Mr. Fortescue by William Westall (best books for 8th graders .TXT) 📕

a fixed idea, and as touching his craze, credulous as a child; but in those days South America had been very little written about and not half explored; for me it had all the charm and fascination of the unknown--a land of romance and adventure, abounding in grand scenery, peopled by strange races, and containing the mightiest rivers, the greatest forests, and highest mountains in the world.

When my host dismounted from his hobby he was an intelligent talker, and told me much that was interesting about Mexico, Peru, Guatemala, and the Spanish Main. He had several books on the subject which I greedily devoured. The expedition of Piedro de Ursua and Lope de Aguirre in search of El Dorado and Omagua; "History of the Conquest of Mexico," by Don Antonio de Solis; Piedrolieta's "General History of the Conquest of the New Kingdom of Grenada," and others; and before we parted I had resolved that, so soon as the war was over, I would make a voyage to the land of the setting sun, and see for myself the wonders of which I had heard.

"You are right," said Senor Zamorra, when I told him of my intention. "America is the country of the future. Ah, if I were only fifty years younger! You will, of course, visit Venezuela; and if you visit Venezuela you are sure to go to Caracas. I will give you a letter of introduction to a friend of mine there. He is a man in authority, and may be of use to you. I should much like you to see him and greet him on my behalf."

I thanked my host, and promised to see his friend and present the letter. It was addressed to Don Simon de Ulloa. Little did I think how much trouble that letter would give me, and how near it would come to being my death-warrant.

Zamorra then besought me, with tears in his eyes, to go in search of the Golden Volcano.

"If you could give me a more definite idea of its whereabouts I might possibly make the attempt," I answered, with intentional vagueness; for though I no more believed in the objective existence of the Golden Volcano than in Aladdin's lamp, I did not wish to hurt the old man's feelings by an avowal of my skepticism.

"Ah, my dear sir," he said, with a gesture of despair, "if I knew the whereabouts of the Golden Volcano, I should go thither myself, old as I am. I should have gone long ago, and returned with a hoard of wealth that would make me the master of Europe--wealth that would buy kingdoms. I can tell you no more than that it is somewhere in the region of the Peruvian Andes. It may be that by cautious inquiry you may light on an Indio who will lead you to the very spot. It is worth the attempt, and if by the help of St. Peter and the Holy Virgin you succeed, and I am still alive, send me out of your abundance a few arrobas (twenty-five pounds) of gold and a handful of diamonds. It is all I ask."

It was all he asked.

"When I find that volcano, Don Alberto," I said, "not a mere handful of diamonds, but a bucketful."

This was almost our last talk, for the very same day news was brought that Lord Wellington, having been forced to raise the siege of Burgos, was retreating toward the Portuguese frontier, and that Salamanca would almost inevitably be recaptured by the French. Orders were given for the removal of the wounded to the Coa, where the army was to take up its winter quarters, and Zamorra and I had to part. We parted with mutual expressions of good-will, and in the hope, destined never to be realized, that we might soon meet again. I had seen Don Alberto for the last time.

A few weeks later I was sufficiently recovered from my hurts to use my bridle-arm, and before the opening of the next campaign I was fit for the field and eager for the fray. It was the campaign of Vittoria, one of the most brilliant episodes in the military history of England. Even now my heart beats faster and the blood tingles in my veins when I think of that time, so full of excitement, adventure, and glory--the forcing of the Pyrenees, the invasion of France, the battles of Bayonne, Orthes, and Toulouse, and the march to Paris.

But as I am not relating a history of the war, I shall mention only one incident in which I was concerned at this period--an incident that brought me in contact with a man who was destined to exercise a fateful influence on my career.

It occurred after the battle of Vittoria. The French were making for the Pyrenees, laden with the loot of a kingdom and encumbered with a motley crowd of non-combatants--the wives and families of French officers, fair senoritas flying with their lovers, and traitorous Spaniards, who, by taking sides with the invaders, had exposed themselves to the vengeance of the patriots. So overwhelming was the defeat of the French, that they were forced to abandon nearly the whole of their plunder and the greater part of their baggage, and leave the fugitives and camp-followers to their fate.

Never was witnessed so strange a sight as the valley of Vittoria presented at the close of that eventful day. The broken remains of the French army hurrying toward the Pamplona road, eighty pieces of artillery, served with frantic haste, covering their retreat; thousands of wagons and carriages jammed together and unable to move; the red-coated infantry of England, marching steadily across the plain; the boom of the cannon, the rattle of musketry, the scream of women as the bullets whistled through the air and shells burst over their heads--all this made up a scene, dramatic and picturesque, it is true, yet full of dire confusion and Dantesque horror; for death had reaped a rich harvest, and thousands of wounded lay writhing on the blood-stained field.

