"Indeed you have, old fellow; friend and foe alike are loud in your praise."

"I have been loyal to my king; I have done my duty," he continued, not heeding the interruption. "Life is precious, Juan, but honour is the first thing. My name is unstained. I die as I have lived, a cavalier of Spain!"

That thought cheered him as he took his last and long journey. He was young and handsome and well beloved; he had fair estates and hosts of friends; he might have risen high in the councils of his nation; but death, stern and unyielding, claimed him, and he braced himself to meet it.

"Thank G.o.d!" he murmured; "I die with a clear conscience."

I stayed with him till nearly midnight, when he became unconscious.

Then having work to do, I sorrowfully went away. Next morning, on my way to the hut I met General Miller.

"Poor fellow!" he said, when I told him of Santiago's state. "I will come with you. I remember him well."

Just as we were moving on, we met General Sucre accompanied by a Spanish officer, who on seeing Miller ran forward and embraced him.

"I know you!" he cried. "I am Valdes. You and I must be friends."

Then turning to General Sucre, he added, "This Miller has often kept us on the move. I am called active; but he was a regular wizard--here, there, everywhere, without giving a clue to his intentions until he dealt us some sly blow."

I looked at this celebrated Spanish general with a great deal of interest. He was a small, spare man, with keen eyes and rough, weather-beaten face. He wore a broad-brimmed beaver hat, a coa.r.s.e gray surtout, and long brown worsted leggings. He stooped slightly, and to judge by appearances, one would never have thought he was perhaps the finest soldier in the Spanish service.

Sucre left the two chatting, and presently Miller said, "I was just going to visit one of your men, a Colonel Mariano. Do you know him?"

"Mariano? He was my best cavalry officer. It was he who helped me to cut up your rearguard some time ago, and to drive back your left wing yesterday. I'll come with you."

"He will be very pleased to see you, no doubt.--You go first and show us the way, Crawford."

Santiago lay with closed eyes, breathing so faintly that at first we thought he was dead.

"Santiago," I softly whispered, "do you know me? I have brought you a visitor."

His eyes opened slowly, and there was a fleeting smile in them, but he did not speak.

"Colonel!" said Valdes, stepping to the side of the bench. The sound of that voice brought the poor fellow for a short time from the Valley of the Shadow. By some extraordinary means he managed to sit up without a.s.sistance, raised his hand to the salute, and in a clear, ringing voice exclaimed, "At your service, general!"

It was the last act of his life. On placing my arm round him to prevent him from falling, I found he was dead.

"A fine fellow," said General Miller quietly.

"A thorough soldier to the end!" cried the Spanish general.

I said nothing, but mourned none the less the true friend I had found in the ranks of our enemies.

We were very quiet in camp that day. The excitement of battle had pa.s.sed, and we were counting the cost of our triumph. Many familiar faces were missing, and the death of Cordova especially affected us.

We had been through many perils together, had endured many hardships, and it seemed a pity that he should not have lived to taste the sweets of victory.

Shortly before sunset that same day I received a message from General Miller asking me to go to his quarters. I found him expecting me, and he at once plunged into the subject upon which he wished to speak.

"The war is now over, Crawford," said he, "and General Sucre is able to release a large part of his force. I am proceeding to Cuzco, but there is no need for you to do so. You have done your share, and I intend sending you on special service to Lima."

"Oh, thank you, general!" I answered, my eyes sparkling and my cheeks flushing with pleasure.

"The regiment will return in a few weeks at the most," he continued.

"Be ready to start in the morning, and don't forget to remember me kindly to your parents. Some day I hope to call upon them."

"I am sure you will receive a very warm welcome when you come, general," I replied, taking the hand held out to me.

"Well, dear boy," said Alzura, on my return to our quarters, "what is the news?"

"Good," said I, "though perhaps it's a bit selfish to say so. I start to-morrow for Lima. The regiment proceeds to Cuzco, but it will return to the capital in a few weeks."

"All right, old fellow. I'm glad to hear of your good fortune, though I shall miss you awfully. Mind you hunt up my people and tell them I'm all right and hoping to see them soon."

Of course I promised to do so, and then went to wish the others good-bye.

"I hope you will find all your people well," exclaimed Plaza on hearing the news. "After all, you're only a sort of advance courier, and we shall soon meet again."

"We shall expect you to give a ball to the officers of the regiment, and a feast to the men, when we reach the capital," cried Alzura merrily.

"Meanwhile," said Plaza gravely, "take my advice, and have a good rest."

CHAPTER XXIX.

HOME AGAIN.

Home again! The weary journey was at an end.

I had crossed the desolate mountains, and was riding into Lima. The city was gay with flags and bunting; decorations abounded on all sides; joy-bells pealed, and the streets resounded with the merry laughter and chatter of the citizens.

News of the brilliant victory at Ayacucho had evidently preceded me.

I longed to ride home at a gallop and throw myself into my mother's arms; I yearned eagerly for a glimpse of my father's face. I was (do not think the confession weak) utterly homesick. Duty, however, claimed me a while longer, and I turned my horse's head toward the Government House.

It was not possible to move at more than a foot-pace. The crowd surged around me; little children, garlanded with flowers, ran close to my horse's hoofs. I was terribly afraid some of them would be trampled to death.

Many soldiers were there, too, their uniforms spick and span, and unspotted by the soil of the Andes. Mine was dirty, bloodstained, and not altogether free from rents. I rode carefully, but my eyes were heavy and my limbs ached with fatigue.

Darting suddenly from the throng, a man seized my bridle-rein and cried aloud, "A soldier from Ayacucho! Here is one of our brave deliverers!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A soldier from Ayacucho! Here is one of our brave deliverers!"]

Instantly I was surrounded by the crowd, which pressed me so closely that my horse could barely move. Viva after viva rent the air; laughing girls and women half smothered me with flowers; men marched beside me or fell into line behind, forming a kind of triumphal procession. One would have thought I was the saviour of the country--a second Bolivar!

Thus, laughing, cheering, and singing, they escorted me to the Government House, where, leaving my astonished horse with the guards, I hurried inside. An official, in all the glory of a gorgeous uniform, demanded my business, and remarked haughtily that the president was engaged.

"Tell him," said I, "that a lieutenant of the Hussars of Junin is here with dispatches from General Sucre."

After waiting a few minutes, I was conducted through the s.p.a.cious hall to a room guarded by a file of soldiers. My attendant knocked timidly at the door, which was immediately opened, and I entered the apartment.