CHAPTER V.
IN THE HIDDEN VALLEY.
Perhaps my Indian host overstated the case, but he could not have beenfar wrong in saying that no stranger had ever succeeded in finding theHidden Valley.
Let me describe the coast of Peru, and then you may be able to formsome idea of the district between the Spanish fortress and my new home.The coast is a sandy desert studded with hills, and having in thebackground stupendous ranges of towering mountains. From north tosouth the desert is cut at intervals by streams, which in the rainyseason are converted into roaring rivers. Little villages dot thebanks of these streams, and here and there are patches of cultivatedland.
From one river to another the country is for the most part a drearydesert of sand, where rain never falls nor vegetation grows--a deadland, where the song of a bird is a thing unknown. Sometimes after asandstorm a cluster of dry bones may be seen--the sole remains of losttravellers and their animals. At times even the most experiencedguides lose the track, and then they are seen no more. Over such adesert I had ridden from the fort, and the Indians assured me that,even in broad daylight, I could not go back safely without a guide.
As for the valley itself, it was comparatively nothing but a slit inthe mass of mountains. A river ran through it, and the water was usedby the Indians to irrigate the surrounding land. Their live stockconsisted chiefly of oxen and horses, and the principal vegetablescultivated were maize and coca. You may not know that this coca is aplant something like the vine, and it grows to a height of six or eightfeet. The leaves are very carefully gathered one by one. They arebitter to the taste, however, and as a rule strangers do not takekindly to coca. The Indian is never without it. It is the first thinghe puts into his mouth in the morning, and the last thing that he takesout at night. He carries a supply in a leathern pouch hung round hisneck, and with this and a handful of roasted maize he will go a longday's journey. I had never chewed coca before, but soon got into thehabit of doing so, much to the delight of my new friends.
My stay in the Hidden Valley, although lasting nearly two years, hadlittle of interest in it. The Indians treated me with every respect.I was lodged in the best house, and was given the best fare the valleyproduced. Within the valley I was master, but I was not allowed tojoin any of their expeditions, and without their help it wasimpossible, as I have explained, to get away.
Their advice to stay quietly in my hiding-place was indeed the bestthey could give. I was quite safe, the Spanish soldiers in the fortbeing unable to follow me, and indeed, as we gathered from the spy,quite at a loss to account for my escape. Away from the valley, too, Ishould be utterly helpless. I could not return to Lima, and withoutmoney there was little chance of making my way into Chili.
The two things that troubled me most were Jose's fate and my mother'sunhappiness. At first I had ventured to hope that my friend stilllived; but as the weeks and months passed without any tidings, I beganto look upon him as dead. The Indians thought it certain I shouldnever see him again.
As to my mother, she would be in no particular uneasiness until thetime came for the return of the _Aguila_; but I dreaded what wouldhappen when Mr. Maxwell had to confess the schooner was overdue, andthat nothing had been heard of her. Many miserable hours I spentwandering about the valley, and thinking how my mother would watch andwait, hoping against hope for some tidings of the missing ship.
One night--it was in the December of 1819--I had gone to bed early,when an unusual commotion in the valley caused me to get up. My Indianhost had already gone out, so, putting on my things, I followed.
Naturally my first thought was of the Spaniards; but the natives,though flocking towards the entrance to the valley, did not appearalarmed. Several of them carried torches, and a strange picture wasrevealed by the lurid flames.
On the ground lay a horse so weak and exhausted that it could barelystruggle for breath. Close by, supported in the arms of two Indians,was the rider, a short, rather stout man of brown complexion. His eyeswere glazed as if in death. Blood gushed from his ears and nostrils,his head hung limply down: it was hard to believe that he lived.
The natives gabbled to each other, and I heard the words frequentlyrepeated, "Sorillo's messenger!" Then an old, old woman--the _mother_of the village--tottered feebly down the path. In one hand she carrieda small pitcher, and in the other a funnel, whose slender stem theyinserted between the man's teeth. In this way a little liquid wasforced into his mouth, and presently his bared breast heavedslightly--so slightly that the motion was almost imperceptible.
However, the old woman appeared satisfied, and at a sign from her thestricken man was carried slowly up the path. One native attended tothe horse, and the rest returned to their huts, talking excitedly ofwhat had happened.
"Is that a messenger from Raymon Sorillo, Quilca?" I asked my host.
"Yes," said he, "and he has had a very narrow escape. He has beencaught in a sandstorm. Perhaps he lost the track. Perhaps thesoldiers gave chase, and he went further round to baffle them. Whoknows? But we shall hear to-morrow."
"Then he is likely to recover?"
"Yes; the medicine saved him. Didn't you see his chest move?"
"Yes," I replied, thinking that but a small thing to go on.
"That showed the medicine was in time," returned Quilca. "It has begunits work, and all will be well."
Quilca spoke so confidently that, had I been the patient, I should havestarted on the road to recovery at once.
"Will he stay here long?" I asked.
"Who knows?" replied Quilca. "The chief gives orders; the servantsobey."
"But he will return at some time?"
"It is likely."
"And will he take a message to my mother, do you think?"
