Pita followed him, while close on the latter’s heels Stephen came out, and turning off at once behind the next hut, started at a run.

As he did so he caught the sound of the twang of a bowstring, followed by a stifled cry and a fall, then came a loud yell, checked almost before it was uttered.  But the alarm had been given, and loud shouts rose from several throats.  He ran, as directed, some fifty yards behind the huts, and then turned and struck off across the open towards the tree.  No sooner had he done so than he felt the justice of what the Indian had said.  His feet seemed heavy and his joints stiff, and it needed an effort to maintain the speed at which he started, until he stopped at the tree, panting and trembling from head to foot.  He had been conscious while he ran of a great uproar in the village, but his whole mind was centred on his efforts, and it was not until he paused that he heard the full volume of the outcry.  A hundred voices were shouting, dogs were barking, and the women’s cries could be heard in the uproar.  Far away to the left he heard occasional shouts, and it was in this direction that the men of the village were evidently running.  The two Indians had no doubt led the chase in the opposite direction to that which he had taken.  Stephen was wondering how far they would go before turning, when, almost noiselessly, the two men ran up to the tree.

“We have shaken them off,” Hurka said; “there were but two who followed closely enough to keep us in sight, and our arrows soon stopped them.  Now let us go.”

Pita led the way, Hurka followed him, placing as he did so one end of his bow in Stephen’s hand, saying, “Our eyes are more accustomed to the dark than yours.  Keep hold of the bow and follow me closely.”

As soon as they were well in the forest the darkness was to Stephen absolute, and had it not been for the bow he could not have followed the little Indian, although treading almost on his heels.  He appreciated more strongly than he had ever done before how much keener were the faculties of the Indians in some respects than his own, for they went along at a brisk rate, making their way through the trees with as little hesitation as if it had been broad daylight.  Occasionally there was a pause for an instant as Pita slashed through a creeper barring his way.

“How can he see them?” Stephen asked.

“He does not see them, senor, he feels them.  He holds his bow at arm’s-length before him, and so touches even the smallest of the lianas; the large ones he can see plainly enough, and so could he the small ones were they level with the eye.  It is those that are but a foot or two above the ground that are dangerous.”

“It is marvellous to me how you can see anything, Hurka, for I cannot make out even the outline of your figure.”

“We were born so, senor.  Life in these forests accustoms the eyes to see in darkness.  It is the same with the wild animals that run at night.”

It was not long before Stephen’s breath began to come in short gasps.  The perspiration streamed from him, but he held on until Pita came to a halt.

“We will stop till you get your breath again, senor.  There is no fear of them to-night, but we must hold on until morning, so as to get as long a start as possible before they can find our track and take up the pursuit.  Until we have light we can do nothing to disguise our trail, but we will stop frequently, and go at a slower pace, so that you shall not become exhausted.  It would never do to wear you out at the beginning of our journey.”

All through the night the march was continued.  They stopped at frequent intervals for a minute or two, and Stephen found himself able to keep up with them without any great difficulty, although long before morning broke he felt terribly exhausted.  At last Pita said: 

“In two hours it will be dawn.  We will wait here, senor, and you can take a short sleep before we go on again.”

Without a word Stephen dropped on to the ground, and almost instantaneously went off to sleep.  When he awoke it was broad daylight.  Hurka was beside him.

“We must be moving now, senor,” he said.  “Pita has been away for half an hour, and has just signalled to me to join him.”

Stephen rose to his feet heavily.  He felt stiff and sore all over, but the feeling wore off after he had walked a short distance.  From time to time a cry like the note of a bird was heard, and towards this they directed their steps.  They found Pita standing by the edge of a stream some fifteen yards wide, and without a word he entered the water as they came up and began to walk down it.

“I should have thought,” Stephen said to Hurka, “that it would be safer to go the other way for a bit, because they would naturally suppose that we should come this way.”

“That is just the reason why Pita is leading us down it,” he said.  “It is, of course, the way we should take to get down to the Madeira, and because it is so they will think that we would surely go the other in order to deceive them.  No doubt some will go up and some will go down, but in that case we shall not have so many to fight.”

