At the Point of the Sword Part 16

"Perhaps it is as well that I gave my parole," exclaimed the major thoughtfully, taking off another potato.

"Why?" I asked.

"I might have felt tempted to escape," he replied, looking at the coil of rope.

"You forget your jailer carries a pistol," I remarked, laughing.

"An empty one," he suggested, shrugging his shoulders. "No, no, my boy; my parole is your only safeguard."

"It is a sufficient one, at any rate."

"Yes," said he, rather dreamily, I thought. "The honour of a Mariano is sacred; my father taught me that. And yet--and yet, do you know, Crawford," he added, in a sharper tone, "I doubt if a parole given to brigands should be held to."

I did not at all like this turn in the conversation, the more especially as my pistol was really empty. I had not dreamed of taking any precautions, trusting wholly in the Spanish officer's honour.

I looked up at him, and felt rea.s.sured; there could be no treachery hidden behind that frank, open countenance.

"It seems to me you are talking nonsense, Santiago," I said cheerfully.

"A man's word is his bond in any case--that is, if he be a man."

He took no notice of my remark, but sat musing, leaving half his food untouched. As for me, I helped myself to some more beef, though I must confess the major's wild talk nearly destroyed my appet.i.te. His manner had changed so suddenly and abruptly that I knew not what to make of it. I might perhaps have reloaded my pistol without his knowledge, but this would be a confession that I had lost faith in him.

"Come," said I jocularly, pointing to his food, "you pay your cooking a poor compliment."

To this he made no reply, but looking up after a time exclaimed,--

"I have news for you. I had almost forgotten, but I must tell you before going."

"Going?" I cried; "we cannot go before the doctor arrives."

"You cannot, but I can, and must. My mind is made up. Do not try to thwart me; I should be sorry if you got hurt. Sit still, my boy; don't stir a finger, or I will kill you!"

I looked at him in amazement. His face was flushed, his eyes shone wildly; he spoke with a rapid and angry vehemence.

"By St. Philip," he cried, "I should be a cur to place honour before loyalty! My duty is to my king, do you hear? Shall I help a parcel of bandits to set the king at naught? Shall I bring disgrace on a family that has stood by the throne for untold centuries? My father died on the battlefield with the king's banner above his head, as did his father before him. And I am to stay in a cage when the door is open!

I am to let these upstarts trample on the king's rights!"

The words swept from his lips in a sweeping, tempestuous torrent, and when they were done he leaped to his feet with an angry cry. I sat in my place looking at him steadily, but making no movement.

"I tell you it is monstrous!" he continued. "I care nothing for myself, but I cannot desert the king!"

"His Majesty must be greatly in need of friends," I remarked dryly, "to accept the aid of a perjured soldier."

It was strong language. I knew it would hurt him cruelly; but a desperate disease requires a desperate remedy. I thought at first he would kill me. His eyes blazed fiercely, and he sprang forward with uplifted hands. Suddenly he paused, and returned abruptly to his seat.

Thinking it best not to disturb him, I rose and made the round of the wounded men. I felt awfully sorry for the young major, and almost wished he had not pa.s.sed his word to Jose. Having done so, he must, of course, abide by it, unless he cared to live with tarnished honour.

Presently, returning to the fire, I threw some more fuel on, and sat down again on my heap of sacks. Santiago had covered his face with his hands, and was rocking himself gently to and fro, like a child in pain.

Evidently the wild fit had pa.s.sed, and he had overcome the temptation which had tried him so sorely.

For nearly an hour we sat there, speaking no word, then looking me straight in the face, he said suddenly,--

"Crawford, I have acted like a madman, but there is nothing to be feared now."

"Nor before," I answered cheerfully. "You would not have gone a hundred yards. Come, let us now dismiss the subject. After all, it was no more than a bad dream."

"By St. Philip," he exclaimed, "it was a very ugly one. However, I am in my right mind now, and as soon as we arrive at Moquegua I will withdraw my parole. Then if a chance to escape comes, I can avail myself of it with an easy conscience. You have not reloaded your pistol?"

"No. Why should I? there is no need of it."

"Not now," he said. "I am master of myself now," and he actually smiled.

"You were going to tell me some news," I observed, after a pause. "Now that you have roused my curiosity, I hope you will satisfy it."

I spoke half jestingly, and more for the sake of keeping up the conversation than in the expectation of hearing any particular information. It was unlikely, I considered, that Santiago could tell me anything of real interest. In this I was much mistaken, as you will find.

"I don't know," said he thoughtfully, "that it will be doing you any real kindness, yet it is only right that you should know. Of course, you will understand that your escape occasioned some little stir among the garrison of the fort."

"I am quite ready to believe it," I replied, chuckling at the remembrance. "I have often laughed to think of your astonishment in the morning."

"It was no laughing matter to us, I can a.s.sure you. The commandant was furious, and went about vowing vengeance against everybody.

Search-parties scoured the neighbourhood in all directions, but with no result, and we at last concluded that by some means you had been taken off by ship."

"Quite a wrong conclusion," I interposed.

"We could think of no other. However, to get on with the story. In the midst of the confusion Barejo turned up on his way back to Lima.

He was simply furious, and threatened to put us all in irons, the commandant included; which, by the way, was absurd."

"It was paying me a very high compliment."

"Don't be puffed up, or imagine the general was afraid of you," laughed Santiago.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, affecting to feel disappointed, "that alters the case. But why should he be angry at my escape?"

"Because he really wished to keep you out of mischief."

"Then I have sadly misjudged him."

"I think you have. Of course, I don't profess to understand the matter, but it seems to be something in this way. When we have crushed this rebellion, the estates of those who have borne arms against the king will be confiscated."

"Spoils to the victors!" I laughed; "an old-fashioned principle."

"And, of course," continued Santiago, not heeding the interruption, "your father's estates will be among them. Now, as far as I can gather, Barejo thought that by preventing you from joining the rebels something might be saved from the wreck."

"That was very kind of the general," I remarked. "I had no idea that he took any interest in my affairs. But isn't it possible, major, that you are going a trifle too fast? Suppose, for instance, that the rebels, as you call us, should win?"

The major tossed his head scornfully.