Chapter Sixteen.
The Red Day of Cuzco.
A fortnight had passed since that memorable night upon which Jim communicated his plan of escape to his fellow-prisoners, and still no opportunity had come for the Chilians to make a bid for freedom. For some days after Douglas had communicated with them the weary men had brightened up considerably. The spark of hope which glimmered in the midst of their darkness gave them strength to bear up under their many misfortunes. But as day after day came and went without the signal being given, a dull despair had taken the place of hope, and many a worn-out and soul-sick man fell down in the dusty road, never to rise again. Belonging, as the bulk of the prisoners did, to a southern race, they were very easily cheered up or cast down, and their despair was all the deeper for the short interval of hope which had been given them. The majority of them seemed to have almost resigned themselves to fate, and were looking forward to nothing better than a lifelong captivity in the mines of Sorata. To such an extent, indeed, was this the case that Jim realised that, unless an opportunity should very shortly occur whereby he could put his scheme into execution, his companions would be too profoundly dispirited to attempt to make use of the chance of escape when it should actually arrive. He had told them, however, at the outset that it would be folly to make the attempt while crossing the mountains; for, even should they contrive to get away, they would be in the heart of a hostile country, where they might easily be recaptured. The young Englishman’s plan had been to wait until they got farther south, when they would again be comparatively close to the coast, so that they might escape thither and trust to being able to get away in boats. But the long-protracted waiting, coupled with the intense cold which they experienced up among the mountains, was fast taking all the heart out of the prisoners, and Jim saw that unless the attempt were made almost at once everything would be lost.
They were now nearing Cuzco, having travelled nearly half the distance to Sorata, and the weary men hoped to sleep that very night in the ancient capital of the Incas. Jim had managed to interchange a few hasty words about mid-day with the officers of his own group, all men of high courage and of advanced rank, and they and he had come to the conclusion that the escape should be attempted that very night, should they fail to reach Cuzco, or the night after leaving that city, should they happen to arrive there that day. These few were the only men who had retained their courage unimpaired, and Jim felt that he could rely upon them. It would not do, they all decided, to wait any longer; and although Cuzco itself lay among the mountains, it would be better to make the attempt there, and trust to being able to get away to the sea-coast, than be obliged to defer it indefinitely.
The word to be on the watch and ready was therefore passed round immediately after the mid-day halt; and it was astonishing to see how the news brightened up the weary men and made new beings of them. Indeed, Jim almost felt sorry that he had not delayed the message until the evening, for he felt alarmed lest the guards should observe the change and guess at its cause. They seemed, however, to take no notice of it, and the forlorn procession moved forward slowly along the great, dusty road, which had not been repaired since the time of Pizarro’s conquest. Hour after hour went by and there was still no sign of the City of the Sun; so that, by the time that four o’clock arrived, Douglas decided that the escape would have to be attempted that very night. Just before dusk the clouds, which had been covering the heavens all day long, broke; the glorious setting sun shone out in all his majesty; and there before them in the distance, some fifteen miles away, his beams fell on the city of Cuzco, gilding and glorifying it until it actually did present the appearance of a city of gold. It was a magnificent sight, and drew an exclamation of admiration and delight from the Chilians, weary as they all were; but they hoped that the view which they had just obtained of the place was all that they would ever see of it—as it would be, if fortune would but favour them that night.
It was now perfectly evident that they would not be able to reach Cuzco that evening, and as the darkness was fast coming on the Peruvians began to look about them for a suitable place in which to camp for the night. About half a mile farther on could be seen, through the gathering gloom, a small hillock, crowned with great rocks and boulders, apparently the remains of some ancient Inca fortification. This struck Douglas as a place that might have been made on purpose for their attempt, could the guards but be induced to pitch the camp there. He was casting about in his mind for some scheme by which they might be induced to select the spot as a halting-place, when the officer in command of the troop rose in his stirrups and, pointing to the hillock with his sword, exclaimed:
“There, over yonder, is the place for us, mi hijos; we will encamp among those boulders. We shall be as comfortable there as in the city of Cuzco itself. Forward, guerreros; we shall soon be there; and we will have a good long rest to-night.”
