STUTTERHEIM--HE ACCOMPANIES US HOME--TAKES KANIMAPO IN HAND--THE FATE OF DONNA PAOLA SALABRIATA--START ON A SHOOTING EXPEDITION WITH THE DOCTOR-- ENCOUNTER A HUGE ANACONDA--I SHOOT IT, AND SAVE THE DOCTOR--CARRY OFF THE SKIN IN TRIUMPH.

We were now approaching my father's house, and I recognised several points in the surrounding scenery. The northern end of the lake came into view, bordered by lofty palms and other graceful trees, and I remembered well the shape of the mountains which rose above it.

Tim kept a watchful eye on our prisoner, who, though badly wounded, might still, he thought it probable, attempt to make his escape. He had not spoken as yet, but I observed his dark eye wandering on every side, either in the hope of rescue, or as if considering in what direction he should fly, should he be able to free himself from the thongs by which he was secured to the mule. I was surprised that his followers should have deserted him in the cowardly way they had done. He was a fine-looking savage, with features more refined and regular than those of the Indians I had hitherto seen. But his countenance was sullen; and, from his resolute aspect, he probably expected that he would meet with the fate the Spaniards invariably inflicted on their captives, and be immediately put to death on our arrival at our destination. I suspect that he was in ignorance as to who we were, and supposed that we belonged to a party of patriots; and if so, he must have been surprised on discovering the smallness of our numbers.

Tim led his mule, constantly looking back to a.s.sure himself that he had not succeeded in loosening the thongs which secured his arms and legs.

At the same time Tim continued talking to me, and pointing out various objects which I thought I remembered.

At length he exclaimed,--"Sure, Masther Barry, there's the masther's house; and mighty glad they'll all be to see you safe;" and he pointed to a good-sized house with a broad verandah in front, shaded by trees, and standing in the midst of a large, well-irrigated garden. Though smaller than I had supposed, I at once knew the house to be that in which I was born. "And beyond it there, higher up the hill, you see Mr Concannan's mansion--Castle Concannan, we call it, you'll remember--and a pretty dacent castle it is, with its high, thick walls and courtyard; it would take a pretty strong earthquake to shake it down. He has made it stronger still, by blocking up some of the lower windows."

In our eagerness to reach home, we pushed on as rapidly as our mules could move. We were yet at a little distance, when, riding on ahead, I caught sight of the figure of a black woman holding up a chubby little boy in her arms. I felt sure that he must be my youngest brother,--the baby, as he was called,--whom I had never seen, and that the woman must be our nurse, Josefa. She gazed at me, doubting whether the tall young man she saw approaching could be the little boy who had gone away but a few years before. The baby, who was a good bouncing one, shook his rattle, and seemed satisfied that I was some one he ought to expect.

Josefa knew me the moment I uttered her name; and as I sprang from my mule, she and little Denis, who was named after our uncle, threw their arms round my neck. We then hastened on towards the front gate, Josefa shrieking out in her delight,--"They are come! they are come! It is Senor Barry!" Her voice was heard at the house; and my father and mother, with my sister Norah and the rest of the family, guessing who we were, hurried out to welcome us.

Our first greetings over, my father expressed his satisfaction at my appearance.

"You have benefited greatly by your stay in the old country, Barry," he said; "and your journey here seems to have done you no harm."

My mother pressed me to her heart; and my sweet sister Norah kissed my cheek again and again, gazing at me as sisters are apt to do at a brother of whom they are proud. I am sure I felt proud of her, and wondered that all the young men in the neighbourhood were not dying with love for her; but perhaps they had too much to do in fighting for the liberty of their country.

As may be supposed, my father soon made inquiries about our captive.

Uncle Denis explained how we had caught him, and suggested that he should be placed in a strong room, under a proper guard, where his wound could be tended without the risk of his making his escape. My father observed that he had a small unoccupied room at the back of the house, which would serve as a prison; and to this our captive was at once conducted.

As there was no surgeon, either English or Spanish, living within many miles, my uncle undertook to dress the Indian's wound, and to do his best to cure him.

A bed was brought into the room, on which he was placed. Uncle Denis then commenced his operations.

