Keeping the fire low in order to prevent its being seen by any of the wandering bands of patriots2—alias3 soldiers, alias banditti—who might chance to be in the neighbourhood, the three travellers thus thrown unexpectedly together ate their supper in comparative silence, Lawrence and Pedro exchanging a comment on the viands4 now and then, and the handsome Indian girl sitting opposite to them with her eyes for the most part fixed5 on the ground, though now and then she raised them to take a quick stealthy glance at the huge youth whose appetite did not seem to be greatly affected6 by his misfortunes. Perhaps she was wondering whether all Englishmen, possessed7 such innocent kindly9 faces and such ungainly though powerful frames. It may be that she was contrasting him with the handsome well-knit Pedro at his side.
Whatever her thoughts might have been, the short glances of her lustrous10 eyes gave no clue to them, and her tongue was silent, save when she replied by some brief monosyllable to a remark or query11 put in the Indian language occasionally by Pedro. Sometimes a gleam of the firelight threw her fine brown features into bold relief, but on these occasions, when Lawrence Armstrong chanced to observe them, they conveyed no expression whatever save that of profound gravity, with a touch, perhaps, of sadness.
The bench being awkwardly situated12 for a table, they had arranged a small box, bottom up, instead. Lawrence and his new acquaintance seated themselves on the ground, and Manuela used her saddle as a chair.
Towards the end of their meal the two men became more communicative, and when Pedro had lighted a cigarette, they began to talk of their immediate13 future.
“You don’t smoke?” remarked Pedro in passing.
“No,” replied Lawrence.
“Not like the most of your countrymen,” said the other.
“So much the worse,” rejoined the youth.
“The worse for them or for you—which?” asked Pedro, with a significant glance.
“No matter,” returned Lawrence with a laugh.
“Well, now,” resumed Pedro, after a few puffs14, during the emission15 of which his countenance16 assumed the expression of seriousness, which seemed most natural to it, “what do you intend to do? It is well to have that point fairly settled to-night, so that there may be no uncertainty17 or delay in the morning. I would not urge the question were it not that in the morning we must either go on together as travelling companions, or say our final adieux and part. I am not in the habit of prying18 into men’s private affairs, but, to speak the bare truth, I am naturally interested in one whose father has on more than one occasion done me good service. You need not answer me unless you please, senhor,” added the man with the air of one who is prepared to retire upon his dignity at a moment’s notice.
“Thanks, thanks, Pedro,” said the Englishman, heartily20, “I appreciate your kindness, and accept your sympathy with gratitude21. Moreover, I am glad to find that I have been thrown at such a crisis in my fortunes into the company of one who had regard for my dear father. But I scarce know what to do. I will give you my confidence unreservedly. Perhaps you may be able to advise—”
“Stay,” interrupted the other, on whose countenance a slightly stern expression hovered23. “Before you give me unreserved confidence, it is but fair that I should tell you candidly24 that I cannot pay you back in kind. As to private matters, I have none that would be likely to interest any one under the sun. In regard to other things—my business is not my own. Why I am here and what I mean to do I have no right to reveal. Whither I am bound, however, is not necessarily a secret, and if you choose to travel with me you undoubtedly26 have a right to know.”
Young Armstrong expressed himself satisfied. He might have wished to know more, but, like Pedro, he had no desire to pry19 into other men’s affairs, and, being of an open confiding27 nature, was quite ready to take his companion on trust, even though he had been less candid25 and engaging in manner than he was. After explaining that he had been educated in Edinburgh, and trained to the medical profession, he went on to say that he had been hastily summoned to take charge of the sugar-mill at his father’s death, and that he had expected to find an old overseer, who would have instructed him in all that he had to do in a business with which he was totally unacquainted.
“You see,” he continued, “my father always said that he meant to retire on his fortune, and did not wish me to carry on the business, but, being naturally an uncommunicative man on business matters, he never gave me any information as to details. Of course, I had expected that his manager here, and his books, would reveal all that I required to know, but the soldiers have settled that question. Mill and books have gone together, and as to manager, clerks, and servants, I know not where they are.”
