At the Point of the Sword

  Produced by Al Haines

  [Frontispiece: "In a short time they had bound our arms tightly withstrips of hide."]

  [Transcriber's note: frontispiece missing from book.]

  At the Point of the Sword

  A Story for Boys

  By

  HERBERT HAYENS

  Author of "Ye Mariners of England," "Under the Lone Star," "For the Colours," "A Captain of Irregulars," "In the Grip of the Spaniard," &c., &c.

  THOMAS NELSON & SONS, LTD.

  LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK

  1903

  CONTENTS.

  I. A BIRTHDAY EVE II. AN EXCITING VOYAGE III. THE END OF THE "AGUILA" IV. THE SILVER KEY V. IN THE HIDDEN VALLEY VI. WE LEAVE THE HIDDEN VALLEY VII. WHOM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG VIII. A FRIENDLY OPPONENT IX. A GLEAM OF HOPE X. A STORMY INTERVIEW XI. A NARROW ESCAPE XII. A STERN PURSUIT XIII. HOME AGAIN XIV. FRIEND OR FOE? XV. WE CATCH A TARTAR XVI. GLORIOUS NEWS XVII. DUTY FIRST XVIII. DARK DAYS XIX. FALSE PLAY, OR NOT? XX. "SAVE HIM, JUAN, SAVE HIM!" XXI. ROUGH JUSTICE XXII. THE "SILVER KEY" AGAIN XXIII. AN OPEN-AIR PRISON XXIV. A DANGEROUS JOURNEY XXV. BACK TO DUTY XXVI. THE HUSSARS OF JUNIN XXVII. A DISASTROUS RETREAT XXVIII. THE BATTLE OF THE GENERALS XXIX. HOME AGAIN

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

  "IN A SHORT TIME THEY HAD BOUND OUR ARMS TIGHTLY WITH STRIPS OF HIDE" . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

  "'HELP, HELP!' I EXCLAIMED FAINTLY; BUT HE HEARD ME, AND I KNEW I WAS SAVED."

  "PUSHING OFF HIS SANDY BED-CLOTHES AT OUR APPROACH, HE STRUGGLED TO HIS FEET."

  "'SAVE HIM, JUAN, SAVE HIM!'"

  "HE GLANCED CONTEMPTUOUSLY AT THE GIGANTIC SORILLO."

  "'A SOLDIER FROM AYACUCHO! HERE IS ONE OF OUR BRAVE DELIVERERS!'"

  AT THE POINT OF THE SWORD.

  CHAPTER I.

  A BIRTHDAY EVE.

  In spite of my English name--Jack Crawford--and my English blood, Ihave never set foot on that famous little island in the North Sea, andnow it is quite unlikely that I ever shall do so.

  I was born in Peru, on the outskirts of beautiful Lima, where, untilthe year 1819, on the very eve of my fourteenth birthday, the days ofmy childhood were passed.

  I expect you know that in ancient days Peru was called the "Land of theSun," because the sun was worshipped by the natives. Their great citywas Cuzco, built, it is said, in 1043 A.D., by Manco Capac, the firstof the Incas, or Emperors of Peru.

  The natives believed Manco to be a child of the sun; but I have heardan old story that his father was a shipwrecked Englishman, who marriedthe daughter of a Peruvian chief. I do not think this tale correct,but it is full of interest.

  Most of the Incas ruled very wisely, and the remains of palaces,temples, and aqueducts show that the people were highly civilized; butin 1534 the Spaniards, under Pizarro, invaded the country, and sweptaway the glorious empire of the Incas.

  After that Peru became a part of Spanish America, and Pizarro foundedthe city of Lima, which he made the capital.

  My father, who settled in the country when quite a young man, married aPeruvian lady of wealthy and influential family. The estate near Limaformed part of her marriage portion, and a beautiful place it was, witha fine park, and a lake which served me both for boating and bathing.I had several friends, chiefly Spaniards, but two English boys, whosefathers were merchants in Callao, often visited me, and many a pleasantgame we had together.

  At this time Peru was a Spanish colony, but some people, among whom wasmy father, wanted to make it an independent country, having its ownruler. Being still a boy, I did not hear much of these things, though,from certain talk, I understood that the country was in a mostunsettled state, and that the Spanish governor had thrown many good meninto prison for urging the people to free themselves.

  One evening, in March 1819, I was busy in my workshop painting a smallboat. My father had been absent for nearly a week, but he had promisedto return for my birthday, and every moment I expected to see himcrossing the courtyard.