After gently washing the wound, he discovered to his satisfaction that the ball had pa.s.sed through the Indian's body, and that he should therefore not have to attempt its extraction. This greatly facilitated his task. My mother having brought some linen bandages and a healing salve, the wound was carefully bound up. The Indian, who did not once wince, though he must have been suffering great pain, gazed with a look of surprise at my uncle and the other bystanders, and was evidently wondering why so much care was taken of him. My sister Norah then brought in a cooling draught, which she offered to him; and speaking first in Spanish, and then in the language generally used by the Indians in the neighbourhood, advised him to take it, a.s.suring him that it would be beneficial. He, without hesitation, swallowed the draught; and now speaking for the first time, expressed his grat.i.tude for the attention bestowed on him.

"We are sorry that you were wounded, and our wish is that you may recover," said Norah, in a pitying tone. "You must rest now; and if you will give your word that you will not attempt to escape, or to injure those who are guarding you, your arms will be left at liberty."

The Indian hesitated, and was apparently considering the consequences which might ensue should he give the promise required.

"Tell him that we intend to keep him a prisoner only till his wound is healed, and that we will not now trouble him with questions; but we shall by-and-by wish to learn who he is, and why he attacked your uncle and Barry," said my father.

Norah repeated this, for having learned the Indian tongue from her nurse, she spoke it better than any one else in the house; no one, indeed, would have been so likely to calm the suspicions of our captive, and to gain his confidence, as she was. "We do not wish you to speak now," she added; "but to-morrow or next day, when you are stronger, you will tell us what we seek to know. And now, will you give me the promise we ask? It will be for your benefit; and you know how you would have been treated had you fallen into the hands of the Spaniards."

"I promise to remain quiet as a child on its mother's breast," answered the Indian. "Kanimapo never breaks his word; and to you, who have treated him so mercifully, he will be faithful."

On this a.s.surance, in which my father and uncle believed that they could trust, the Indian's limbs were left unfettered; but, at the same time, they thought it prudent to place a man well-armed with pistols and a dagger at the door, and carefully to bar the window on the outside, so that the captive, even in possession of his full strength, would have been unable to make his escape.

My father, with Norah, always accompanied by another person, visited him several times during the evening. Notwithstanding all the care bestowed on him, he appeared to be suffering much, though, Indianlike, he endeavoured not to exhibit his feelings; but his eye brightened whenever it fell on Norah, and he seemed to look upon her as his good genius.

Each time he showed his grat.i.tude by a few words, or by the expression of his countenance when unable to speak from pain.

We had a very happy evening. My parents were glad to have me back safe, and, as may be supposed, we had a great deal to talk about.

My young brother, Gerald, was fully as fine a little fellow as Tim had described him. He constantly came up to my side, and brought various articles to show me--stuffed birds, and the skins of animals he had shot--and as soon as he could he dragged me away to exhibit his gun, and his canoe, and several animals he had tamed. Kathleen, my second sister, was like Norah, but on a smaller scale; and Mary, the third, was a jolly little girl, fat and chubby as a rosy apple, in spite of the climate in which she was born; while the baby, Denis, was a merry chap, who took to me at once, though he might not exactly have comprehended our relationship.

Our uncle remained with us during the night, that he might attend to our wounded prisoner, though anxious to proceed to his brother's house. He was also unwilling to let Candela go back alone, lest the Indians who attacked us might be still prowling about, and should murder him.

"I have no fear on that score, senor," he answered; "I know the country better than they do, and can easily make my way without being discovered. They would not, either, willingly attack the senor padre's servant; and so by daybreak to-morrow I will depart, as my master will be anxious to hear of your arrival."

We sent many messages to the kind padre; and my father especially invited him to come to our house, should he at any time find himself threatened by the Spaniards on account of his Liberal principles. His cloth certainly would not save him, as they had already shot several padres who had sided with the patriots; the greater number of the priests, however, professed to be loyal subjects of the King of Spain, and supported his cause. One might have supposed that the Spaniards, after all they had suffered at the hands of Napoleon's generals, would have been inclined to treat their fellow-countrymen in their colonies with leniency; but, on the contrary, the only lesson they appeared to have learned had taught them to be more cruel and tyrannical than their conquerors.

Among the various friends about whom my uncle made inquiries was our relative, Don Fernando Serrano, whose estate was a few leagues off, though it ab.u.t.ted upon that of Mr Concannan, which extended a considerable distance to the southward. Properties in that country are of great extent, and a visitor to Don Serrano's house had to travel a dozen leagues through his estate before reaching it. He was not only a wealthy man, but greatly esteemed by all who knew him. He was supposed to entertain strong Liberal principles, but, on account of his age and health, had taken no part in the struggle going forward. My mother's and Uncle Denis's father, I may remark, had married his sister; he was therefore my great-uncle, and his children were my cousins. Our families, too, had always been on the most friendly terms, and my father and mother had paid frequent visits at his house. His eldest son, Don Carlos, who was married and had a large family, lived with him. Two of Don Carlos' sons and one of his brothers had joined the insurgents, but, not to commit Don Fernando, had a.s.sumed different names; though we knew that both Don Fernando and Don Carlos afforded much pecuniary a.s.sistance to the Liberals. From the precautions they had taken, they believed that they were not suspected by the Royalists, and at all events they had escaped being molested.

