Stephen busied himself in stowing away his sails.  By the time he had done so a small crowd had collected on the quay looking with surprise and wonder at the little craft with its unpainted sides and rough appearance.  In a short time a boat with a port official rowed alongside, and stepping on deck the officer looked round, in surprise at seeing only one person on board.  Stephen had, before arriving at the port, donned a clean suit of linen trousers and jacket; his cap was out of all shape, and the badge on its front had faded into a blur; he was barefooted, and his hair had grown almost to his shoulders.  The aspect of the boat was almost as surprising as that of its solitary occupant.  There were no signs of paint visible, the work was rough, the stanchions of various sizes, some new in appearance, and some blackened with age and sea-water.

“Who are you, senor?” the official asked, “and what craft is this?”

“The craft has no name, senor, though we who built her thought of naming her the Deliverer.  I myself am Stephen Embleton, flag-midshipman to Admiral Lord Cochrane.  May I ask if the admiral is now in port?”

“He is,” the official replied.

“May I beg you to send off a shore boat by which I may despatch a message to the admiral?”

“Your story is a strange one,” the official said gravely.  “I myself have seen the young officer, you state yourself to be, in company with the admiral, but I am bound to say that I do not recognize you.”

“I am not surprised at that,” Stephen said with a smile.  “In the first place, I should imagine that my face is the colour of mahogany from wind and sun; in the second, my hair has not been cut for six months; and lastly, this suit of clothes, though excellent in its way, is scarcely in accordance with my rank.”

“I will myself row off to the admiral’s ship,” the official said, “and convey your message to him.  What shall I tell him?”

“I thank you, sir.  Will you please say that Stephen Embleton is on board this craft, that I am alone, and for certain reasons cannot leave it, and pray him either to come himself or to send a trusted officer with a party of sailors to take charge of it.”

The official saluted him gravely.  He was by no means sure of the sanity of this young fellow, but his curiosity had been aroused by his appearance and that of his craft, and he therefore condescended to undertake a mission that at ordinary times he would have scorned.  Stephen watched the boat row alongside a frigate anchored a mile away.  Shortly afterwards he saw a stir.  A boat was pulled up to the accommodation ladder.  A party of sailors then took their places in her, and two figures came down the gangway and the boat pushed off.  A few minutes later it reached the side of the cutter.  Stephen saluted as Lord Cochrane sprang nimbly on board.

“My dear lad!” the admiral exclaimed, grasping his hand, “I gave you up for lost many months ago, and we have all mourned for you deeply.  Where have you been? what have you been doing? what on earth have you done to yourself? and where did you get this extraordinary craft?”

“I have been cast away on an island some twelve hundred miles to the west.  Only three of us were saved.  We built this craft between us.  One of my comrades is dead, the other remains on the island, and I have sailed her back single-handed.  I think this, sir, will account for my somewhat strange appearance.”

“Fully, fully, lad.  Well, you must tell me all about it afterwards.  Why did you not come direct in the boat to my ship instead of sending for me?”

“Because I was afraid of anyone else coming on board until you had sent someone you could trust to take possession of her?”

“Why, bless me!” Lord Cochrane said with a laugh, “I should not have taken her to be as valuable as all that.  She is most creditable as a specimen of the work of three shipwrecked men, and I should say from her appearance as I rowed up to her that she was fairly fast.  She might be worth a good deal as an exhibition if you had her in the Thames, but she would not fetch many hundred dollars here; though I have no doubt that, when properly painted up and in trim, she would make an excellent little coaster.”

“It is the cargo and not the ship, sir, that is valuable.”

“What does it consist of?”

“It consists of gold, sir.  There are five hundred thousand dollars stowed in boxes.”

The admiral looked at him in astonishment.

“Five hundred thousand dollars, Mr. Embleton!  Are you in earnest?”

“Quite so, sir; the ship you sent me off to with twelve hands was laden with military stores and money for the payment of the Spanish troops.  I was fortunate enough to get on board and capture her just before the storm burst.  When she was wrecked, on an island of whose name I am ignorant, her stern, where the gold was stowed, was fortunately in only four feet of water, and we had, therefore, no difficulty in getting at the boxes and carrying them on shore, where we buried them until we had built this craft.”

The admiral ran down the companion into the cabin and saw the boxes lying side by side along the length of the keel.