A mile further another stream fell into that which they were following, and they turned up this and walked until they came to a bough some eight feet above the water.  Pita sprung up and hauled himself on to it, then he leaned over and stretched his hands down to Stephen, and, with a strength the latter had hardly given him credit for, hauled him up beside him, and then similarly aided Hurka.  They made their way along the bough to the main trunk, then followed another great bough on the other side, and dropped from its extremity nearly thirty yards away from the bed of the stream; then they struck off through the wood until they came upon another stream, and after following it for another half an hour left it by another tree as before.

“Now we can go on,” Pita said, “it will take them hours to find our track.”

They now continued their course steadily, Pita before they started taking off Stephen’s boots and wrapping a broad band of soft leather he had brought with him round and round his feet.

“The heels of your boots make tracks an Indian might almost follow in the dark.  You had better throw them into the next clump of bushes you come to; we can get another pair at the mission.”

In the course of the day they crossed two other streams, and at each of them took measures as before to throw the Indians off their track.  They kept on till nightfall, and then Stephen and Pita lay down, Hurka saying that he would watch until midnight.

“You don’t think the Indians will follow at night?” Stephen asked.

“There is no fear of that, senor.  They dread the wild beasts; there are so many in these forests, and they can scent a human being a long distance away.  We have chosen this tree because, as you see, the lower branch is near the ground, and it will be easier to climb up into it if I give the alarm.”

The next morning shortly after starting they came to a bank of a stream larger than any of those they had passed on the previous day.  Here they had a short consultation, and then Hurka and Pita set to work to cut down a large number of great rushes growing in the water, taking care to cut them some inches below its level.  With the aid of some creepers a raft capable of sustaining them all was speedily made, and on this they took their places, and the Indians having cut two poles to steer by, they pushed off into the middle of the stream.  The current was very sluggish, and they would have made but small way had not the two Indians poled vigorously.  Stephen was thankful indeed for the change; upon the previous day he had only been enabled to keep up with the greatest difficulty, and had felt that another day’s labour would bring him to a stand-still.

“They will walk quite as fast as we are going,” he said presently.

“Yes, senor, faster; but they are probably still far behind, us.  They will, no doubt, find our trail at the points where we have left the streams, but, thanks to the pains we have taken to throw them off, will lose much time in having to search very carefully up and down every stream they come to.  It will be the same if they trace us to the spot we started from on this raft; some must go up and some down, and both sides of the stream must be carefully searched.  We are going nearly as fast as they will be able to do; besides, now we can travel at night.  If they do not overtake us by evening, of which I think there is no chance, we shall be so far ahead by next morning that we shall be perfectly safe.”

The Indians seemed tireless; all through the next night, whenever Stephen awoke he found them still at work.  Soon after daybreak they stopped at a spot where there was another great bed of rushes, numbers of these they cut down, largely increasing the size of the raft, and adding to its stability.  It was now some twelve feet long and eight wide, and composed of a great bed of rushes two feet deep, and which, with their weight upon it, floated more than a foot above the water.  Four days later they emerged from the forest on to the Madeira.  The stream by which they had come had received on its way so many accessions that it was now a river of some size.  It took them four days of hard work to make their way up to the mission-station, although the distance was but fifty miles, and it was only by keeping close to the shore, and utilizing every eddy and back-water, that they succeeded in stemming the current.

The mission had now its full number of occupants, and they were received with the greatest kindness.  Their effects had all been carefully stowed away in case they should ever return, although none thought that there was the least probability of their doing so, as nothing had been heard of them since six months before, when an Indian brought a message from Pita begging a supply of quinine for his white companion.

They waited some days at the mission.  Stephen had regained much of his strength during his journey on the raft, and was willing to make a start at once; but the good fathers of the mission insisted upon his staying with them for a few days, and he felt that he benefited a great deal by the good food and wine they gave him.  There was no longer any occasion for their original raft, and although it had done them good service they were all glad when they took their places in the canoe and started with a steady stroke down the river.  It was no longer a rapid stream, and the falls, though still grand, were as nothing in comparison to the scene they presented when the river was in full flood.  Still, there was enough stream to help them materially, and to allow the Indians to lay in their paddles at times and let the boat drift by itself.