“Scattered, no doubt,” said Pedro, “here, there, and everywhere—only too glad to escape from a neighbourhood which has been given up to fire and sword by way of improving its political condition!”
“I know not,” returned Lawrence, sadly. “But it would be useless, I fear, to try to ferret them out.”
“Quite useless,” said Pedro. “Besides, what would it avail to talk with any of them about the affairs of a place that is now in ashes? But if your father spoke28 of his fortune, he must have had at least some of it in a bank somewhere.”
“True, but I don’t know where. All I know is that he once mentioned casually30 in one of his letters that he was going to Buenos Ayres, where he had some property.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Pedro. “Come, that may help you to decide, for I am myself going to Buenos Ayres, and can guide you there if disposed to go. Only, you will have to make up your mind to a pretty long and hard journey, for duty requires me to go by a devious31 route. You must know,” he continued, lighting32 another cigarette, “that I am pledged to take that girl to her father, who lives not far from Buenos Ayres.”
He pointed33 as he spoke to Manuela, who, having laid her head on her saddle, appeared to have fallen asleep.
“Her father must be a chief, I should think, to judge from her dignified34, graceful35 carriage, as well as her fine features,” said Lawrence in a low tone.
“Yes, he is a chief—a great chief,” returned Pedro, gazing at his cigarette in a meditative36 mood—“a very great chief. You see, she happened to be living with friends on the western side of the mountains when this war between Chili37 and Peru broke out, and her father naturally wants to get her out of danger. The old chief once saved my life, so, you see, I am bound both by duty and gratitude to rescue his daughter.”
“Indeed you are, and a pleasant duty it must be,” returned Lawrence with an approving nod; “but don’t you think it might have been wise to have rescued some other female, a domestic for instance, to keep her company? The poor girl will feel very lonely on such a long journey as you speak of.”
“You have not had much experience of war, young man,” he said, “if you think that in cases of rescue men can always arrange things comfortably, and according to the rules of propriety40. When towns and villages are in flames, when plunder41 and rapine run riot everywhere, and little children are spitted on the bayonets of patriots, as is often the case even in what men have agreed to term civilised warfare42, one is glad to escape with the skin of one’s teeth. Yet I was not as regardless of Manuela’s comfort as you seem to think. A poor woman who had nursed her when a child volunteered to accompany us, and continued with us on the first part of our journey; but the exertion43, as I had feared, was too much for her. She caught a fever and died, so that we were forced to come on alone. If you join us, however, I shall be greatly pleased, for two can always make a better fight than one, and in these unsettled times there is no saying what we may fall in with in crossing the mountains.”
“But why expose the poor girl to such risks?” asked Lawrence. “Surely there must be some place of safety nearer than Buenos Ayres, to which you might conduct her?”
“Senhor Armstrong,” replied the man, with a return of his stern expression, “I have told you that my business is urgent. Not even the rescue of my old friend’s daughter can turn me aside from it. When Manuela begged me to take her with me, I pointed out the difficulties and dangers of the route, and the necessity for my pursuing a long and devious course, but she said she feared to remain where she was; that, being young, strong, and accustomed to an active life, she felt sure she was equal to the journey; that she could trust me, and that she knew her father would approve of her taking the step. I agreed, with some hesitation44. It turned out that the girl was right in her fears, for before we left the town it was attacked by the troops of Chili. The Peruvians made but a poor resistance, and it was carried by assault. When I saw that all hope of saving the place was gone, I managed to bring Manuela and her nurse away in safety. As I have told you, the nurse died, and now—here we are alone. Manuela chooses to run the risk. I will not turn aside from my duty. If you choose to join us, the girl will be safer—at least until we cross the mountains. On the other side I shall be joined by friends, if need be.”
“I will go with you,” said Lawrence, with decision, as he extended his hand.
“Good,” replied Pedro, grasping it with a hearty46 squeeze; “now I shall have no fears for our little Indian, for robbers are cowards as a rule.”