“I congratulate you heartily,” he said to Stephen, “this is by far the richest prize that has fallen into our hands.  You did perfectly right in sending for me, for, in faith, I would not trust this treasure out of my sight on any consideration, until I handed it over to the Chilian government, after taking care to deduct the fleet’s share of the prize-money.  It will be welcome, I can tell you, for the pay of the fleet is terribly in arrear.  The treasury is empty, and there are no means of refilling it.  Properly speaking, the whole of the fleet’s share of the money should go to you, but the rules of the service are arbitrary.”

The conversation had been in English, and the admiral going on deck ordered the officer, who had remained sitting in his gig, to tow the cutter alongside the flag-ship.  The officer at once gave the necessary orders.  Two of the men jumped on board and hauled up the anchor, and nothing but the presence of the admiral prevented a burst of laughter among the boat’s crew as the stone came to the surface.  As it was, there was a broad grin on their faces.  The two men resumed their places in the boat, and the cutter was towed to the side of the flag-ship.  Lord Cochrane ordered a whip to be sent down with slings, and himself superintended the bringing up of the boxes, whose weight in comparison to their size excited lively surprise among the sailors who brought them up to the deck.  The slings were placed round them one by one, and they were hoisted to the deck of the frigate, and carried into the admiral’s cabin.

After the last box had been swung up, the admiral and Stephen went up the accommodation ladder to the deck.  The officers were gathered round the boxes wondering at their weight.

“What should you say they have in them, gentlemen?” Lord Cochrane asked.

“I should say that they contained specie,” the captain said, “had it not been out of the question that so great an amount could be collected in Chili.”

“I am happy to inform you, gentlemen, that those boxes contain Spanish gold, and that they are a lawful prize captured from the enemy by a boat’s crew from this ship, under the command of my flag-midshipman, Mr. Embleton.  Every man on board, therefore, in proportion to his rank, will come in for a share of prize-money, and for this you will have to thank your fellow-officer here.”

Hitherto none of them had recognized Stephen, but had been wondering who the strange figure was, that had come on board with the admiral.  They still looked almost incredulous, until Stephen stepped forward and held out his hand to his special friends and addressed them by name.

“Why, is it really you, Don Estevan?  We had all given you up for lost.  We are glad indeed to see you again.”

The other officers all came round and heartily greeted Stephen, all asking questions together about his long absence and the wonderful prize of which the admiral had spoken.

“I will answer as many questions as I can presently,” Stephen protested; “but, in the first place, I must have a bath, and change my clothes, and have my hair cut.  Are my things still on board, and is anyone else in my cabin?”

He learned to his great satisfaction that his cabin was as he had left it.

“For weeks the admiral hoped that you would return.  There was, indeed, much anxiety about the boat when we saw the storm coming on.  Whether you had gained the brig before it burst, of course none of us knew.  We could only hope that you had done so.  The storm was a terrible one here.  While some thought that the brig might have foundered at once when it struck her, it was certain that if she weathered the first blow she would have to run for it.  It was one of the worst storms, people here say, that has been experienced on the coast for many years, alike in its fury and in its duration, and all agreed that she would have been blown at least a thousand miles off the land before the gale spent its force.  As the wind continued in the same quarter for a long time it would have taken the brig weeks to beat back against it, but when two months passed without your return, all concluded that you had either sunk before gaining the ship, or that she had gone down in the gale, or been wrecked among some of the islands into whose neighbourhood she must have been blown.  However, the admiral continued to hope long after the rest of us had given you up.  At the end of two months he appointed me his flag-midshipman to fill your place, as he especially said, until your return.  This being the case, I have not shifted my berth, and your cabin has remained unoccupied.”

One of the officers gave orders that a tub should be at once taken to Stephen’s cabin filled with water, and that the ship’s barber should hold himself in readiness when called upon.

When Stephen came out, an hour later, dressed in uniform, and with his hair a reasonable length, he was told that the admiral had requested his presence in his cabin as soon as he was dressed, but had ordered the message not to be given to him until he came on deck.

“Now, lad, let me hear the whole story,” he said; “but first fill your glass from that bottle.  I should imagine that you have almost forgotten the taste of wine.”

“I have not touched it since two days after we were wrecked, sir; but on the whole we have not done at all badly with regard to food.”

“In the first place, what has become of your boat’s crew?”

“They are all dead, sir.  Some were killed or washed overboard during the storm; the rest were drowned at the time of the wreck.”

“That is a bad business.  However, begin at the beginning, and tell the story your own way.  I have plenty of time to listen to it, and the fuller you make it the better.”

Stephen related the story, from the time of his leaving the ship until he had anchored in the bay.  As he saw that the admiral wished to have full details, he told the story at length, and the sun was setting by the time he brought it to a conclusion.

