While on the march I had resolved to try them with the charm of the silver key; but, to my dismay, I found it was no longer round my neck. A part of the chain was still there, but it had snapped off, and the key was gone, sunk probably in the dreadful morass. However, turning to one of the fellows, I said, first in Spanish, then in the patois used by Sorillo's men, "We are officers in the Patriot army, and friends of Raymon Sorillo and the Silver Key; who are you?"
He shook his head solemnly, and looked at me with a blank stare.
"Try him with English, Juan," laughed Alzura. "I wonder where he lives when he's at home? Perhaps he knows Portuguese. I'll have a shot at him."
If Alzura knew Portuguese—which I rather doubted—the Indian was ignorant of that language, and was quite unmoved by my comrade's flood of oratory.
Perhaps he thought Alzura was singing. But my companion in adversity did not take the suggestion in good part; indeed it seemed to annoy him.
"Never mind," said I cheerfully; "they can't march us about for ever. We are bound to meet with civilized beings some time or other."
"But these fellows may belong to the Royalists! Many of the Indians on this side of the mountains do. Then we shall be taken back to the island!"
"We shall have guides across the morass, though; that's one thing to be thankful for."
"And be put in irons! Perhaps you think that's a subject for cheerfulness?"
"We shouldn't be able to risk our lives again, at all events."