“Ay, that you will, you inhuman scoundrel,” muttered Jim; “but it will not be the sort of sleep of which you are thinking!” However, the prisoners and their guards pushed forward, and in about ten minutes’ time the group arrived at the foot of the little hill, which they at once began to climb.
“Now I wonder,” thought Jim, “whether the next time we tread this road it will be as free men once more. God grant us success this night, for if we fail there will be no second chance for us!”
The other officers seemed to be occupied with similar thoughts, for they examined the whole place and its surroundings very carefully as they ascended; evidently in order that, should the attempt be successful, they might be able to find their way down in the darkness. At last the summit was reached; but before the weary men could enjoy the rest of which they stood in such great need, they were obliged to unload the tents and provisions from the pack mules, the Peruvians being much to lazy to do anything for themselves. It was therefore about eight o’clock by the time that the tents were pitched and the evening meal prepared; and when the food was ready the prisoners ate as much as they could, for they did not in the least know where they would obtain their next meal. This having been done, the pots and pans had to be cleaned and put away; so that it was a tolerably weary company which at last sought its tents to lie down and rest.
But not to slumber. There was not a single Chilian among those to whom the plan had been revealed who closed his eyes, lest he should fall asleep and thus not be ready when the momentous signal should be given. Long before this it had been ascertained that there were but four keys for the purpose of locking and unlocking the prisoners’ manacles; one being held by the captain, while the other three were distributed in turn among the soldiers, being given to three different men every day, for the better security of the prisoners, and to make sure that there could be no tampering with the guards. Jim had been keeping his eyes very wide open all through the day, and he had noticed which of the Peruvians were the men who had the keys in their possession that night, while he had also carefully marked the positions where they had thrown themselves down to sleep. Two of the soldiers had retired to a tent, but the third had fortunately elected to sleep in the open, as the night was very warm.
The plan arranged was for Jim and his group of manacled fellow-officers to crawl forward, and either kill or stun one of the gaolers—it would be too risky to tackle more than one—secure his key, unlock their own fetters, and then to go silently the rounds, setting free their companions. When all were at liberty they were to seize their shovels and pickaxes and with them attack the slumbering soldiery, killing as many as possible before they were fully awake and could seize their rifles. Should they be discovered before the work was complete, those who were free were to keep off the Peruvians while the remainder were set at liberty.
It sounded rather a barbarous scheme, but Jim could think of no other which would be at all likely to be successful; and he was by this time rendered altogether too hardened by privation and ill-treatment to feel very much pity for the callously brutal Peruvian guards. Besides, it was his life or theirs, and he had no difficulty in choosing.
The young Englishman waited until midnight, in order to allow the soldiers to get well asleep, and then he silently nudged his companions to make sure that all were awake. They all were,—very wide awake, too,—and, after a few low-voiced instructions from Douglas, the little body of men began to crawl away through the darkness, taking the utmost care that there should be no clanking of chains to betray their movements. Forward on hands and knees they went, all moving together; and they soon passed through the ranks of their comrades, who did not make a single movement while the gallant little band crawled past.
Soon they had left the Chilian part of the encampment behind; and a few minutes later, Jim, who was the leading man of the party, came abreast of the first Peruvian tent. The night was pitchy dark, although there was a young moon, for the sky was covered with dark, low-lying clouds. This was all the better, for it lessened the probability of their being seen by the sentries; but they had to exercise a great deal of caution to avoid colliding with and so disturbing any soldiers who had elected to sleep out in the open.
“Now,” whispered Jim, as they came abreast of a certain tent, looming up dim and ghostly in the darkness; “Pedrillo is sleeping just outside this tent. Forward, men; but carefully, for your lives. One false step now, and all will be lost. Come along, and remember—we must be quick and silent at—at the work which we have to do. There must not be so much as a single struggle.”