“You have done wonderfully well, lad,” Lord Cochrane said warmly when he had ceased speaking, “wonderfully well indeed; no one could have done better.  The arrangements throughout were excellent, and you showed a noble spirit in delaying your departure for four days in order to assist the poor wretch who had murdered your companion, and would have murdered yourself in his greed for gold.  I do not praise you for bringing the treasure back here; it is the conduct that I should expect from every British officer; but, at the same time, it is clear that you had it in your power to leave it buried on that island, so that you could have gone back in some craft, and brought it away with you.  I shall represent your conduct in the strongest light to the government.  By the rules of the service, of course, you are entitled only to a junior officer’s share of the ship’s portion of the prize-money, but I shall certainly suggest that your case shall be specially considered.  Now, I will take you ashore with me.  I am going to a dinner given by the president, and I shall create a sensation when I state that I have, after deducting a fifth for the fleet’s share of the prize-money, four hundred thousand dollars to hand over to them.

“I shall take you first to my wife.  She will be delighted to see you again, and so will the children.  You can give her an outline of your story.  If you had been three days later you would not have found me here.  For the last four months I have been endeavouring to get my ships fitted out, but in vain, and I am putting to sea no stronger than when I came back, and there can be no doubt that, profiting by their last lesson, the Spaniards will have made Callao stronger than before.  However, we will do something which shall be worthy of us, though I fear that it will not be the capture of Callao.”

A few minutes later the admiral’s gig was alongside, and the admiral, his captain, and Stephen went ashore.  Lady Cochrane greeted Stephen as warmly and kindly as her husband had done, and the children were exuberant in their delight at the return of their friend.

“He has a wonderful story to tell you, my dear,” Lord Cochrane said.  “It has taken him more than three hours to give me the details, and you will have a greater treat listening to them this evening than I shall have at this state dinner.”

“It was too bad, Don Estevan,” one of his friends said to Stephen next morning, “that the admiral should have taken you on shore with him yesterday after you had been with him all the afternoon.  We had been looking forward to having you all to ourselves, and hearing your story.  You may imagine that we are all burning with curiosity to hear how it is that you came back all alone in that curious craft astern, and, above all, how you have brought with you this prize-money.  All we have heard at present is that the whole of the boat’s crew that went with you are dead.  I promised the others that I would not ask any questions until our morning’s work was over, so that we could hear your story together.”

“It is just as well not to tell it by driblets,” Stephen said.  “It is really a long story, as it consists of a number of small things, and not of any one special incident.  It can hardly be cut as short as I should like to cut it, for I am but a poor hand at a yarn.”

After the usual work of exercising the men at making sail, preparing for action, and gun and cutlass exercise had been performed, anchor again cast, ropes coiled up, and everything in apple-pie order, the Chilian officers rallied round Stephen, and, taking his seat on the breech of a gun, he told them the story, but with a good deal less detail than he had given to Lord Cochrane.  This relation elicited the greatest admiration on the part of his hearers.  The fact that he and two others alone, and without any tools save swords, should have built the stout little craft astern, and that he should, single-handed, have sailed her some thirteen or fourteen hundred miles was to them nothing short of marvellous.  All had, the afternoon before, gone on board of her, and had seen that she only wanted paint to be a handsome little boat.  Unaccustomed to manual labour, it seemed wonderful that three men-two of whom were officers-should have even attempted such work with only the materials from a wreck to build with.

Stephen had passed very lightly over his four days’ nursing of Jacopo, but this incident surprised them more than anything else, save the construction of the cutter.  That, after the man had murdered the captain and attempted to shoot Stephen, with the intention of obtaining possession of the whole of the gold, the latter should have nursed him back to life instead of finishing him at once, seemed to them an incomprehensible piece of folly.

“But the man was a murderer, senor; he deserved death.  Why should you have troubled about him, especially when, as you say, the natives might have come at any moment and taken the craft that had cost you so much pains and labour, and carried off the treasure.”

“You see, when he became powerless, he was no longer an enemy,” Stephen replied.  “He was a criminal, it is true; but the temptation had been great.  The man saw a chance of possessing himself of what to him was a fabulous treasure; better men than he have yielded to such a temptation; and though I do not say that he did not deserve death, the punishment of seeing the failure of his plans, and of being left, probably for life, a prisoner on that island was a severe one indeed.  He will, at any rate, have time to repent of his sins, and some day he may be picked up by a passing vessel, and thus be able to retrieve his errors.  At any rate, he will do no harm there.”

