"You could get from Caracas into the interior, and do the cause an important service." "How?" Señor Moreña explained that the patriots of the capital, being sorely oppressed by the Spaniards, were losing courage, and he wished greatly to send them a message of hope and the assurance that help was at hand. It was also most desirable that the insurgent leaders on the field should be informed of the organization of a British liberating Legion, and of other measures which were being taken to afford them relief and turn the tide of victory in their favor. But to communicate these tidings to the parties concerned was by no means easy. The post was obviously quite out of the question, and no Spanish creole could land at any port held by the Royalists without the almost certainty of being promptly strangled or shot. "An Englishman, however--especially an Englishman who had fought under Wellington in Spain--might undertake the mission with comparative impunity," said Señor Moreña. "I understand perfectly," I answered. "I have to go in the character of an ordinary travelling Englishman, and act as an emissary of the insurgent junta. But if my true character is detected, what then?" "That is not at all likely, Mr. Fortescue." "Yet the unlikely happens sometimes--happens generally, in fact. Suppose it does in the present instance?" "In that case I am very much afraid that you would be shot." "I have not a doubt of it. Nevertheless, your proposal pleases me, and I shall do my best to carry out your wishes." Whereupon Señor Moreña expressed his thanks in sonorous Castilian, protested that my courage and devotion would earn me the eternal gratitude of every patriot, and promised to have everything ready for me in the course of the week, a promise which he faithfully kept. Three days later Moreña brought me a packet of letters and a memorandum containing minute instructions for my guidance. Nothing could be more harmless looking than the letters. They contained merely a few items of general news and the recommendation of the bearer to the good offices of the recipient. But this was only a blind; the real letters were written in cipher, with sympathetic ink. They were, moreover, addressed to secret friends of the revolutionary cause, who, as Señor Moreña believed and hoped, were, as yet, unsuspected by the Spanish authorities, and at large. "To give you letters to known patriots would be simply to insure your destruction," said the señor, "even if you were to find them alive and at liberty." I had also Don Alberto's letter, and as the old gentleman had once been president of the _Audiencia Real_ (Royal Council), Moreña thought it would be of great use to me, and serve to ward off suspicion, even though some of the friends to whom he had himself written should have meanwhile got into trouble.