His companions now came up abreast of Douglas, instead of following in single file; and, still abreast, they crawled toward the slumbering custodian of the key. Nearer and nearer they drew, until only a few yards separated them from their prey, then only a few feet. They were almost within arm’s length of him now; silently they crept forward again, then they paused. The only sound was that caused by the heavy breathing of the victim and the soft, hissing breaths of his executioners. Now they crept forward again until they were close to the man; Jim plucked the sleeve of the Chilian nearest to him, and together they leaned over the gaoler.
“Now!” hissed Jim, and four men flung themselves upon the fellow’s body at the same moment that Douglas’s hands clutched his throat. There was a short quick scuffle, and it was all over.
In a second he had snatched the key from the dead man’s girdle and was feverishly unlocking his comrades’ fetters. Then they, in turn, unlocked his, and in less than five minutes the twelve men were all free. Back they sped to their own portion of the camp, and were soon unlocking their friends’ manacles, with the result that in less than twenty minutes at least half the Chilians were free, and stood, grasping their pickaxes and shovels, ready for the fight which was inevitable before they could get away.
Then a horrible thing happened.
Among the Chilians was a naval petty officer, a surly, cunning—faced creature whom nobody trusted, and from whom, therefore, all particulars of the plot had been kept secret. Jim had just inserted the key in his manacles, when this traitor shrieked at the top of his voice:
“Help! help! the Chilians are escaping!”
Why the fellow did it nobody ever knew, but it was surmised that, being too much of a craven himself to attempt to escape, he had hoped to purchase his own freedom by betraying his comrades. But he must have been mad to do such a thing, surrounded as he was by Chilians, for he might have felt certain that before assistance could reach him he would be dead.
The mischief, however, was done, and the slumbering camp was effectually alarmed. The sentries squibbed off their rifles, and then, reloading, began to blaze away into the Chilian encampment. The captain’s harsh voice was heard giving orders, and in a few seconds the Peruvian soldiers had formed up in line, fixed their bayonets, and were prepared to charge.
“Quick,” exclaimed Jim; “seize your shovels and pickaxes and repel their attack. I will help you. You, Manuel, take the key and free the others while we who are already free keep the Peruvians at bay. But be cool—keep calm, and all will be well; we will defend you.”
Tossing the key to Manuel, Jim seized a shovel, and put himself at the head of his men. “Charge! charge!” he roared, and the fifty free Chilians charged straight at the place where the Peruvians were known to be.
The next second a sanguinary and ferocious struggle had commenced in the darkness. The Peruvians, hearing the Chilians approach, had levelled their rifles, and poured a withering volley into the charging men, with murderous effect. But, their rifles once emptied, conditions were somewhat more equal, and for a quarter of an hour the combat raged furiously. But such an unequal contest could not last very long; the soldiers were able, during pauses in the struggle, to reload their rifles; and this being done, they mowed the Chilians down by dozens. Manuel did his work well, but the liberated men who straggled up, by twos and threes, did not prove a very valuable reinforcement for the prisoners.
Then, to crown all their misfortunes, the moon came out and flooded the battle-ground with light; and light was all that the Peruvians needed to enable them to turn a one-sided combat into a massacre. The Chilians, mowed down by the score, at last threw down their primitive weapons and called for quarter; but the soldiers, rendered still more ferocious by the sight and smell of blood, continued to fire into the defenceless prisoners until they were sated with slaughter. Then the hapless band was surrounded once more, and the unhurt and least seriously wounded men were manacled afresh. The mortally wounded were simply bayoneted as they lay, their friends being unable to stay the murderers’ hands.
At last it was all over; the casualties were counted up and the roll called. The Peruvians had lost but eleven men, all killed, whereas the Chilians were reduced to forty, all told, scarcely one of whom did not bear a more or less serious wound on his person. But the Peruvian captain was furious at what he called the “dastardly attack” of the Chilians on his men, and he swore to take a full and complete revenge when the next morning should arrive. The wretched men were then allowed to lie down once more and sleep—if they could; and thus the remaining hours of that ghastly night passed slowly away.