At the mission-house they had taken in a supply of food sufficient to last them to Barra, and as they were able to catch as many fish as they could eat, they fared well.  The journey took them three weeks of somewhat monotonous travelling.  There was no change in the scenery, a thick forest bordered the river on both sides; but as they got lower down there were clearings and small villages, and they met a few boats passing between these or going up to the mission.  It was a glad day indeed to Stephen when the great river entered the still mightier Amazon, which was here several miles wide.  Crossing it they made their way to Barra, a place of considerable size, with churches and many large buildings.  His long companionship with the two Indians had, by this time, made Stephen as familiar with the Peruvian Spanish as with the Chilian, and enabled him to pass with great advantage among the Portuguese-speaking Brazilians as a native of Peru, since, had he been known to be a Chilian, they might have doubted whether he was a good Catholic, and he would, moreover, be viewed with disfavour by the Portuguese officers as one of a nation who had rebelled against Spain, his lawful master.  He therefore, on landing, made his way to an hotel close by, representing himself as a traveller who had come down from Peru by the Madeira, and who wished to continue his journey down the Amazon to Para.

Stephen’s next step was to purchase some clothes; those in which he left Peru, as well as the suit in the wallets, were unfit to wear.  The first had remained at the mission during his long absence; he had indeed discarded it as worn out, but was glad to find it there on his return, for the other suit had been torn into absolute rags during his journey through the woods.  He had no difficulty in obtaining country-cut garments, and his host, who had looked somewhat doubtfully upon him on his first arrival, was evidently relieved in his mind when he came down from his room in his new purchases.

“How are you thinking of travelling, senor?  Do you desire to have a boat to yourself, or would you travel in a public boat?  There are many such constantly going up and down the river.  Some go through to Para, but the greater number stop far short of it, making voyages only two or three hundred miles up or down, and stopping at all the villages; these are cheaper than the long-distance boats, and you would have no difficulty in exchanging into another when it reaches its furthest point.”

“I do not care which it is,” Stephen replied, “and would as soon take a passage in a local craft as in another.  Indeed, there is the advantage that if one does not find one’s companions agreeable one can make a change and try one’s luck in another boat.”

“Then, if you are content with that, senor, you will not have long to wait.  If not to-morrow, on the next day there is sure to be a boat going down the river.”

“I also wish to take passages up the river for these Indians, who have served me most faithfully and well, and whom I regard as my friends.”

“There will be no difficulty about that either, senor.  Boats go occasionally from here up to the frontier, and sometimes beyond it.”

Stephen talked the matter over with Pita and Hurka, and found that they would prefer to make a bargain for themselves with some native boat carrying merchandise.

“We shall be more at home so, senor; we shall go at a much lower price than it would cost by a boat carrying passengers; indeed, by offering to help at the oars when the current is strong we shall probably pay nothing whatever for our passage; as they are glad enough of help going up stream.  All we shall have to do will be to buy our own provisions at the villages we stop at, just as the boatmen will do.”

“You must give me an address where a letter will find you, Pita.  Is there anyone at Lima to whose care I could send it?”

“Yes; Juan Fernandez, a merchant, in Santa Maria Street of Callao, number ten, knows me well, and has several times recommended me to traders and gold-seekers as a trustworthy guide, and if you address Pita, Indian guide, care of Senor Juan Fernandez, he will, I know, keep it for me until I call upon him.”

“You will understand, Pita, that in paying you and Hurka only the balance of wages agreed on, I do so because I have no more money with me than is needed to carry me home; it in no way represents the deep obligation which I feel towards you both.”

“Say no more of that, senor; we have done our duty, and should have done as much had you been one to whom we felt bound in no way beyond our agreement, but with you it has been altogether different.  Had we been men of your own race you could not have treated us more kindly.  We have been comrades and companions.  If we saved your life, you must remember that you saved mine; say nothing, therefore, of an obligation.  Hurka and I will always remember our journey with you as one of the most pleasant that we ever took.  The toil has not been great, for we always went with the stream, while as to danger, we have both passed through many vastly greater perils.  If you are satisfied with our services we are content, and more than content.”

Two days later Stephen took his place in a large boat, with a long cabin on deck, carrying a mast and great sail.  He parted with the Indians with deep regret, and watched them as, after looking after the boat until it had gone far down, they turned and went along the shore to a little craft on which they had arranged for a passage, and which was to start half an hour after he sailed.  Then Stephen turned round to look at his fellow-passengers.  One end of the deck was reserved for the whites.  Here was a priest who had been up at Barra on a visit, two traders who had disposed of their merchandise and were returning to Para, an old Portuguese official, his wife, and two daughters, who had, he learnt, been staying for a month with a married daughter at Barra; besides these, there were three or four petty traders, who had come up from villages on the bank to replenish their stock of goods.