“Well, no ill came from it,” one of the officers said; “but I own that, for my part, as soon as I had knocked him down, I should have put my musket to his head and blown out his brains, and should never have repented the action afterwards.”

“I might have done so,” Stephen said, “had I overtaken him directly after he had murdered my companion; but, you see, twenty-four hours had passed, and I had had time to think how great had been the temptation to which he had yielded.  Besides, everything had gone well:  I had obtained possession of the cutter, and had partially victualled her; I had completely turned the tables on him, and instead of his lying in wait for me I was lying in wait for him.  He was practically at my mercy, as I could have shot him down without giving him any chance whatever.  When one has got things all his own way one can afford to be lenient.  The man had been already very severely wounded, and his power for doing harm was at an end.  At any rate, I am very glad now that I did not kill him.  And you must remember that I owed him something for his work upon the cutter, from which he was not now to profit, but which was to afford me the means of returning here and bringing back the treasure from which we shall all obtain some benefit.”

“That is all true, Don Estevan; but the real reason of all was that you pitied the poor wretch, and so were ready to run a great risk to succour him.  We might not have acted as you did, but at least we shall all love you the better for it.  As to the prize-money, it is ridiculous that our share of it should be as large as yours, and I hope the government will see that, under the circumstances, you have a right to a handsome slice of it, for indeed, after the wreck of the vessel, it seems to me that their claim to it was fairly lost.”

“I cannot see that.  It was never out of my possession.”

“I don’t know,” the other laughed.  “They were two to one against you, and probably held the opinion that they had as much right to its possession as you.”

“If they had been Spaniards it might have been so,” Stephen agreed; “but you see the treasure had never been theirs, and from the moment that the ship surrendered they had nothing whatever to do with it.”

“Nothing except to take possession of it, and I grant that the temptation to do so must have been strong.”

“I felt that,” Stephen replied; “but until the vessel was completed and victualled and a means of escape open, the gold was absolutely useless, and therefore the question as to its possession would not really arise until we neared land.  I did think it probable that the two Peruvians might then put in a claim to at least one of the boxes of money each; and I had made up my mind that if they would content themselves with this, I should be willing for them to land somewhere along the coast with it, rather than run the risk of a fight, especially as I could not possibly have kept awake night and day, and they must therefore have had me in their power.  I am sure that the captain meant honestly, and under the circumstances his claim to a portion of the money, that he and his companion had done as much as I had to save, would not have been an unfair one.”

“It would have been terrible had the natives arrived when you were building the boat, Don Estevan.”

“It would have been terrible for them,” Stephen said, “but it would have hurt us but little, for had they discovered our fort they could never have taken it.  With our twenty-four muskets we could have held it against any number of savages, while as for the boat it would have been useless to them, and they could scarcely have injured it.  Even when it was finished there was nothing on board to attract them.  They might have knocked away the props and tumbled her over, but they would have had to blockade us in our fort while they did anything to her; for otherwise we could have moved along the cliff to a point where we should have commanded the boat, and could there have kept up a fire that would have speedily driven them from her.

“No; we had no fear whatever of the natives from the time we had once finished our wattle-work of thorny creepers until the day when we got her into the water.  After that we were certainly horribly anxious, for they might have taken it into their heads to tow her away with them, for the purpose of breaking her up at their leisure, for the sake of the bolts and nails.”

In the afternoon Lord Cochrane took Stephen ashore with him.  “The president and the council desire to thank you personally, Mr. Embleton, as I told you last night as we came off.  After dinner I gave them a brief recital of your adventure, and said publicly that I considered you were entitled to a handsome share of the prize-money which you had almost miraculously brought back, and the president thoroughly endorsed my views.  The money is of the greatest consequence to them at the present moment, for they are absolutely crippled, so much so that I deemed it right, some time back, to offer to hand over to them my share of the prize-money for the captures we had effected.  They declined the offer, to my regret, for though I am far from being a rich man, I would willingly have given the money in order to get to sea again.”

Stephen was warmly thanked by President O’Higgins for his great service to the republic, and highly complimented on his conduct.  He announced to him that he and the council had decided to present him with the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars as a recognition of his services.

“We consider,” he said, “that you deserve a much larger sum, but the circumstances of the state are such that we feel it is impossible for us to do more than the barest justice at the present time.  We have, however, decided upon raising you at once to the rank of lieutenant.  Lord Cochrane told me last night that such promotion, before you had served your full time, was quite contrary to the rules of the service; but we considered this an altogether exceptional case, and that you have amply proved yourself to be fully capable of carrying out the duties of any rank to which you may attain.”

