Peru -- History -- War of Independence, 1820-1829 -- Fiction
He smiled at this outburst, and spread out his hands as if to say, "The
boy's crazy;" but when he spoke, it was to ask why I had left Lima.
"Because I had no wish to meet with my father's fate," I answered
brusquely; and he laughed again.
"Faith," he muttered, "the young cockerel ruffles his feathers early!"
and then, again addressing me, he asked, "And where were you going?"
"On a sea voyage, for the benefit of my health--and to be out of the
way."
To this he made no reply, but his brows puckered up as if he were in
deep thought. I stood by the window watching him, and wondering what
would be the outcome of this visit.
After a short time he said, slowly and deliberately, so that I might
lose nothing of his speech, "Listen to me, young sir. Though you are
young, there are some things you can understand. Your father tried,
and tried hard, to wrest this country from its proper ruler, our
honoured master, the King of Spain. He failed; but others have taken
his place, and though you are only a boy, they will endeavour to make
use of you. We shall crush the rebellion, and the leaders will lose
their lives. I am going to save you from their fate."
I thought this display of kindness rather strange, but made no remark.
"In this fortress," he continued, "you will be out of mischief, and
here I intend you shall stay till the troubles are at an end."
"That sounds very much as if you mean to keep me a prisoner!" I
exclaimed hotly.
"Exactly," said he; then turning on his heel he walked out.
From the window I watched him cross the courtyard and enter the
commandant's quarters. Ten minutes afterwards Santiago appeared with a
file of soldiers.
"Very sorry, my boy," said the young captain, coming into the room,
"but a soldier must obey orders. You are my prisoner."
"I couldn't wish for a better jailer," said I, laughing.
"I'm glad you take it like that, but unfortunately you won't be under
my care. Have you all your things? This way, then."
We marched very solemnly side by side along the corridor, the soldiers
a few paces in the rear. At the end stood a half-dressed Indian,
holding open the door of a cell.
"Oh, come," said I, looking in, "it's not so bad."
The cell was, indeed, almost a counterpart of Santiago's room, only the
window was high up and heavily barred. The furniture consisted of
bedstead and rugs, a chair, small table, and one or two other articles.
The floor was of earth, but quite dry; and altogether I was fairly
satisfied with my new home.
"You'll have decent food and sufficient exercise," said the captain,
who had entered with me; "but"--and here he lowered his voice to a
whisper--"don't be foolish and try to escape. Barejo's orders are
strict, and though it may not appear so, you will be closely guarded."
"Thanks for the hint," said I as he turned away.
The Indian shut the door, the bolts were shot, the footsteps of the
soldiers grew fainter, and I was alone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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