Their chief cause of anxiety arose, however, from the hostile behaviour of a tribe of Indians, the Barawas, who inhabited the sh.o.r.es of the river Guaviare, falling into the Orinoco. They belonged to the great Carib family, and had many years before been driven by their white invaders from their native territory on the coast to the eastward, and had here settled themselves; retaining, however, their warlike disposition and many of their ancient manners and customs. Barawa is a Carib name for the sea; and they consequently took it, as was supposed, from their ancestors having lived on the borders of the ocean, or having crossed it from the lands they once inhabited. We had little doubt that our prisoner belonged to that tribe, and was probably a chief among them.

My father told us of a report he had heard, of Spanish emissaries having visited them for the purpose of inducing them to take up arms against the Republicans; and should such be the case, the capture of our prisoner, Kanimapo, might prove a fortunate circ.u.mstance, as we should hold him as a hostage for their good behaviour. The next morning, however, there appeared great probability that our hopes would be disappointed; for on my uncle's visiting him he found him much worse.

As the day advanced, Uncle Denis expressed his fears that the Indian would die, notwithstanding all the care bestowed on him.

Day after day, however, the wounded man lingered on. My father and Norah were a.s.siduous in their attentions to him; and he refused to take such medicines as we possessed from any other hands but my sister's.

There was now no chance of his escaping, for he was too weak to walk; indeed, he could scarcely sit up in his bed. Still, the Indians possess wonderful vitality and endurance, which enable them to recover from wounds of the body; but they succ.u.mb very quickly to European diseases.

Though apparently growing weaker, Kanimapo still clung to existence. He seemed grateful, too, for the attentions shown him; but except having mentioned his name, he had not told us who he was, nor had he given any reason for attacking our party.

Uncle Denis had gone home; and soon after Gerald and I paid a visit at his house. We then went on to that of our relation, Don Fernando Serrano, where we were received by him and my cousins with the greatest kindness. They were interested in hearing of all my adventures, and especially in the accounts I gave them of our capturing the Indian; but they were unable to conjecture who he was. I was delighted with all the family, they were so gentle and loving to each other, and so kind to me.

What also surprised me much, was to find that Don Serrano regularly read the Bible and had prayers with his family. Such a thing was at that time probably unheard-of in South America. They did not speak unkindly of the nearest padre, who occasionally visited them, but they evidently held him in no respect.

"He is a poor ignorant man," observed Don Carlos, "a blind leader of the blind; he expressed his horror at finding we read the Bible, and urged us to give up the practice, as one most dangerous to our souls. Now, it is very evident to me that from the Bible alone do we know anything about G.o.d, or how He desires men to live; and therefore, unless we read the Bible, we must remain ignorant of Him and His will, or obtain the knowledge second-hand from one who might make grievous mistakes in interpreting it,--as Padre Bobo would most certainly do."

I suspected from this (what I afterwards found to be the case) that my relatives were really Protestants, though they did not openly declare themselves to be so; that their family had held these opinions from the time when many of the n.o.blest in Spain had espoused them. Their ancestor had providentially escaped the doom which the horrible Inquisition had inflicted on the greater number of those who had become Protestants: having made his way to America with his wife, he had settled in this then remote region; but dreading persecution, he had not attempted to promulgate his opinions beyond his own family. My maternal grandfather, when he married Donna Teresina Serrano, had, through her instruction, become a Protestant. Thus, in the heart of South America, those principles were cherished which, as was fondly hoped, would spread around them when liberty should be established among the population.