Stephen in a few words thanked the president and the council very heartily, and then retired with the admiral.

“That is a nice little nest-egg for you, Stephen,” the latter said.  “I consider that it ought to have been fifty thousand, but their necessities are so great that they cannot afford to be generous.”

“I consider that it is immense, sir,” Stephen replied, “and had never any thought of a reward for doing my duty.”

“You will not want the money out here, lad,” the admiral went on; “at any rate, your share of the ship’s prize-money will be ample for anything that you may require.  If you like, therefore, I will hand over your box along with my own share of the prize-money to the firm here who act as my bankers, and they will give you an order on their bankers in London, which you can send to your father to draw and invest in your name or otherwise, as you may prefer.”

“Thank you very much, sir.  You will, I hope, be kind enough to let me continue to perform the duties of your flag-midshipman.”

“You will become my flag-lieutenant, Stephen.  The post is vacant, for Don Valdes was yesterday appointed to the command of the Independencia, an American-built corvette of twenty-eight guns that has been purchased and fitted out.”

On the 12th of September, 1819, the fleet set sail from Valparaiso.  It consisted of the O’Higgins, San Martin, Lautaro, Independencia, Galvarino, Araucano, and Puyrredon, mounting in all two hundred and twenty guns.  There were also two old merchant ships to be used as fire-vessels.  On the 29th they entered the Callao roads.  The next day Lord Cochrane sent in a boat with a flag of truce, and challenged the Viceroy to come out for a fair fight.  The challenge was rejected, although the Spanish fleet was nearly twice as strong as that of Chili.

On the night of the 2nd an attack was made, but failed, owing to the rockets, from which much had been hoped, turning out useless.  They had been manufactured in Chili by Spanish prisoners, and had been so badly constructed that they inflicted far more damage upon the men who fired them than upon those against whom they were aimed.  On the 5th a fire-ship was despatched with the intention of destroying the booms that protected the harbour; but a sudden calm came on, and the ship was riddled with shot from the Spanish guns and was fast sinking when she was exploded, but was too far distant from the booms to injure either them or the shipping.  Finding himself thus unable to get at the enemy, Lord Cochrane was obliged to abandon for a time his project of taking Callao.

The fresh supply of provisions promised from Chili had not arrived, and sickness broke out on board the fleet.  The admiral continued to watch the port for some weeks, despatching an expedition which captured the town of Pisco, and obtaining the much-needed provisions.  On the 21st of November the sick were sent off to Valparaiso in charge of the San Martin, the Independencia, and the Araucano, while with the remainder of the fleet Lord Cochrane sailed to the mouth of the river Guayaquil, where he captured two large Spanish vessels, mounting together thirty-six guns and laden with timber.  After a delay of a fortnight, occasioned by a mutiny attempted by Captains Guise and Spry, he sent one of his ships with the prizes to Valparaiso, left two others to watch the Peruvian coast, and started alone in his flag-ship with the intention of undertaking the capture of Valdivia; for at that time the southern portion of what is now Chili remained in the hands of the Spaniards.

Valdivia was a very strongly fortified place, and was regarded as impregnable by the Spaniards; and it was from this port that they directed their attacks upon Chili from the south, just as they did on the north from Callao.  To reach it he therefore had to sail south from the Guayaquil along the coast of Peru and then past that of Chili.  On approaching the fortress he hoisted Spanish colours and made a signal for a pilot.  The Spaniards, having no idea that there was a Chilian war-ship on that coast, at once sent one off, together with an officer and four men.  These were promptly made prisoners.  The pilot was ordered to take the ship through the channels leading to the port, and much information was obtained from the other prisoners as to the fortifications of the place.  As they sailed up the channel, the idea that the stranger was an enemy occurred to the commander of the fortress, and the non-return of the boat with the officer confirming this suspicion, a heavy fire was opened upon the O’Higgins; she did not reply, but continued her work of investigating the channel, and then withdrew out of range.