In the fore-part of the vessel were fully a score of natives, among whom were several women.  An awning was extended over the after part of the upper deck, and it was not long before Stephen entered into conversation with his fellow-passengers.  Hitherto he had thought of nothing but obtaining his passage, laying in a stock of provisions-for he was warned that each passenger catered for himself-and saying last words to his Indian companions; he had, therefore, had no time to obtain news of what was going on.  After telling them that he had come down the Madeira, and had been laid up for more than eight months by illness, he said to the priest: 

“I have now been some sixteen months away from all news, and feel like a man who has dropped from the moon.”

“Then you are ignorant,” the priest said in surprise, “that the southern portion of Brazil has declared Dom Pedro emperor.”

“Dom Pedro!” Stephen repeated in surprise.  “Is his father, King John, then dead?”

“No, he has returned to Portugal.  You know that he was driven from that country by the French, and retired here and ruled over Brazil.”

“That I know,” Stephen said; “also that there were incessant plots and insurrections.”

“That was so.  Well, the war being over in Europe the Portuguese wanted their king back among them again, and last year King John returned there, leaving Dom Pedro as his lieutenant and regent.  The Portuguese having got back their king wanted to bring Brazil back to its former position as subject to Portugal.  This provoked a great opposition in the southern provinces, and Dom Pedro was persuaded to throw off his allegiance to his father.  In October the independence of the colony was publicly declared, and by this time Dom Pedro has probably assumed the title of Emperor of Brazil.  How long he will maintain the title I am unable to say.  Our northern provinces of Para, Bahia, and Maranham are still Portuguese, and are held by a large number of Portuguese troops.  They have a strong navy, which keeps the sea and compels the few ships of Dom Pedro to remain in port under shelter of the guns of their batteries.  There can be but one end to it.  The insurrection will be crushed, Dom Pedro sent to Europe as a prisoner, and all who supported him executed, or, if their lives are spared, all their possessions will be confiscated.

“Truly it is a sad time for Brazil.  Everywhere there are two parties, the one for independence, the other for the Portuguese; but such as hold to the former naturally keep silent.  What may happen in the future no man knows; but at present none have any hope that the southern provinces can resist the great force the Portuguese can bring against them, by sea and land.  The mass of the people take no interest in the struggle.  The natives, who are indeed the mass, care nothing whether they are governed from Lisbon or from Rio; they have to pay their taxes whoever is master.  Of the whites, those families who have long been settled here are silent, that is to say, they are for independence; while those who have relations and connections in Portugal vehemently and loudly support its cause, and persecute all whom they suspect of entertaining opinions to the contrary.  But all these things concern the population of the great towns; we in the interior take but little heed of them.  Here we cultivate our fields, we say our masses, we carry on our trade, and politics interest us but little.  If they do interest us, at least we do not speak of them.  Silence is golden, my son, as you have doubtless learnt for yourself in Peru.  How came so young a man as you to undertake so terrible a journey as you have made?” he asked, changing the conversation.

“It may be, father, that I did not sufficiently recognize that silence was golden.  In any case my friends recommended me to take a long journey, because they thought it would be better and safer for me to travel to Brazil; and as there were reasons against my taking a passage by sea, there was nothing for me but to strike across the continent.”

“You must possess courage and resolution to have ventured out on such a journey.  Nevertheless, I can understand that your risk was greater had you remained.  You have heard, I suppose, that Peru is now independent?”

“No, indeed,” Stephen replied.  “Was there a great battle?”

“There was no fighting at all.  The Chilian fleet so hemmed in the Spaniards that neither supplies nor reinforcements could reach them, so they agreed to evacuate the country.  San Martin was made dictator, or rather made himself so; but so great were the oppressions and tyrannies of himself and his officers that there was a revolution some months ago, and San Martin had to fly to Chili, where he has since remained, as far as I know.”

“It served him right,” Stephen said.  “He was an ignorant, vain, and traitorous brute, and if the Peruvians had hung him he would only have got his deserts.”

“I can understand, my son,” the priest said with a smile, “that Peru was not a healthy place for you; and I should doubt whether, if you come to take an interest in politics here, Brazil will be a safer place of residence for you than Peru.”

