These were the last words of the dying Roderigo. Just one last low sobbing sigh and all was over. Tom wept a little now as he stretched the unhappy man’s arms by his side, and closed his eyelids. Then he quietly took his leave.
Captain Herbert’s joy at the news Tom brought him hardly knew any bounds. There was no going on board for either of them that night; and they sat till far into the small hours of the morning, talking of the past and laying schemes for the future. Or rather considering one particular scheme, which was of Tom’s proposing, and ultimately acceded to by Captain Herbert.
It was, in short, a plan of rescuing the boy, or rather young man, Bernard, from the tribe of warlike Indians in which he was a prisoner.
“Fain would I go with you,” said the captain, “for I fear the danger will be great; but I am feeble and far from well. I should but hinder you and clog your every movement.”
“Captain Herbert,” said Tom, “I am young if you are getting old. I am healthy and strong and I am not afraid of anything. I shall go as a hunter—go as my dear uncle went, see all he saw, do all and perhaps more than he did, and return, I doubt not, in company with your son Bernard.”
“May Heaven be with you then,” said the captain.
“I am not superstitious, dear sir,” continued Tom; “but the strange dream I had has never ceased to haunt me, and if I am instrumental in bringing back poor Bernard to his father and sister I shall be happy as long as I live.”
So it was agreed between them that all preparations should be at once made for Tom’s expedition into the wilds of the strange land where Bernard was supposed to live, and in a few days after the burial of Roderigo, whom the captain had easily identified as his old steward, the Caledonia’s head was once more turned back towards the shores of Ecuador.
. . . . . . .
What a sad and eventful history is that of this lovely land of Ecuador! There is romance, too, in every page of it; but a romance, alas! that is all throughout stained with blood. Not the blood spilled in battle and with honour, not the blood of patriots and heroes, but blood spilled in civil wars, in petty strife, and the blood of murder and massacre.