“Have we, then, much chance of meeting with robbers?”
“Well, I should say we have little chance of altogether escaping them, for in times of war there are always plenty of deserters and other white-livered scoundrels who seize the opportunity to work their will. Besides, there are some noted47 outlaws48 in the neighbourhood of the pass we are going to cross. There’s Conrad of the Mountains, for instance. You’ve heard of him?”
“No, never.”
“Ah, senhor, that proves you to be a stranger here, for his name is known from the Atlantic to the Pacific—chiefly, however, on the east side of the Cordillera, and on the Pampas. He is an outlaw—at least he is said to be so; but one cannot believe all one hears. Some say that he is cruel, others that he is ferocious49 among men, but never hurts women or children.”
“Well, it is to be hoped we may not fall in with him, or any of his band,” said Lawrence; “for it is better to hear of his qualities than to put them to the test.”
“Yet, methinks,” resumed Pedro, “if you fell in with him alone you should have no cause to fear him, for you must be more than his match.”
“I don’t think I should fear him,” returned Lawrence, with a simple look. “As to being more than his match, I know not, for my spirit does not prompt me to light, and I cannot boast of much capacity in the use of arms—unless you count my good oak-cudgel a weapon. I have acquired some facility in the use of that, having practised singlestick as an amusement at school.”
As he spoke, the youth was surprised and somewhat startled by his companion suddenly drawing a pistol from his belt, and pointing it steadily50 at the open doorway51 of the hut. Turning his eyes quickly in that direction, he beheld52, with increased astonishment53, a pair of glaring eyes, two rows of glittering teeth, and a pair of thick red lips! The flesh which united these striking objects was all but invisible, by reason of its being nearly as black as its background.
Most eyes, if human, would have got away from a pistol’s line of fire with precipitancy, but the eyes referred to did not disappear. On the contrary, they paid no regard whatever to the owner of the pistol, but continued to glare steadily at Lawrence Armstrong. Seeing this, Pedro hesitated to pull the trigger. He was quick to defend himself, but not prompt to kill. When he saw that the eyes slowly advanced out of the gloom, that they with the lips and teeth belonged to a negro who advanced into the room unarmed and with outspread hands, he quietly lowered his weapon, and glanced at Lawrence. No doubt Pedro felt, as he certainly looked, perplexed54, when he observed that Lawrence returned the intruder’s gaze with almost equal intensity55.
Suddenly the negro sprang towards the Englishman. He was a short, thick-set, and exceedingly powerful man; yet Lawrence made no move to defend himself.
“Quashy!” he exclaimed, as the black fell on his knees, seized one of his hands, and covered it with kisses, at the same time bursting into tears.
“Oh! massa Lawrie—oh! massa Lawrie, why you no come sooner? Why you so long? De sodger brutes56 nebber dar to touch de ole house if you was dere. Oh! Massa Lawrie, you’s too late—too late!—My! how you’s growed!”
In the midst of his sobs57 the young negro, for he was little more than a youth, drew back his head to obtain a better view of his old companion and playmate.
Need we say that Lawrence reciprocated58 the affection of the man?
“He was a boy like myself when I was here,” said Lawrence in explanation to the amused Peruvian. “His father was one of my father’s most attached servants, whom he brought from Kentucky on his way to this land, and to whom he gave his freedom. Quashy himself used to be my playmate.—But tell me about the attack on the mill, Quash. Were you present?”
“And how did you escape, Quash? Come, sit down and tell me all about it.”
The negro willingly complied. Meanwhile the Indian girl, who had been roused by his sudden entrance, resumed her seat on the saddle, and, looking intently into his black face, seemed to try to gather from the expression of his features something of what he said.
We need not repeat the story. It was a detailed59 account of murder and destruction; the burning of the place and the scattering60 of the old servants. Fortunately Lawrence had no relatives to deplore61.
“But don’t you know where any of the household have gone?” he asked, when the excited negro paused to recover breath.