The voyage was pleasant but very slow.  When the wind was favourable a great sail was hoisted; when it was not, the boat drifted down the river.  The passengers passed the time away in eating many meals, consisting principally of the bread and fruit they purchased at the villages where the boat stopped, and in sipping coffee and smoking innumerable cigarettes.  Of an evening the three ladies brought out guitars, and there was much singing by them and the male passengers, several of whom were able to take a turn at the musical instruments.  Lines were put over, and occasionally fish caught.  So week after week passed.  The passengers changed frequently, but Stephen found all to be cheerful and sociable.  Twice he had to change his craft for another of precisely the same size, rig, and slowness.  The shores afforded but slight amusement, being low, and for the most part wooded, and indeed the river was for a time so wide that the land on either hand was invisible.  Once or twice they met with strong winds, and the waves got up rapidly.  The craft rolled heavily, and the passengers were for the most part prostrated by terror and sea-sickness.

At length after two months’ passage they entered that branch of the great river upon which Para is situated, and a few days later moored alongside the quays of the town.  Stephen at once went to an hotel, gave a Peruvian name, and then, having indulged in a bath and a very comfortable meal, sallied out into the town.  In the streets were large numbers of Portuguese soldiers; while a short distance down the bay several fine ships of war lay at anchor.  A good many merchant ships were moored alongside the quays, and Stephen determined on the following day to ascertain about them.  On his return to the hotel he found a Portuguese official talking to the landlord.

“This is the gentleman,” the latter said, motioning to Stephen.

“I have to ask you for your papers?” he said politely.

“I have none, senor,” Stephen replied.  “I have just arrived from Peru, having come down by the river Madeira into the Amazon.”

“But how did you pass the frontier without papers?” the official said in an altogether changed manner.

“Simply because there is no frontier line on the Madeira, and so far as I know no Portuguese official or soldier within at least fifteen hundred miles.  At any rate, I have never been asked for papers until now.”

“But how is it that you started without papers?” the official said sternly.

“It was a matter that I never even thought of, senor.  I had been engaged in a quarrel, and the authorities wanted me to leave.  My friends furnished me with money, and I left at an hour’s notice.  I have gone through several perils by the way, was captured by Indians, who took all that I possessed, and would certainly have taken the papers had I had them about me.  I was nearly killed and eaten, and was only saved by the courage and fidelity of two native guides who accompanied me.”

“Well, senor, this is not a time when strangers can travel about Brazil without papers.  You may be an emissary of the usurper Dom Pedro.”

“If I had been,” Stephen said quietly, “I should have come up the coast, and should hardly have gone round by Peru and returned here after a journey that has occupied me some eighteen months.  It was only after I arrived at Barra that I learned that King John had left the country, and that his son Dom Pedro had been appointed regent.”

The officer looked doubtful.  “Your story may be a true one,” he said.  “I shall lay it before the authorities.  Until you hear their decision you will remain here in the hotel.”

“I am quite willing to do so,” Stephen said.  “In the meantime, senor, you will hear from the captain of the Bahia, now lying at the wharf, that I have at least come five hundred miles down the Amazon to this place, and there is one, Senor Vaquez, who is now in this hotel, or is at any rate putting up here, who came down with me all the way from Barra.”

The official at once sent upstairs for the trader, who was fortunately in his room, and who at once confirmed Stephen’s statement, that they had travelled together from Barra, and had left there some nine weeks before.

“This must be taken, senor,” the officer said, “to relieve you from any suspicion of having come here from the insurgent provinces.  At the same time there remains the fact that you have entered Brazil without passports or other necessary papers, a matter which will have to be considered by the authorities.  At the same time, pending their decision there will be no occasion for you to confine yourself to the hotel, as the offence can hardly be considered a very serious one.”

Two hours later Stephen was sent for to the governor’s.  Here a few more questions were put to him as to the absence of papers, and he was then asked what were his intentions as to the future.

“By your own confession”, the officer who interrogated him said, “you are a fugitive from justice, and although we do not concern ourselves with crimes committed beyond our frontiers, we must concern ourselves with the movements of fugitives from justice who enter Portuguese territory without proper papers.”

“I intend to take ship to Europe,” Stephen replied.  “My family have business connections there.  I shall probably stay there until I hear that I can return home.”

“Very well, senor.  So long as you remain here you will be under surveillance, but otherwise your movements will not be interfered with.”

