“I am,” Stephen replied frankly. “My orders are to take you back to San Carlos. Where are your companions?” “I do not know,” Stephen replied. “We separated at once; I went my way and they went theirs.” “You are a Chilian,” the man said; “anyone can tell it by your speech.” Stephen by this time spoke the language so fluently indeed that he could have passed as a native. There was, however, sufficient difference between the dialects of Peru and Chili for it to be seen at once that he was not a Peruvian. He did not reply directly to the question. “We were on a trader,” he said. “The captain and four of the men were lost; five of us gained the shore. We were not on an armed ship, and cannot be considered enemies.” “The whole race of you are enemies,” the sergeant said. “You are rebels and traitors every one of you. Gomez, do you and Martinez take this man back to San Carlos, and hand him over to the governor. I will ride on with Sancho and see if we can come up with the other fellows; as there are half a dozen parties out in search we are pretty sure to lay hands on them before nightfall.” On the way back Stephen, as he walked between the two horsemen, debated whether it would be better to allow them to remain under the impression that he was a Chilian, or declare himself an English officer. In the former case he would most likely be shot without ceremony, in the latter he might probably be sent up to Callao or Lima. It might make no difference in his fate, but at least might delay it; and if he could but manage to communicate his position to Lord Cochrane, the latter would certainly take instant steps to offer one or more of the many Spanish officers who were prisoners in his hands in exchange for him, or would threaten that if any harm came to him he would give no quarter to Spanish officers in future. At any rate the latter seemed to promise him the better chance, and accordingly when on his arrival at San Carlos he was taken before the governor, he replied boldly to the question, “Who are you?” “I am Lieutenant Stephen Embleton, flag officer to Admiral Cochrane.” The words created a sensation among the officers standing behind the governor. “You dare to say this!” the governor exclaimed furiously. “I am giving a simple answer to your question, señor,” Stephen said quietly. “When we ask the Spanish officers who fall into our hands what their names are, they reply as I have done, truthfully, and they are treated as I expect to be treated, honourably; especially as I have not been captured by you when in arms, but have simply had the misfortune to be shipwrecked on your coast.” The quiet tone of the reply had its effect. The officers spoke a few words together in a low tone, and the governor said more calmly than he had before spoken: “How am I to know that this story is true?”