The doctor, a Spaniard, was attending his patient when we entered the hut, and he beckoned us toward the bed. I could not repress a start at the sight which met our eyes. The colonel was turning restlessly but feebly from side to side; his eyes were unnaturally bright; his cheek bones stood out sharp and prominent. He mumbled to himself in short snatches, but so faintly that only a word here and there reached us. Once he smiled pleasantly, saying, "Yes, I see the steeple! Dear old Wingham!" I did not at that time understand the allusion, but afterwards it became plain that he referred to his home, the home of his childhood, a place called Wingham, in Kent. "Do you know," said Jose sharply, turning to the doctor, "that your patient is dying?" "Perfectly; but what can I do?" replied he. "He is suffering from the tertian ague; the valley is permeated with it." "We must get him out of it," said Jose, with decision. "But where will you take him? the town is as bad." "On shipboard, and give him a sea-breeze." "The Chilian squadron is absent, cruising." "Then we must beg, borrow, or steal a trading-vessel; for go he must and shall." It was wonderful how the doctor brightened up at these words, and still more wonderful how he allowed himself to be commanded by a stranger. But Jose was a strong man though not often exerting his strength, and there was that in his face which made most men chary of coming to handgrips with him. "Come, Jack," said he, "let us go to the bay and find a ship, if we wish to save the colonel's life. Another week of this pestilence and he will be dead, and Peru can't afford to lose him just yet." "But suppose," said I, as we rode away from the valley, "that the authorities won't allow him to be moved?" "Why, we'll move him in spite of them. Quilca's men can be trusted to help us. 'Twill be a little campaign on our own account!" said he, with a jovial laugh. Even Jose, however, could not impress a vessel that had no existence, and the bay was empty. A few boats only lay peacefully resting on the placid waters, but of a ship there was no sign. We stood for an hour staring seaward, as if our will could conjure up a vessel, and then returned to the town. We paid a visit to the governor, but he could not help us. It was unlikely there would be a vessel, he said, until Lord Cochrane returned with the squadron from Callao. "When will that be?" I asked. The governor gave his shoulders an expressive shrug. "The gallant Englishman does not confide in me," he replied. "He may come to-day; he may not come for a twelvemonth." It was getting late now, and nothing further could be done till the following morning. Jose was disappointed, but in no way disheartened. "If we can't get what we want," said he, "we must be satisfied with what we can get. There's a fine bit of philosophy for you!" "And what can we get?"