Stephen bowed and withdrew.  At the hotel that evening he learned news that surprised him and altered his plans.  Some officers who had dined there were talking together, and Stephen, who was sitting near them drinking his coffee and smoking his cigarette, heard to his surprise the name of Lord Cochrane.

“There can be no doubt as to the truth of the news,” one said.  “Not only has this English adventurer accepted the offer of Dom Pedro to take command of his fleet, but they say he is already on his way, and is expected to arrive at Rio in a few weeks.  I am afraid that he will give us some trouble.”

“Not he,” another said scornfully.  “One of our ships could dispose of the whole of the insurgent fleet.  They are, as we know from our friends there, but armed merchantmen, the Pedro Primeiro being the only real war-ship among them.  Moreover, their equipments are villainously bad, and their manning worse, the only real sailors they have being our countrymen, who will bring the ships over to us when the first gun is fired.  Even the Englishman can do nothing with such ships as these against three well-appointed fleets like ours.”

“He did wonders on the other side,” one of the other officers said.

“I grant you he did, but the odds were nothing like so great.  The Chilians are better sailors by far than the people here, and could at least be relied upon to be faithful.  I should think it likely that he will throw up his command in disgust as soon as he sees what this so-called fleet is, and how hopeless it is to struggle against such tremendous odds.”

“I hope that it may be so, major.  I own the force of your arguments, and the apparent hopelessness of any attempt to meet us at sea; but after what he did on the other side I cannot but think that he will at least give us some trouble, and at any rate make our conquest of the insurgent provinces less easy than we have anticipated.  The man’s reputation alone will inspire even those who regard their position as most hopeless, with some sort of energy.  Hitherto I have never thought that there would be any resistance whatever, but anticipated that they would surrender as soon as our fleet appeared off their shores and our troops landed; but I think now that this Englishman may infuse some of his own mad spirit into these indolent Brazilians, and that they will make at least a show of resistance.”

“All the worse for them,” the captain laughed.  “There will only be so many more confiscations and so much more plunder for the troops.  I hope myself that they will resist, for otherwise we shall gain but little prize-money or plunder.”

“I think we shall get plenty of both in any case,” the other said.  “Two-thirds of the people down there are rebels, and whether there is resistance or not their possessions of all kinds will be justly forfeited.”

“That is so; but it is the government who will forfeit them, and but a small proportion indeed will fall to the share of the army and navy.”

The conversation then turning upon other subjects, Stephen rose and strolled out of the room, and going down to the wharf seated himself on a balk of timber to think the matter out.  That Lord Cochrane should have been driven to resign his position in Chili he could well understand, for he had wondered many times that he put up with the treatment that he received and the utter ingratitude that had been the sole reward of his great services; but it was singular indeed that just as he himself arrived on the eastern coast of the continent he should receive the news, that Cochrane would ere long appear on the coast to take command of the Brazilian fleet.  Of course, now his plans would be changed, and instead of going to England he should endeavour to make his way down to Rio, and there join the admiral.

The question was how was it to be done?  The journey by land would be out of the question; the distance was almost as vast as that he had already travelled, and he would be exposed to constant questioning.  Upon the other hand, it was certain that no ships would be sailing from Para to Rio.  He might get down to Bahia, but the same difficulty would present itself.  It seemed to him that there was but one possible method of reaching Rio, namely to take passage by ship to the Cape de Verde Islands, and there to take another ship bound for Rio.  The distance was great, but under favourable circumstances the journey might be made in a few weeks.

The next morning he was early down at the wharf.  There were several ships lading for Europe, but one of them was English, and this he learned on going on board would, unless driven east by stress of weather, make for the Azores direct without touching at St. Vincent.  There were, however, two Portuguese vessels that would touch at Cape de Verde, and would stay some days there.  One of these would start the next day.

In this he secured a passage forward for a very small sum, on his saying that he knew something of the sea, and was willing to make himself useful.  He had only now to purchase a few rough clothes suitable for the voyage, and he was ready for the start.  The time the voyage would take did not much trouble him.  It might be a month or six weeks yet before the admiral reached Brazil; and if what was said of the fleet were true, the work of getting it fit for sea would be a long one, as his experience in Chili had taught him.  Even, then, if the voyage was much longer than he expected, he might still be in time to join the admiral before he sailed.  He went on board that night, and in the morning put on his rough clothes and assisted to make sail.  In a short time the vessel dropped down the river, and in a few hours was fairly out at sea.