Two days were spent in further reconnaisances of the approaches, and on the third day a brig was captured entering the port.  She carried some important despatches, and twenty thousand dollars for the payment of the troops.  Having ascertained the nature of the difficulties to be encountered, Lord Cochrane sailed away to Concepcion, two hundred miles distant, and obtained from the Chilian governor a force of two hundred and fifty soldiers under Major Beauchef, a French officer in their service.  He there found a Chilian schooner, which he attached to his service, and a Brazilian brig, which volunteered its aid; with them he sailed for Valdivia.  On the night of the 29th they were off the island of Quiriquina.  Owing to the incompetence of his officers the admiral had been obliged to personally superintend everything that was done on board, and when the ship was becalmed lay down for a few minutes’ sleep, leaving orders that he was to be called at once if a breeze sprung up.  A breeze did spring up; the officer of the watch was asleep, and a sudden gust carried the vessel on to a sharp rock, where she hung beating heavily.

They were then forty miles from the mainland, and the brig and schooner were both out of sight.  For a short time a panic took place among the crew, and officers and men made for the boats.  The admiral, followed by Stephen, rushed on deck, pistol in hand, and the former soon succeeded in calming the panic, his authority among the men being unbounded.  He pointed out that the boats would carry but a hundred and fifty men, and that there were six hundred on board, so that were a rush to take place to the boats, they would assuredly be overcrowded and perhaps sink, while, should any gain the shore, the occupants would be made prisoners, and would certainly be put to death by the Spaniards.  Their only hope, therefore, was to get the ship off.

On sounding the well it was found that there were five feet of water in the hold.  The pumps were out of order, the carpenter utterly inefficient, and Lord Cochrane, taking off his coat, himself set to work to repair them, ordering Stephen to keep the men at work baling with buckets; the captain being under arrest for disobedience to orders, and the one other lieutenant absolutely incompetent.  When the pumps were got to work it was found that they and the buckets sufficed to prevent the water from rising, and preparations were at once made to get the vessel off the rock.  There was danger that when this was done she might sink, but Lord Cochrane pointed out that the leak was not likely to increase, and declared he had no doubt that she would swim as far as Valdivia.  The anchors were got out astern, the crew set to heave on them, and it was not long before she floated off.  But it was found that the water had entered the magazine, and that the whole of the ammunition, except a little on deck and in the cartridge-boxes of the soldiers, was rendered unserviceable.

This accident would, with a less determined commander, have put an end to their enterprise; but Lord Cochrane relied, not upon the ship’s guns but upon the men, and considered that as these could not fire they would be obliged to trust to their bayonets, and that the chances of success would not therefore be diminished.  In the morning they were joined by the schooner and brig, and on approaching Valdivia as many men as possible were transferred to the two small vessels.  The admiral went on board the schooner, and ordered the O’Higgins to stand out to sea, as he intended she should be used only in case of necessity.  The channel leading up to the town was three-quarters of a mile in width, and was commanded by six large forts on the western shore, two on the eastern, and a very large fort on an island, with six minor forts well situated for defence.  The position was all but impregnable, and, indeed, the surf was so heavy that it was impossible for a landing to be effected save at a spot close to Fort Ingles.

Having made all his preparations, Lord Cochrane sailed on to the port, and boldly entered the channel.  The troops were all sent below, while the two little vessels entered, and anchored boldly off Fort Ingles.  The swell was so heavy that even the landing-place was unapproachable.  The boats had been towed on the lee side of the ships, and when shouted to to send a boat ashore an answer was given that these had been lost in a storm.  The Spaniards, however, were not satisfied, and alarm-guns were fired and troops brought up from the other forts.  No hostile steps were taken, however, until, some time later, one of the boats drifted astern.  The Spaniards had no longer any doubt as to the nature of the two vessels, and Fort Ingles at once opened fire upon them, the first shot passing through the brig and killing two men.  It became necessary, therefore, to land at once, in spite of the surf.  They had but two launches and a gig altogether; Lord Cochrane took charge of the gig, while Major Miller, who commanded the marines of the O’Higgins, embarked on board one of the launches.

They got safely through the swell, and in spite of a heavy fire from the Spanish troops effected a landing.  They at once rushed upon the Spaniards, who came down from the forts to oppose them, and drove them back at the point of the bayonet.  The second boat quickly arrived from the brig, both returning to the ships, and in less than an hour three hundred men had landed.  From the spot where they had obtained a footing, the only approach to Fort Ingles was by a precipitous path which could only be passed in single file.  The fort itself was only accessible by a ladder that had been drawn up, as soon as the party driven back from the landing place had returned.  An attack seemed well-nigh hopeless; but the Chilians’ confidence in their leader was unbounded, and none doubted but that success would attend their efforts.  It was already late in the afternoon when they landed, and while waiting for darkness to cover the operations, they were sheltered by the nature of the ground from the fire of the large body of troops which had assembled in the fort.