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!”