"Give me your paw, shipmate! I'll stand by you. Good luck was the wind that brought me under your stern." Pate and the old tar now had a long talk, and it was determined that the former should address a note to the American consul, which he did; writing with a pencil on a blank leaf torn from his pocket-book. In the morning the sailor was released, and carried Pate's communication to the consul, who transmitted it to the American minister at Lima. The condition of the unhappy captive thus came to the knowledge of the representative of the great republic; who told the Peruvian government, in plain terms, that his country would not permit one of her citizens to remain in prison during so long a period, merely for the paltry offense of slaying a turkey-buzzard. An angry correspondence ensued; and during its pendency, a heavy American frigate and two corvettes came into the harbor of Callao, and anchored with their broadsides bearing upon the fort. The decided tone of the minister who was a man of nerve and determination, and the presence of this formidable force, convinced the Peruvian authorities that his Excellency was in earnest; and being in no condition to risk a bombardment, much less a ruinous war with a nation so powerful as the United States, they consented to the release of the prisoner on condition that he should leave the country within forty-eight hours. Pate now determined to return home without delay. He had long since become disgusted with gold-hunting; and the home-sickness, which came over him in the calaboose, continued after he got out. So he immediately took passage on an English brig bound for Panama; intending to proceed by way of the Isthmus to New York. Having purchased a monkey to keep him company during the voyage, he went on board, and the vessel sailed. He had a pleasant passage until they were within a day's sail of Panama, when he met with a sad mishap. He was sitting on deck, dandling his monkey on his knee, when a careless lubber let a pot containing red paint fall from the tops. The paint was spattered over M. T. Pate, who thought that it was his own blood and brains, and under this impression, supposing that he would have to give up the ghost, fainted away. But a bucket of salt-water being dashed in his face by an old tar, he revived, and, looking around, perceived that his monkey was dead. The pot had hit it on the head and killed it instantly. He mourned over his monkey until he reached Panama, where he rested a day, and then bought a mule and started across the Isthmus. At a short distance from Cruces, in sight of the road, is a large ship's anchor lying in the wood. How it came there nobody can tell. Many suppose that it was conveyed from the Caribbean Sea up the Chagres River by Pizarro and his Spaniards, when they were proceeding to Panama to construct vessels for the conquest of Peru; and that being unable to transport it any farther by land, they had left it lying in the forest.