“Don’t know nuffin’. Arter I poke de holes in de scoundrils, I was ’bleeged to bolt. When I come back, de ole house was in flames, an’ eberybody gone—what wasn’t dead. I hollered—ay, till I was a’most busted—but nobody reply. Den22 I bury de dead ones, an’ I’ve hoed about eber since slobberin’ an’ wringin’ my hands.”
“No, massa, but I tinks he’s a dead one now, for he too ole to run far.”
“And I suppose you can’t even guess where any of those who escaped went to?”
“Couldn’t guess more nor a Red Injin’s noo-born babby.”
“Quashy,” said Lawrence in a low voice, “be careful how you speak of Indians.”
He glanced, as he spoke, at Manuela, who now sat with grave face and downcast eyes, having apparently63 found that the human countenance, however expressive64, failed to make up for the want of language.
And, truly, Quashy’s countenance was unwontedly mobile and expressive. Every feature seemed to possess the power of independently betraying the thoughts and feelings of the man, so that when they all united for that end the effect was marvellous. Emotional, and full of quick sympathy, Quashy’s visage changed from grave to gay, pitiful to fierce, humorous to savage65, at a moment’s notice. When, therefore, he received the gentle rebuke66 above referred to, his animated67 countenance assumed a sudden aspect of utter woe68 and self-condemnation that may be conceived but cannot be described, and when Lawrence gave vent1 to a short laugh at the unexpected change, Quashy’s eyes glistened69 with an arch look, and his mouth expanded from ear to ear.
And what an expansion that was, to be sure! when you take into account the display of white teeth and red gums by which it was accompanied.
“Well, now, Quash,” resumed Lawrence, “what did you do after that?”
“Arter what, massa?”
“Oh! arter dat, I not know what to do, an’ den I tried to die—I was so mis’rable. But I couldn’t. You’ve no notion how hard it is to die when you wants to. Anyhow I couldn’t manage it, so I gib up tryin’.”
At this point Manuela rose, and, bidding Pedro good-night in the Indian tongue, passed into her little chamber71 and shut the door.
“And what do you intend to do now, Quash?” asked Lawrence.
“Stick to you, massa, troo t’ick an’ t’in,” returned the negro with emphatic72 promptitude, which caused even Pedro to laugh.
“My poor fellow, that is impossible,” said Lawrence, who then explained his position and circumstances, showing how it was that he had little money and no immediate prospect73 of obtaining any,—that, in short, he was about to start out in the wide world friendless and almost penniless to seek his fortune. To all of which the negro listened with a face so utterly74 devoid75 of expression of any kind that his old master and playmate could not tell how he took it.
“And now,” he asked in conclusion, “what say you to all that?”
“Stick to you troo t’ick and t’in,” repeated Quashy, in a tone of what might be styled sulky firmness.
“But,” said Lawrence, “I can’t pay you any wages.”
“Don’ want no wages,” said Quashy.
“Besides,” resumed Lawrence, “even if I were willing to take you, Senhor Pedro might object.”
The Peruvian smiled rather approvingly at this candid expression of opinion.
“To Buenos Ayres.”
As Quashy remained obdurate78, and, upon consultation79, Lawrence and Pedro came to the conclusion that such a sturdy, resolute80 fellow might be rather useful in the circumstances, it was finally arranged, to the poor fellow’s inexpressible delight, that he should accompany them in their long journey to the far east.
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1
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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emission
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| n.发出物，散发物；发出，散发 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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chili
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| n.辣椒 | |
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musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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rekindled
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| v.使再燃( rekindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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outlaws
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| 歹徒，亡命之徒( outlaw的名词复数 )； 逃犯 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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50
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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52
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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reciprocated
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| v.报答，酬答( reciprocate的过去式和过去分词 )；（机器的部件）直线往复运动 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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61
deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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62
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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63
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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64
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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65
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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66
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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67
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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68
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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69
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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71
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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72
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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73
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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74
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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75
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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76
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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77
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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78
obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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79
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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80
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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