CHAPTER XIV.
BLOCKADE OF CALLAO HARBOR.
Louis Dartmoor and Carl Saunders were early astir at the home of the latter’s parents in La Punta the next morning. The Peruvian residence of the American captain was a suite of rooms in a large, rambling hotel, situated at the extreme tip of the narrow peninsula that juts into the Pacific west of Callao, and forms, with San Lorenzo Island, three miles distant, a shelter for the bay.
It was only a stone’s throw from the hotel to the beach, and as was their frequent practice, the boys donned their bathing suits in the bedrooms, and running down the rear stairs, took a dip in the ocean before breakfast, diving through the inrushing breakers and swimming out some distance from the shore. They were in the water about a half hour and had returned to the rooms by half-past six. Faustina, Mrs. Saunders’s cook,—the suite occupied by the Americans resembled in many respects the apartment house of the United States, inasmuch as they had their independent kitchen and dining room,—had just arrived from Callao, and had put the water for the coffee over to boil. So the boys, having plenty of time on their hands before breakfast could be ready, dressed at their leisure, after a brisk rub-down with coarse towels, then went out on the broad veranda, where Louis told Carl of some of his experiences while on his one voyage as purser’s clerk; then they began discussing the return of Harvey.
The veranda was unusually wide, even for a South American country, and ran the entire length of the hotel. From the north end it commanded a view of the bay and also of the entrance to the harbor, which was past the north end of San Lorenzo. The channel between that island and La Punta was so strewn with reefs as to be dangerous for any except very light-draught vessels. When they had reached the end of the veranda, a light mist had obscured most of the bay, and it was quite dense to seaward; but while they were talking this mist gradually disappeared under the influence of the sun’s rays, and a breeze had commenced blowing from the south, so that within a quarter of an hour the waves had turned from a dull gray to bright indigo, except close in shore, where they broke in white foam before dashing on the stony beach.
Louis, happening to glance toward the end of San Lorenzo soon after this transformation was wrought, seized Carl’s arm and gave a yell as he pointed in the direction where ships round the headland to enter port. “Look! Look!” he said.
Carl did so, then gasped, “The Chileans!”
“Yes, the Chileans! The blockading fleet! One, two, three, four, five ships!”
“Oh, Louis!”
“Yes, Carl!”
“Isn’t that the Huascar?”