I suspect it was owing to the machinations of the priests that the Barawa Indians had proved so hostile to one whose wish and aim was always to benefit them. That such was the case, Don Fernando could not clearly ascertain; but it was known that Padre Bobo had made several visits to the Indians, for the purpose, as he professed, of converting them to Christianity. He had managed, indeed, to induce some of them to allow him to baptise their children, but they remained as utterly ignorant of the Truth as before. (What I have here mentioned, I heard from my own family before Gerald and I set off to visit our friends.) As is often the case in Spanish families of wealth, there were three generations living in harmony together, and I was somewhat puzzled at first to distinguish between my numerous relatives. Gerald, who knew them all, helped me, but still I was frequently making mistakes. Among them was a very beautiful girl, whom I at first took to be one of my cousins, and whom I addressed accordingly; but after I had been there a couple of days, she laughingly told me that, though she should be very happy to be a relative, she was not so in reality: that her name was Isabella Monterola, and that she was a ward of Don Fernando. Then suddenly changing her tone from gay to grave, she said,--"I am happy here, and they are all very kind; but I cannot forget my poor father, who was murdered by the cruel Spaniards because he loved liberty and hated tyranny; and, alas! my mother, who was compelled to witness his execution, died of grief. They would have shot her too, had she lived, as they did other women, without remorse; and me, perhaps, because I was their child, had I not been so young but I was rescued from prison by Juan Serrano, and brought here secretly. The Spaniards did not know who carried me off, and therefore could not send to bring me back, or they would have done so. You have not been long enough in the country to have heard one-tenth part of the horrible cruelties those Gothos have inflicted on our people."

"But you, Donna Isabella, are Spanish, and so are all our friends here,"

I said, after having expressed my horror of the atrocities which had been committed in the country.

"I am a child of Venezuela," she answered proudly. "I disown the name of Spaniard; do not, Senor Barry, ever call me one again. We speak the language of Spain, it is true, and boast our descent from n.o.ble ancestors who conquered the country in which we live; but we have for ever severed our connection with the land from which we came, because Spaniards desire to enslave us."

I had considered Donna Paola a heroine, but as I listened to Donna Isabella I thought her a still more interesting one; and she was equally anxious to enlist recruits in the cause of liberty.

I had not forgotten the advice General Bermudez had given me; and I found my young cousins were in the habit of exercising themselves daily in the use of the lance, as well as with firearms and swords. Every morning they went out for some hours on horseback, and practised on a level meadow at some little distance from the house; and I soon became as expert as any of them. The ends of our lances were not only headless, but covered with a soft pad, so that we could charge at each other without much risk of serious injury; and one day, in a sham fight, I unhorsed all my opponents in succession. As I rode up to where the ladies--who had come out to witness our sports--were standing, they greeted me with loud applause, and Donna Isabella especially showed her satisfaction by the bright smile she gave me and the eagerness with which she waved her scarf.

We had occasionally, also, real sport in hunting wild boars in the part of the forest frequented by those animals. The first day I went out I killed a boar, after narrowly escaping, by a dexterous turn of my horse, being killed myself. We killed a bear, too, and a puma, or South American lion--which, next to the jaguar, is the most savage animal in that continent; and I had the satisfaction of presenting the skin to Donna Isabella.

But our visit was at last to come to an end. Very unwillingly, so far as I was concerned, did we bid our friends good-bye, and mount our horses to commence our journey.

"I shall expect to hear great things of you, Senor Barry," said Donna Isabella, as I bade her farewell. "The next campaign undertaken by Bolivar will, it is hoped, complete the overthrow of the Spaniards, I am told."

"The n.o.ble sentiments you hold will inspire me, Donna Isabella," I answered; "and if you will give me that feather from your hat, I will ever wear it in battle, and promise that it shall never be seen in flight."

She, smiling, instantly gave it me, and I fixed it securely in my hat.

We were very young, and I had of late become more romantic than I had ever before been.

At last we had to ride forward, two of our cousins accompanying us to the borders of the estate. As we were well-mounted, instead of taking the rougher but shorter road across the spurs of the mountains, we had settled to strike down into the plain, where we could gallop for a considerable distance, and then, keeping by the borders of a long lake, return towards our own home. Gerald, who knew the way well, said there were no insuperable difficulties to overcome, though we might have to swim a stream or two. "But that," as he observed, "is nothing when one is accustomed to it; and you, Barry, will have many a river to cross and many a marsh to wade through, as well as mountains to climb, and hundreds of miles to gallop over the prairie, when you take service with General Bermudez."

He was right; and I was glad to gain some experience as to the varieties of country I might have ere long to traverse.

We were armed with pistols, carbines, and lances, though Gerald's arm was not strong enough to wield the latter with much effect; but he could skilfully use his carbine when going at full gallop. We trusted, however, to the speed of our horses, should we come in sight of any marauding party of the enemy; and Gerald declared that three, or even four or five, hors.e.m.e.n would not dare to attack us. He was indeed the most spirited little fellow I ever met, and utterly fearless.