The mate of the E. Cornish and myself spent that morning in a state of anxiety, expecting every moment to be called for--perhaps to be led out to death, perhaps to be shown the dead bodies of our friends, and to be conscious that any emotion we might show would be watched by eyes that would interpret it into an expression of unmanly fear. My feeling was a sort of indignant pride; my own honor and the honor of my country seemed to me to depend upon my bearing before these pirates and desperate men; and I repeatedly requested the mate, whose power of self control I began to doubt, to be bold, whatever might happen to him. I remember thinking that if he did not, all around him would attribute it to a cowardly disposition. Towards three o’clock we heard the report of fire-arms, and a general hurry and bustle in the yard. At the report, the mate sprung to his feet, saying, “Good God, captain! who has gone now?” We listened anxiously, but all was quiet again, and I ventured to ask our guard what the disturbance was. They answered, carelessly, “it is only a soldier who was shot; he is a traitor.” In about two hours my guard called me out, saying that the mate and I were to walk in the yard. I refused, at first, telling them that I did not need a walk, I was well enough as I was, and so forth; but one of the soldiers, with an oath, exclaimed that they had the general’s orders, and that I had better come, or worse might happen to me. I rose, and walked out quietly with the mate. The first thing that struck my eyes, as I reached the door of the guard room, was a temporary gallows, on which was suspended the body of a poor soldier. Near it was a tree, the bark of which was torn with bullet-holes, and the ground below, which was soaked with blood. I turned sick at the sight; but, summoning up all my resolution, I walked quietly up to the body, and asked who it was. One of my acquaintances, a Chilian prisoner who came with us, and who was sauntering around, walked up to my side, and said, “You need not feel pity for him, captain Brown; he was a traitor, not worth caring for. Our general has served him right.” I questioned the man further, and found that this was the body of one of the soldiers who had escaped from the barracks with the governor, and who, worn out by suffering and the fear of starvation, had appeared at the gate that morning, and delivered himself up, offering to give Cambiaso information of the governor’s hiding place, if he would promise him safety, and the sum of five hundred dollars. Cambiaso promised, and as soon as he had gained what he wanted from him, had him ironed, and led out and shot. I felt that he had deserved his fate, but remembering the proverb, “honor among thieves,” could not but think that it was not at Cambiaso’s hands that he should have met it.