we can't talk on deck."
Mr. Maxwell was another English merchant at Callao, and as soon as he heard what had happened, he readily agreed to give us a passage in the Aguila. We must be prepared to rough it, he said. The schooner had no accommodation for passengers, but she was a sound boat, and the Chilian skipper was a trustworthy sailor. Then he sent to his warehouse for some extra provisions, and afterwards introduced us to the captain, whose name was Montevo.
As the schooner was to sail at daylight, our friends remained with us, and, sitting in the dingy cabin, chatted with José about the state of the country. By listening to the talk I learned that General San Martin was a great soldier from Buenos Ayres, who, having overthrown the Spanish power in Chili, was collecting an army with which to drive the Spanish rulers from Peru. At the same time another leader, General Bolivar, was freeing the northern provinces, and it was thought that the two generals, joining their forces, would sweep Peru from north to south.
"And a good thing, too!" exclaimed Mr. Warren. "Perhaps we shall have a little peace then!"
"Pooh! stuff!" said his friend; "things will be worse than ever! These people can't rule themselves. They're like disorderly schoolboys, and need a firm master who knows how to use the birch. I am all for a stern master."
"So am I," agreed José, "if he's just, which the Spaniards aren't."
"That is so," cried Mr. Warren. "What would our property be worth if it wasn't for the British frigate lying in the harbour? Tell me that, Maxwell; tell me that, sir! They'd confiscate the whole lot, and clap us into prison for being paupers," and the thumbs revolved like the sails of a windmill.
So the talk continued until daybreak, when the skipper, knocking at the cabin door, informed us that the schooner was ready to sail; so we all went on deck, where the kindly merchants bade us good-bye, and hoped we should have a pleasant voyage.
"Keep the youngster out of mischief, Joseph. There's plenty of food for powder without using him," were Mr. Warren's last words as he stepped ashore, followed by his friend.
It was the first time I had been on board a ship, and I knew absolutely nothing of what the sailors were doing; but presently the boat began to move, the merchants, waving their hands, shouted a last good-bye, and very quickly we passed to the outer harbour.
I have been in many dangers and suffered numerous hardships since then, some of which are narrated in this book, but I have never felt quite so wretched and miserable as on the morning of our departure from Callao.
Wishing to divert my thoughts, José pointed out the beauties of the bay and the shore; but my gaze went far inland--to the lonely home where my mother sat with her grief, to the mighty cordillera where my father lay dead. Time softened the pain, and brought back the pleasures of life, but just then it seemed as if I should never laugh or sing or be merry again.
The first day or two on the Aguila did not tend to make me more cheerful, though the skipper did what he could to