"You will have the risk, lieutenant, if we are to go afloat in these brigs; but my opinion is that the bottoms will drop out of them before they reach Arica."
"In that case we must either beat La Hera or be annihilated."
"That's what it looks like," replied Castro coolly.
We stabled our horses in a tumble-down shed, fed and watered them, and, as it was impossible to leave till they were rested, lay down to snatch a brief sleep on the ground. We were invited to use the floor of a hovel for a couch, but after glancing at it, declined with great politeness and many sonorous words of thanks.
When we awoke the brigs had disappeared, and a roaring wind was sweeping down from the north.
"They'll never make headway against that," remarked Castro. "We can return to the colonel and tell him his brigs are at the bottom of the sea. There will be a pretty tune played presently, and La Hera will provide the music."
To a sailor, perhaps, the danger would not have seemed formidable; but standing on that desolate beach, listening to the hurricane rush of the wind, I could not but think Castro was right. And if indeed he had prophesied truly, then was our little force in sad straits. Burdened with sick, hampered by fleeing patriots, encumbered by prisoners, with half his troops weakened as usual by ague, the English colonel could neither fight nor flee. What, then, could he do? By this time every one knew him too well to dream he would surrender.
"Castro," said I, "we carry bad news, and bad news flies apace. Let us keep up the reputation of the old proverb. Half an hour or so may make all the difference in the world."
He made a grimace as if to say that a few minutes more or less would matter little; but he saddled his horse promptly, nevertheless, and was ready to start as soon as I.
"I reckon," he said, "that we may strike the road from Tacna to Arica by midnight to-morrow, unless our animals founder by the way. Can you trust your horse?"