  Presently, hearing old Antonio unfasten the wicket-gate, I put down mybrush, wiped my hands, and ran out joyously.

  The happy welcome died on my lips. It was not my father who hadentered, but Rosa Montilla, the young daughter of a famous Spanishofficer. She was nearly a year younger than myself, and a frequentvisitor at our house. Often we had gone together for a row on thelake, or for a gallop on our ponies round the park.

  She was very pretty, with deep blue eyes and fair hair, quite unlikemost Spanish girls, and generally full of fun and good spirits. Now,however, she was very pale and looked frightened. I noticed, too, thatshe had no covering on her head or shoulders, and that she had notchanged the thin slippers worn in the house.

  These things made me curious and uneasy. I feared some evil hadbefallen her father, and knew not how to act. On seeing me she made alittle run forward, and, bursting into tears, cried, "O Juan, Juan!"using, as also did my mother, the Spanish form of my name.

  Now, being only a boy, and being brought up for the most part amongboys, I was but a clumsy comforter, though I would have done anythingto lessen her grief.

  "What is it, Rosa?" I asked; "what has happened?" But for answer shecould only wring her hands and cry, "O Juan, Juan!"

  "Do not cry, Rosa!" I said, and then doing what I should have done inthe first place, led her toward the drawing-room, where my mother was."Mother will comfort you. Tell her all about it," I said confidently,for it was to my mother I always turned when things went wrong.

  On this her tears fell faster, but she came with me, and together weentered the room.

  "Juan!" cried my mother.--"Rosa! what is the matter? Why are youcrying? But come to me, darling;" and in another moment she waspressing the girl to her bosom.

  At a sign from her I left the room, but did not go far away. Rosa'saction was so odd that I waited with impatience to hear the reason.She must have left her home hurriedly and unobserved, since it was anunheard-of thing that the daughter of Don Felipe Montilla should be outon foot and unattended. I was sure that should her father discover ithe would be greatly annoyed. The whole affair was so mysterious that Icould make nothing of it. The girl's sobs were more under control now,and she began to speak. As she might not wish me to hear her story, Iwalked away, meaning to chat with Antonio at the gate, and to await myfather's return.

  He might not come for hours yet, as it was still early evening, but Ihoped he would, and the more so now on Rosa's account. She might needhelp which I was not old enough to give; while, as it chanced, JosephCraig, my father's trusty English servant, had gone that afternoon intoCallao. However, he also might be back at any moment now, and wouldnot, in any case, be late.

  Half an hour had perhaps passed, and I was turning from the gate, whentwo horsemen dashed up at full speed. One was Joseph Craig, or Jose asthe Spaniards called him, and my feeling of uneasiness returned as Inoticed that his face, too, wore a strange and startled look.

  Jose, as I have said, was my father's servant; but we all regarded himmore as a friend, and treated him as one of ourselves. He was awell-built man of medium height, with good features and keen gray eyes.He spoke English and Spanish fluently, and could make himselfunderstood in several Indian dialects. He kept the accounts of theestate, and might easily have obtained a more lucrative situation inany counting-house in Callao. He excelled, too, in outdoor sports, andhad taught me to fence, to shoot, and to ride straight.

  The second man I did not know. He seemed to be an Indian of themountains, and was of gigantic stature. His dress was altogetherdifferent from that of the Spaniards, and in his cap he wore a plume offeathers. His face
was scarred by more than one sword-cut, his browswere lowering, and his massive jaw told of great animal strength.Jose's horse had galloped fast, but the one ridden by the stranger wasflaked with foam.

  Antonio would have opened the big gate without question: but I,thinking of Rosa, forbade him, saying to Jose in English, "Does he meanharm to the girl?"

  You see, my head was full of the one idea, and I could think of nothingelse. I imagined that Rosa had run away from some peril, and that thisman with the savage face and cruel eyes had tracked her to our gate.So I put the question to Jose, who looked at me wonderingly.

  "The girl?" he repeated slowly; "what girl?"

  "Rosa Montilla," I answered.

  We spoke in English; but at the mention of Rosa's name the mountaineerscowled savagely, and leaned forward as if to take part in theconversation.

  "The man has come from the mountains with a message for your mother,"said Jose; "I met him at the entrance to the park. But if RosaMontilla is here, the news is known already."

  His face was very pale, and he spoke haltingly, as if his words wereburdensome, and there was a look in his eyes which I had never seenbefore.

  I motioned to Antonio, and the two passed through. What message didthey bring? What news could link dainty little Rosa with this wildoutlaw of the hills?