The next morning, as soon as day dawned, Captain Garcia-y-Garcia, having appointed a sergeant and a corporal to assist him, constituted himself and his two assistants into what he called a “court-martial,” and then proceeded to try the prisoners.
Jim he promptly pounced upon as the ringleader, and subjected the young Englishman to a short examination, which, however, was the merest farce, for the captain had already determined upon his fate. After a trial lasting, perhaps, five minutes, therefore, Jim was condemned to be shot before mid-day, as were nine more of his unfortunate companions. The remaining thirty Chilians were each sentenced to receive a flogging of a hundred lashes as soon as they arrived at the mines; and Captain Garcia-y-Garcia promised himself that he would be the man to supervise the punishment.
The ten men who were condemned to death were then separated from the rest of the troop, and were told to seat themselves on the ground at some little distance away, where they were at once surrounded by guards. Garcia-y-Garcia then selected a squad of twenty Peruvian soldiers, and told them off for the firing-party. They were then formed up in a single line and ordered to load their rifles with ball cartridge.
When everything was in readiness, the ten unfortunate prisoners were brought forward and made to stand, also in line, with their backs against a huge rock which was to serve as a background; and Jim found himself, for the second time in his life, facing a firing-party and condemned to death. But this time there seemed to be no hope or possibility of reprieve. He was surrounded by cruel men who had no feelings save those of a brutal nature, and it seemed as though no power on earth could save him.
Jim was very thankful that no attempt was made to blindfold them, for he had had a bandage round his eyes on a previous occasion, and knew from experience that the suspense of waiting for the squad to fire, not knowing what they were doing meanwhile, was worse than death itself could possibly be.
At last the fatal moment came, and the unlucky men shook hands with one another in sad farewell. The doomed men then stood to attention, and the soldiers examined the breeches of their rifles to make sure that they were properly loaded.
Then came the word “Ready!” and the twenty rifles came up to the soldiers’ hips as though by machinery. At the second word of command the barrels glinted in the sun as the men planted the rifle-butts in the hollow of their shoulders. Jim involuntarily cast his eyes skyward as he waited for the final word, and his lips were seen to move slightly.
A painful pause—and then Garcia-y-Garcia’s voice rang out, loud, clear, and triumphant: “Fire!”
There was a simultaneous crash as the rifles were discharged, and Jim felt a sharp, stinging sensation in his left side and in his arm as he fell back upon the ground. A body fell a second after his own and lay right across his face, and Jim had actually put up his hand to push away the corpse before he realised that he was not at all severely hurt. He was recalled to his senses by hearing the captain’s voice commanding his men to reload and fire again into the heap of corpses, to “make assurance doubly sure,” as he put it, and Jim had presence of mind enough to abstain from making any further movement, though he suffered agonies of suspense while waiting for the second discharge.
It came at last, and Douglas escaped yet a second time, although the body lying above his own was riddled with bullets. The Englishman could feel now that the bullet which struck him had passed between his left side and his left arm, grazing both, but inflicting no injury worth speaking of. But would he escape after all, or would he have his brains blown out as he lay? The question was soon answered, for even as he was thinking about it, the body was hauled off his face and a soldier shouted: “Why, captain, here is a man who is still alive.”
Garcia-y-Garcia ran up and stood over Jim, looking down at him with eyes that glittered with savage menace. He half turned away to give the order for Jim’s death, when he checked himself. His expression gradually changed, and presently he spoke:
“No; I don’t think I’ll shoot you to-day, Señor Chileño, although I don’t know that I may not change my mind later. However, I will spare you this once, for you deserve to escape death after having been shot at twice. Get up!”
Hardly able to believe his ears, Jim rose to his feet, and was immediately secured to the chain once more. Then, still in a dream, he heard the command given to march, and the sadly depleted company moved down the side of the knoll, leaving nearly seventy unburied corpses lying on its summit. How very differently things had looked yesterday at this hour, thought Jim: how sadly everything had changed! Between now and yesterday lay this blood-red day of Cuzco—a day which Jim knew he would never forget so long as he lived.