"Oh yes," said the Indian; "I had forgotten. Besides"--and he touchedthe cord supporting the silver key--"he is your servant, as I am."
For three days the messenger was too weak to explain his errand; butthe medicine worked wonders, and at the end of a week he sent forQuilca and the other leading men of the tribe.
What orders he brought I did not learn; only my host told me that therising to which they looked forward had been put off. The Chilianswere not ready, and could not be in Peru for at least another sixmonths.
Quilca was dreadfully disappointed; but the chief had spoken, and hisword was law. Indeed, it was most extraordinary to see with whatreverence his commands were treated. Had it been his pleasure, I amsure his followers would have willingly gone to certain death.
On the day following this I visited the messenger, who, on seeing thesilver key, bowed low before me.
"What are my lord's commands?" asked he humbly.
"They are very simple," I replied. "In a short time you are returningto your chief. Say to him that Juan Crawford is safe in the HiddenValley, and ask him to tell Senora Maria Dolores Crawford at Lima so.Can you remember that?"
The blood mounted into the man's face as he said, "I will remember."Then he added in quick, eager tones, "Are you the son of Don Eduardo?"
"He was my father."
At that the man bent again and kissed my hand, saying,--
"Senor, he was our best friend. He loved our people, and when he waskilled there was much weeping in the villages of the Indians."
"He gave his life for you," said I slowly.
"As we will give ours for his son," answered the man; and no onehearing him could have doubted the sincerity of his words.
At the end of a fortnight he was strong enough to travel, and his lastwords as he struck into the narrow pass were, "I shall not forget,senor."
After his departure I felt much easier. True, there was a terriblejourney before him, which hardly one man in a thousand could hope toaccomplish successfully; but he was a daring and plucky rider, usedalike to desert and mountain. Then, too, any Indian on the route wouldgive him food and shelter, and warn him of any lurking soldiers.
He would relate my story to Raymon Sor
illo, and I knew that thegigantic chief would carry the news to my mother. I no longer frettedat being shut up in the valley, but passed my time merrily with theboys and younger men of the tribe, learning their patois, riding, andpractising shooting with the musket, and with bow and arrow.
On my fifteenth birthday Quilca organized some sports, and though notgaining a first prize in any event, I performed so creditably that theIndians were delighted with my prowess.
"The young chief will make a warrior," said they, and I felt proud oftheir praise.
Let me try to give you a picture of myself at that time. I was tallfor my age, standing five feet five inches in height. I had curly darkhair, cut rather short, and brown eyes. My face was tanned throughexposure to the weather and regular exercise had made my muscles hardas iron. Like my companions, I wore a short woollen jacket, dark incolour, and breeches open at the knees, and caught up with strips ofcoloured cotton. My cap was of wool gorgeously embroidered; darkwoollen stockings without feet covered my legs, and in place of boots Ihad a pair of goatskin sandals. Thrown over my left shoulder was asmall poncho, which dangled like the cloak worn by some of our cavalrysoldiers.
Some time during the month of April Sorillo's messenger returned,bringing me two letters--one from my mother, the other from the chief.
I need not say how eagerly I opened the first. It was very long,consisting of several closely-written pages, but it did not contain aword too much. I read it over and over again, until I could almost sayit by heart. No word had reached Lima of the wreck of the _Aguila_;but the British merchants, though bidding my mother be of good cheer,had put the schooner down for lost. My message had shown their fearsto be well grounded, but at the same time it had carried joy andthankfulness to my mother's breast.
"I grieve for poor Jose," she wrote, "but I thank God every hour foryour safety."
The letter from Sorillo was brief. After saying how glad he was to getmy message, he went on,--
"For the present, stay in the Hidden Valley; there is no safer place inPeru. The fruit ripens slowly, and even yet is not ready for plucking.San Martin has not left Valparaiso, and little beyond skirmishing willbe done this year."
Apparently, however, he had sent definite orders to the tribe, as fromthis date I noticed a great difference in our hitherto peaceful abode.Every man went armed day and night, scouts were posted on themountains, and swift riders scoured the desert for miles.
Once, too, a band of horsemen, twenty strong, led by Quilca, left thevalley at night. I could not learn their business, because Quilca saidthey were acting under the secret orders of the great chief. They wereabsent three days, and when, in the gray dawn of the fourth morning,they rode back up the valley, three were missing. The leader had abloodstained bandage round his head, and several men bore signs of afierce conflict.
"You are hurt?" said I, as Quilca dismounted.
"It is nothing," replied he carelessly.
"And three of your followers have not returned!"
"It cost six lives to kill them," he answered, with fiercesatisfaction, passing into the hut.
This expedition was followed by others, and from the talk in the valleyI gathered that Sorillo had started the Indians on the war-trail.Already the Spaniards were safe only in large numbers, for on everyweak and isolated detachment the fierce mountaineers swept down likehawks on their prey.
Now and again they were beaten off; but this did not happen often,because they knew the number of their enemy almost to a man, and hadlearned the most effective method of attack. Generally speaking, thelittle body of Spanish soldiers had no chance whatever, either offlight or of victory.