  Jose jumped to the ground and walked with me, laying a hand on myshoulder. Until then I had no thought of the truth, but the touch ofhis fingers sent a shiver of fear through me, and I looked at his facein alarm.

  "What is it, Jose?" I asked; "what has happened? Why did Rosa stealhere alone and sob in my mother's arms as if her heart would break?"

  "The little maid has heard bad news," he answered quietly, "though howI do not know."

  "And as she had no mother, she came to mine for comfort," I said. "Itwas a happy thought: mother will make her forget her trouble."

  Jose stopped, and looked searchingly in my face.

  "Poor boy!" he said. "You have no idea of the truth, and how can Itell you? The little maid did not weep for her own sorrow, but foryours and your mother's."

  At that I understood without further words, though I was to learn moresoon. The reason of it I guessed, though not the matter; but I knewthat somewhere my dear father lay dead--killed by order of the Spanishviceroy.

  Jose saw from my face that I knew, and there was sympathy in the verytouch of his hand.

  "It is true," he whispered. "The Spaniards trapped him in themountains, whither he had gone to meet the Indians. They wished torise against the government; but he knew it was madness just now, andthought to keep them quiet till his own plans were ready."

  "And the Spaniards slew him?"

  "Yes," replied Jose simply. "Here," pointing to the mountaineer, "isour witness."

  "But how did Rosa hear of it? she was not in the mountains. Ah, Iforgot! Her father stands high in the viceroy's favour. And so myfather is dead!"

  The thought unnerved me, and I could have cried aloud in my sorrow.

  "Hold up your head, boy!" exclaimed the harsh voice of the mountaineer."Tears are for women and girls. Years ago my father's head was cutoff, but I did not cry. I took my gun and went to the mountains," andhe finished with a bitter laugh.

  "But my mother!" I said. "The news will break her heart."

  "The world will not know it," he answered, and he spoke truly.

  "I am glad the little maid has told her," remarked Jose, giving hishorse and that of the stranger to a serving-man. "Jack, do you go inand prepare her for our coming."

  A single glance showed that Rosa had indeed told her story. She sat ona lounge, looking very miserable. My mother rose and came toward me.Taking my hands, she clasped them in her own. She was a very beautifulwoman, famous for her beauty even among the ladies of Lima. She wastall and slightly built, with black hair and glorious dark eyes thatshone like stars. I have heard that at one time she was called the"Lady of the Stars," and I am not surprised. They shone now, but allgentleness had gone from them, and was replaced by a hard, fierceglitter which half frightened me. Her cheeks were white, and her lipsbloodless; but as far as could be seen, she had not shed a tear.

  Still holding my hands, and looking into my face, she said, "You haveheard the news, Juan? You know that your father lies dead on themountains, slain while carrying a message of peace to the fierce menwho live there?"

  I bowed my head, but could utter no sound save the anguished cry of"Mother, mother!"

  "Hush!" she exclaimed; "it is no time for tears now. I shall weeplater in my own room, but not before the world, Juan. Our grief is ourown, my son, not the country's. And there is little Rosa, brave littleRosa, who came to bring me the news; she must go back. Let Miguelbring round the carriage, and see that half a dozen of the men ride inattendance. Don Felipe's daughter must have an escort befitting herfather's rank."

  I began to speak of the strange visitor outside; but Rosa was her firstcare, and she would see no one until Rosa had been attended to. So Ihurried Miguel, the coachman, and the men who were to ride on eitherside of the carriage, returning to the room only when all was ready.

  Mother had wrapped Rosa up warmly, and now, kissing her, she said,"Good-bye, my child. You were very good to think of me, and I shallnot forget. Tell your father the truth; he will not mind now."

  Rosa kissed my mother in reply, and walked unsteadily to the coach.She was still sobbing, and the sight of her white face added to mymisery.

  "Don't cry, Rosa," said I, as I helped her into the carriage and wishedher good-bye, neither of us having any idea of the strange events whichwould happen before we met again.

  As soon as the carriage had gone, my mother directed that the strangershould be admitted, and he came in accompanied by Jose. I would haveleft the room, but my mother stopped me, saying,--

  "No, Juan; your place is here. An hour ago you were but a thoughtlessboy; now you must learn to be a man.--Senor, you have brought news?You have come to announce the death of my husband; is it not so?"

  The mountaineer bowed almost to the ground.

  "It is a sad story, senora, but it will not take long to tell. TheSpaniards pretended he was stirring up our people to revolt; theywaited for him in the passes, and shot him down like a dog."

  "Did you see him fall?"

