“Welcome was the first sight of the main land after months spent upon a small island. When we reached Valparaiso, to our dismay the price of goat-skins and furs had fallen, and in place of receiving the expected several thousand dollars in return for my goods, I quietly pocketed six hundred dollars, and swallowed my disappointment. The goat-skins brought one real (12¹⁄₂ cents), and in some cases two reals each, while the seals commanded from three to six reals.
“Not caring to follow a roving life any longer, I proceeded to the capital of Chili, the beautiful Santiago, and for a time found entertainment in pursuing various trades. About this time I made the acquaintance of a young artist from North America. Troubles had driven him, like myself, from a good home, and, being often together, our attachment became such that it was spoken of by every one. One evening, as we walked arm in arm along the Tauamar, and near Fort Santa Lucia, he pointed in the direction of a nunnery, and said, ‘Within those walls is a young lady that I would have married long ago, but her parents, despising one they were pleased to call a gringo, placed her in that building, fearing that she might elope with her lover to some other part of the country. Once or twice I have received letters from her, and, like myself, she does not care to live longer, and unless we can be united soon, nothing but the death of the suicide is left to me.’ I was greatly affected at this disclosure, which only served to bind our friendship still stronger. I was not the only friend from whom the young artist could draw sympathy. A daring North American, armed with a Colt’s revolver and a fine key-hole saw, repaired one dark night to the nunnery, scaled its walls, and tearing off the tiles, cut a hole through the porous wood-roof, and took from the praying-room the young betrothed, who had made a vow to her conjuror to resort to that place each night to pray until her prayers were answered, but in a very different manner than the priest would have wished, had he known the blessing asked for.
“The next day the lovers were united, and bade me farewell forever. Before the vigilantes were summoned to retake the couple or arrest the perpetrator of the deed, against whom injured Catholicism raised a loud cry, the bride and bridegroom, mounted on fleet horses, were on their way to Bolivia, where they are now probably residing.
“It was proved that, at the time of the rescue, our countryman, the artist, was in some other place; and being his friend, and known to be ingenious, I was pointed out as the culprit. People became excited, and while the vigilantes were about, a trusty friend brought me two horses, and volunteering to become my travelling companion, we set out for the Argentine Republic, that lay on the eastern side of the Andes. The Uspallata and Portillo passes were watched, and nothing remained but to follow down the valley of Tupungato to the Planchon Pass. Without sustenance for our animals, and but a small supply of food, we commenced a journey that the old arrieros themselves would have turned back from. The lofty sides of the mountains hemmed us in, and we followed on, day after day, until our horses died, and we were on the point of starvation. At last we reached the Planchon, which is close upon Patagonia, and crossing this flat mountain, which is composed of light gravel, resembling snuff in color and fineness of grain, we came upon a little fort, from which a few soldiers ran on seeing us, shouting, ‘The Indians! the Indians!’ We left them after quieting their fears and receiving a little food.
“The next day two Indians approached, and uttered repeatedly the word ‘amite’ (friend). They kindly undertook to guide us to Mendoza, a town that lay one hundred and eighty leagues to the north. These two savages captured with their boliadores several ostriches and one or two guanacos, upon the flesh of which we feasted. When within two days of the town, our guides pointed out the true direction for us to follow, and, shaking hands with them, we parted.
“Upon arriving in Mendoza I found employment for a while, but, not liking the place, went north to San Juan, while my friend returned to Chili. And here I have lived for nine years, having been married for the last six or seven to the daughter of Don ——, an old soldier, who has fought in the battles of the revolutions which spring up every few years in this province.”
Alter returning to North America, I wrote many letters of inquiry for the benefit of Don Guillermo. Several of these letters were answered. Others, probably, never reached the destinations for which they were intended.
I found that a portion of my friend’s family were still living, and their heartfelt letters to me amply repaid the exertions I had made to discover their residences. The history of Don Guillermo has a touch of romance about it. One person wrote as follows: “F. D——g (the father of Don G.) was a younger son of the high chamberlain to the King of Saxony, and as his elder brother took the office and title of his father, he, F., took to the army, as is usual in that country, and, just before the close of our revolutionary war, came to New York as major of a regiment of Hessians. After peace was declared, he remained, and married a wealthy lady,” &c., &c.
Thus much regarding his parentage. The cause that drove him from the land that he even now adores, remains a secret with the few in whose breasts it will be sure of a safe keeping.
From another quarter I received the following lines, which were written by the cooper of the Henry Astor, who took charge of the ship on her homeward passage: “In looking over my journal of notes of that voyage, I have not mentioned the coming on board of the young man (Don Guillermo) at Galápagos Islands; but on the 7th of October, 1842, I have merely mentioned that we lost, by desertion, while at Dominica (one of the Marquesas Islands), a boy. The particulars of which I recorded in the ship’s log book.