Owing to the bursting of packages, the overturning of wagons, and the havoc wrought by shot and shell, valuable effects, coin, gems, gold and silver candlesticks and vessels, priceless paintings, the spoil of Spanish churches and convents, were strewed over the ground. There was no need to plunder; our men picked up money as they matched, and it was computed that a sum equal to a million sterling found its way into their knapsacks and pockets.

Our Spanish allies, officers as well as privates, were less scrupulous. They robbed like highwaymen, and protested that they were only taking their own.

While riding toward Vittoria to execute an order of the colonel's, I passed a carriage which a moment or two previously had been overtaken by several of Longa's dragoons, with the evident intention of overhauling it. In the carriage were two ladies, one young and pretty the other good-looking and mature; and, as I judged from their appearance, both being well dressed, the daughter and wife of a French officer of rank. They appealed to me for help.

"You are an English officer," said the elder in French; "all the world knows that your nation is as chivalrous as it is brave. Protect us, I pray you, from these ruffians."

I bowed, and turning to the Spaniards, one of whom was an officer, spoke them fair; for my business was pressing, and I had no wish to be mixed up in a quarrel.

"Caballeros," I said, "we do not make war on women. You will let these ladies go."

"_Carambo!_ We shall do nothing of the sort," returned the officer, insolently. "These ladies are our prisoners, and their carriage and all it contains our prize."

"I beg your pardon, Senor Capitan, but you are, perhaps not aware that Lord Wellington has given strict orders that private property is to be respected; and no true caballero molests women."

"_Hijo de Dios!_ Dare you say that I am no true caballero? Begone this instant, or--"

The Spaniard drew his sword; I drew mine; his men began to look to the priming of their pistols, and had General Anson not chanced to come by just in the nick of time, it might have gone ill with me. On learning what had happened, he said I had acted very properly and told the Spaniards that if they did not promptly depart he would hand them over to the provost-marshal.

"We shall meet again, I hope, you and I," said the officer, defiantly, as he gathered up his reins.

"So do I, if only that I may have an opportunity of chastising you for your insolence," was my equally defiant answer.

"A thousand thanks, monsieur! You have done me and my daughter a great service," said the elder of the ladies. "Do me the pleasure to accept this ring as a slight souvenir of our gratitude, and I trust that in happier times we may meet again."

I accepted the souvenir without looking at it; reciprocated the wish in my best French, made my best bow, and rode off on my errand. By the same act I had made one enemy and two friends; therefore, as I thought, the balance was in my favor. But I was wrong, for a wider experience of the world than I then possessed has taught me that it is better to miss making a hundred ordinary friends than to make one inveterate enemy.


CHAPTER VII.

IN QUEST OF FORTUNE.

When the war came to an end my occupation was gone, for both circumstances and my own will compelled me to leave the army. My allowance could no longer be continued. At the best, the life of a lieutenant of dragoons in peace time would have been little to my liking; with no other resource than my pay, it would have been intolerable. So I sent in my papers, and resolved to seek my fortune in South America. After the payment of my debts (incurred partly in the purchase of my first commission) and the provision of my outfit, the sum left at my disposal was comparatively trifling. But I possessed a valuable asset in the ring given me by the French lady on the field of Vittoria. It was heavy, of antique make, curiously wrought, and set with a large sapphire of incomparable beauty. A jeweler, to whom I showed it, said he had never seen a finer. I could have sold it for a hundred guineas. But as the gem was property in a portable shape and more convertible than a bill of exchange, I preferred to keep it, taking, however, the precaution to have the sapphire covered with a composition, in order that its value might not be too readily apparent to covetous eyes.

At this time the Spanish colonies of Colombia (including the countries now known as Venezuela, New Granada, and Ecuador, as also the present republic of southern Central America) were in full revolt against the mother country. The war had been going on for several years with varying fortunes; but latterly the Spaniards had been getting decidedly the best of it. Caracas and all the seaport towns were in their possession, and the patriot cause was only maintained by a few bands of irregulars, who were waging a desperate and almost hopeless contest in the forests and on the llanos of the interior.

My sympathies were on the popular side, and I might have joined the volunteer force which was being raised in England for service with the insurgents. But this did not suit my purpose. If I accepted a commission in the Legion I should have to