Stephen messed with the crew forward, and seeing his readiness to assist, and his handiness when aloft, he soon became popular with them, though they constantly expressed their surprise that a Peruvian should be so good a sailor.  The wind was favourable and steady, and although the vessel was becalmed for three or four days, she dropped anchor in the port of Santiago three weeks after leaving Para.  The mate of the vessel had been very friendly with Stephen during the voyage, and said to him the day before they arrived, that if he wished to go on to Europe he was sure that the captain would give him a free passage, as he was as good a hand as the best of the crew.

“To tell you the truth, senor,” Stephen said, “I don’t want to get to Europe, but to Rio.  I have friends there who will give me employment, but the only way that I could see to manage it was to come here and take a passage in the first ship bound there.”

“Very well.  I will inquire directly we get in if there is a ship in harbour bound there, and if so you shall be rowed straight on board, which will save you the expense of living on shore, and perhaps a lot of bother with the authorities, who are always prying into people’s business.”

There were eight or ten vessels in harbour when they arrived; and the mate, after going ashore, brought back word that one was a British ship bound for Rio.

“She will probably sail in the morning,” the mate said; “and as the port officials have already been on board and checked off the passengers, we can take you off after dark without risk of any bother.”

Accordingly, as soon as it was dark two hands rowed Stephen across to the English barque.

“What do you want, my man?” the mate asked when he stepped on deck.

“I want a passage to Rio,” Stephen replied in English.  “I am a sailor and am ready to work my way if the money I have is not sufficient to pay for a passage.  I do not look like it at present, but I am one of Lord Cochrane’s officers, and as he is now either at Rio or within a short distance of it, I wish to join him there.”

The mate went into the captain’s cabin, and on coming out again asked Stephen to follow him.  The captain looked at him attentively.

“This is rather a strange yarn of yours.”

“It is a strange one, captain, but it is true.”

“If you are one of Cochrane’s officers what are you doing here? and why are you masquerading in that dress?  Have you already served with him?”

“I was his flag-lieutenant on the Chilian coast.”

The captain repeated incredulously:  “Why, I should not guess you to be above twenty.”

“That is about my age, sir; but what I say is nevertheless the fact.  My story is too long to tell you now; but, briefly, I was wounded in the cutting out of the Esmeralda, and was sent back to be cured at Valparaiso.  On my way up in a coasting craft to rejoin, I was wrecked on the Peruvian coast and made prisoner.  I escaped by the aid of friends, and finding it impossible to make my way down to Chili, I crossed the Andes and came down by the great rivers to Para.  There I heard that Lord Cochrane was about to assume the command of the Brazilian fleet.  It was absolutely impossible to make my way there direct, either by land or sea, and I therefore took passage here in that Portuguese lying a hundred yards away, and now want to be taken on to Rio.  The stock of money with which I started is reduced to twenty pounds.  I must have something when I land, as the admiral may not have arrived; but I am ready to pay fifteen for my passage, and equally willing, if that is not sufficient, to work my way before the mast.”

“Well, sir,” the captain said, “if you are one of Cochrane’s officers I shall be proud to carry you without any charge for the passage; but you can, if you like, pay five pounds for the cost of your food, which, as it belongs to the owner, I have no right to give away.  Are the clothes you stand in all your kit?”

“No; I have a bundle on deck with another and somewhat more respectable suit.  I bought it at Bahia, and although it is hardly the dress one would choose on board a ship, it is at least respectable, being that of a Brazilian merchant.”

“I will lend you some togs for the voyage,” the mate said.  “We have no passengers on board, so that if they don’t quite fit you it won’t matter, although I think that we are pretty much of a size.”

Stephen warmly thanked the captain and mate for their kindness, and then went to the gangway and told the men waiting in the boat to inform the mate that it was all right, and that he had arranged for a passage.

The voyage was a pleasant one.  The mate’s clothes fitted Stephen very well, and he messed with the captain and officers, who were pleasant companions.  They were five weeks on the voyage, and Stephen was delighted, on arriving at Rio, to hear that Lord Cochrane was still there, but that the fleet would put to sea in a few days.  He resumed his Brazilian dress, and, after renewed thanks to the captain for his kindness, was rowed ashore as soon as the port officials had paid their visit.