An officer came running up, a very small officer, who, as soon as he saw who the intruders were, exclaimed, “Good morning, boys”; and recognizing General Matajente, they at once felt at their ease.
“You are out rather early, are you not?” he asked. “But you are in time to witness something that I am sure will interest you. How would you like to see the Blanco Encalada blown out of water?”
This question was asked in a whisper; and without waiting for it to be answered, the diminutive general turned and walked down to the beach, closely followed by the three thoroughly astonished and interested lads.
A dozen officers and a score of soldiers and sailors were gathered near the water line; but towering above them all was a figure that the boys at once recognized in the growing light, and Harvey, exclaiming: “Why that’s John Longmore! I haven’t seen him since the Huascar was captured!” darted forward and seized his old-time friend by the hand.
The man thus addressed had once been a recluse on San Lorenzo Island, having lived there in solitude from the time of his wife’s death until the outbreak of the war with Chile. He was an American by birth, but he had so loved his Peruvian wife, for whom he had abandoned the sea, that for her sake he had sworn allegiance to this South American country.
When war had been declared he enlisted on board the Huascar and was one of the crew during all her famous engagements. Wounded during the fight off Point Angamos, he was sent home; and soon thereafter he followed Captain Matajente into the ranks of Pierola’s forces, and took part in the famous charge upon the artillery in Lima.
The boys had known him while he lived on San Lorenzo Island, frequently rowing over to the rugged place where his hermit’s hut was perched; they had been with him during some of the exciting scenes of the early war and had witnessed his daring in Lima. But since old John had become a captain in the Peruvian army they had not met him as frequently, and a week before Harvey’s return he had been sent north on recruiting duty; so the lad had not been able to greet him until this morning.
He grasped Harvey cordially by the hand, exchanged a few words with him, then with Carl and Louis, and finally saying, “You are just in time,” he left them to attend to the work in hand.
A remarkable sight met their gaze when they turned from greeting their old-time friend to learn what was going forward. For a space of several yards the beach appeared to have been transformed into a market stall. The sand and stones were covered with meats and fresh vegetables, of a quality that would have made them tempting even before the blockade had transformed ordinary food products into delicacies, and of a quantity that bespoke a large outlay of money. Rich red shoulders of beef, the fat white and firm, told of the slaughter of a young Andean bull; rounded joints of lamb and mutton spoke of importations from the fertile grazing lands of the interior. Quail, snipe, and plover, which all knew must have come from the mountain valleys, were piled promiscuously, and so were barnyard fowl of the western slope. There was much green stuff in sight—corn, sweet potatoes, cauliflower, and beans; baskets were filled with tomatoes, paltas, and the tempting chirimoyas.
The boys looked upon all this in astonishment, marvelling equally concerning the use to which it was about to be put, and the means by which it had been procured. In the rapidly growing light, they saw other strange sights—articles in marked contrast with the wealth of edibles: barrels marked “gunpowder” and kegs filled with even more powerful explosives. Near these was a peculiar machine, resembling druggists’ scales inverted, and minus the weighing pans. Drawn up on the beach, so that only the stern rested in the water, was a large lighter. A number of sentinels surrounded this strange conglomeration and also the soldiers, sailors, and officers of both army and navy, who were gathered near.