  The fellow's eyes flashed with savage rage. "Had I been there," hecried, "not a soldier of them all would have returned to his quarters!But they shall yet pay for it, senora. My people are mad to rise.Only say the word, and send the son of the dead man to ride at theirhead, and Lima shall be in flames to-morrow."

  My mother made a gesture of dissent.

  "Don Eduardo liked not cruelty," she exclaimed; "and it would be but apoor revenge to slay the innocent. But Juan shall take his father'splace, and work for his country's freedom. When the time comes tostrike he shall be ready."

  "Before the time comes he will have disappeared," cried themountaineer, with a harsh laugh. "Do you think Don Eduardo's son willbe allowed to live? Accidents, senora, are common in Peru!"

  "It is true," remarked Jose; "Juan will never be out of danger."

  "But the country is not ready for revolt, and only harm can come from arising now. Should the Indians leave their mountain homes, the trainedsoldiers will annihilate them."

  "But Juan must be saved!"

  "Yes," assented my mother; "we must save Juan to take his father'splace."

  After this there was silence for a time. Then Jose spoke, "There isone way," said he slowly. "He can find a refuge in Chili till SanMartin is ready; but he must go at once."

  A spasm of fresh pain shot across my mother's face, but it disappearedinstantly; even with this added grief she would not let people know howshe suffered. Only as her hand rested on mine I felt it tremble.

  "Let it be so, Jose," she said simply. "I leave it to you."

  Then she thanked the mountaineer who had ridden so far to break theterrible news to her, and the two me
n went away, leaving us twotogether.

  "Mother," I said, "must I really leave you?"

  For answer she clasped me in her arms and kissed my face passionately.

  "But you will come back, my boy!" she cried; "you will come back. Nowthat your father is no more, you are my only hope, the only joy of mylife. O Juan, Juan! it is hard to let you go; but Jose is right--thereis no other way. I will be brave, dear, and wait patiently for yourreturn. Follow in your father's footsteps. Do the right, and fear notwhatever may happen; be brave and gentle, and filled with love for yourcountry, even as he was. Keep his memory green in your heart, and youcannot stray from the path of honour."

  "I will try, mother."

  "And if--if we never meet again, my boy, I will try to be brave too."

  She wiped away the tears which veiled like a mist the brilliance of herstarry eyes, and we sat quietly in the darkening room, while outsideJose was making preparations for our immediate departure.

  At last he knocked at the door, and without a tremor in her voice shebade him enter.

  "The horses are saddled, senora."

  "Yes; and your plan, what is it?" she asked.

  "It is very simple, senora. Juan and I will ride straight to Mr.Warren at Callao. He may have a vessel bound for Valparaiso; if not,he will find us one for my master's sake. Once at sea, we shall be outof danger. General San Martin will give us welcome, and there are manyPeruvians in his army."

  Once my mother's wonderful nerve nearly failed her. "You will takecare of him, Jose," she said brokenly.

  "I will guard him with my life, senora!"

  "I know it, I am sure of it; and some day yon will bring him back tome. God will reward you, Jose.--Good-bye, Juan, my boy. Oh howreluctant I am to let you go!"

  I will not dwell on the sadness of that parting. The horses werewaiting in the courtyard, and after the last fond embrace I mounted.

  "Good-bye, mother!"

  "Farewell, my boy. God keep you!" and as we moved away I saw her whitehandkerchief fluttering through the gloom.

  At the gate the Indian waited for us, and he followed a few paces inthe rear.

  I thought this strange, and asked Jose about it.

  "It may be well to have a friend to guard our backs," he replied.

  So in the gathering darkness I stole away from my home, with my heartsore for my father's death and my mother's suffering. And it was theeve of my birthday--the eve of the day to which I had looked forwardwith such delight!

  Being so young, I did not really understand the peril that surroundedme; but my faith in Jose was strong, and I felt confident that intaking me away he was acting for the best.

  Our path through the park led us near the lake, and I glancedsorrowfully at its calm waters and fern-fringed border. I would haveliked to linger a moment at its margin, dwelling on past joys; but Josehurried me on, remarking there was no time to waste.

  Only, as the great gates swung open, he let me stop, so that I mightbid a silent adieu to the beautiful home where my happy days ofchildhood had been passed.

  "Keep a brave heart," said he kindly; "we shall be back some day. Andnow for a word of advice. Ride carefully and keep your eyes open. Idon't want to frighten you, but the sooner we're clear of Lima thebetter I shall be pleased."

  With that he put spurs to his horse, and with the clanging of the gatein our ears we rode off on the road to Callao, while the giganticIndian followed about twenty paces behind.