From time to time strange and startling rumours reached us. InSeptember we heard that the Chilian army had landed on the coast, andsoon afterwards that the Englishman Cochrane had swept the Spanishfleet from the seas. Jose had often spoken of this daring sailor, who,after performing many glorious deeds in the British navy, had takencommand of the Chilian fleet, and had done much to make Chiliindependent of Spain. Now, with his ships and sailors, he was helpingto do the same for Peru.
On hearing these things I became impatient, not wishing to remaincooped up in the valley while the Liberating Army was marching on Lima.
However, my deliverance, though slow in coming, came at length, butbefore that time I had a most startling surprise. One morning, in thelast week of January 1821, I had gone out very early, half expecting tosee Quilca returning from one of his excursions. Most of the Indianswere astir, when suddenly a man came running from the mouth of the pass.
"Here they are!" he cried; "here they are!"
We pushed down quickly to meet them, I in the very front. Quilcaappeared first, riding slowly, as if his horse were tired out. Hismen, lolling on their animals, followed, some of them with closed eyesand half asleep.
Presently I caught sight of Sorillo's messenger, nearly at the end ofthe line; and then I opened my eyes wide, thinking they had played mefalse. Was I awake, or was I dreaming? Was I--
"Jack!"
That settled it! The Indians stared in astonishment, as with astartled cry I ran past them to where in the rear a man had jumped fromhis horse to the ground.
"Jose!" I cried, "Jose!" and for the life of me could say no more, butstood staring at him as if he had been some strange, unnatural animal.
Had I the skill of an artist, I should love to draw his face as helooked into mine. It was strong and firm and purposeful, but the grayeyes softened into almost womanly tenderness.
"Why, Jack," said he, shifting the reins and laying a hand on myshoulder, "you're quite a man! Your mother would be proud of you!"
"Have you seen her?" I asked.
"Yes; all's well at home. But we'll talk of that later on. So you'veturned Indian, eh?"
"It's better than living in a cell!"
"So it is; and you didn't go down in the ship, after all?"
"No; but I must tell you the story when you've had something to eat.Give your horse to this youngster, and now come on to Quilca's hut; youmust be tired."
"I was," replied he, "but the sight of you woke me up. I wondered ifyou'd be waiting to see the braves come home. That Quilca of yours isa born soldier. He'd make a good general if they didn't train him!"
He rattled on, and I listened, glad just to hear the sound of hisvoice, without reference to what he said.
Quilca bade us welcome to the hut, and his womenfolk brought in thefood and drink they had prepared.
Jose, as I have said, knew the Indian patois, which during the meal, heused for the benefit of our host, whose Spanish was rather halting. Hetalked of the war, and told how the Chilians had landed, and how theRoyalists were broken up and in full retreat. The campaign, he said,was as good as over, and San Martin could be President of Peru any dayhe chose.
At that I was much astonished, for knowing the Spanish leaders, I hadexpected them to fight to the death; but it was pleasing news, all thesame, and I began to speculate on how soon we should be in Lima.
After breakfast Jose had a long nap, and then I took him for a strollin the valley, where we could talk without interruption.
I was anxious to hear about my mother, but first I told my ownstory--the rescue by the Spanish soldiers, the coming of GeneralBarejo, and the power of the silver key, as also the escape by theunderground passage, just as I have related it here.
"Barejo's a dangerous man," remarked Jose thoughtfully. "He'll spendthe last drop of blood in his body to keep this country for Spain.He's Loyalist and Royalist to the core. It's a pity, too, because heis fighting for a lost cause."
"The more honour to him!" I answered warmly.
"Just so," exclaimed Jose, with a queer smile; "but, all the same, hemakes things more difficult for us."
"Well, put him on one side now. Tell me your own adventures, and whereyou were when my message reached Lima."
"On the way there. When the schooner foundered, I reckoned it was allover. I went down
to a great depth, but, as luck would have it, cameup just clear of a broken mast. One of the sailors was holding to it,and I joined him, though without any hope of being saved. You know I'mpretty strong, but I was helpless in that wild sea. The waves justflung me about anyhow. The other chap lasted an hour or two, when downhe went with a scream, and I heard no more of him. But I needn't dwellon the horrors of that night; you had a strong taste of them yourself.About daybreak I was flung like a spent ball on to a sandy beach. Ihad just strength to crawl a few yards further up, and then collapsed.It seems some Indians carried me away, and nursed me back to health,but for weeks I was wild as a loon. They searched the coast, but foundnothing, and I concluded you were at the bottom of the sea. Then I gota passage to Pisco in a coasting brig, and from there made my wayoverland to Callao."
"Where you heard I was alive?"
"Yes; I hardly know whether I stood on my head or my heels when I wastold. It was old Mr. Warren who informed me. I went to him because Idared 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 saidyou 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 withquestions, asking this and that--if my pony was well; had he seen RosaMontilla; was my mother less sad; and a hundred other things, many ofthem 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 upyour black-browed bandit, who passed me on to one of his band. How hefound 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 quietlyback 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, butthere are many youngsters of your age with the army, and you've a bigstake in the country. But we can afford to let that matter stand for aday or two longer."
At the Point of the Sword Page 5
