Don Cassiodoro, on seeing the colonel on the ground, went out with my father and brought him into the house, that his wound might be attended to. The spear had torn his coat, but, excepting a slight scratch on the side, had not otherwise harmed him. He begged, however, that his wound might be dressed; when Don Cassiodoro advised that he should go to bed, which he appeared very willing to do.
I waited, in hopes that the Patriot officers would rally the troops and drive out the Spaniards before the arrival of the main body; for, after all, those who had entered formed but a small party, and were unaccompanied by infantry. So completely panic-stricken, however, had our men become, that it was found impossible to make head against the Spaniards; indeed, a considerable number of them had fled from the town. Most of the officers, as well as the men, saw that their wisest course would be to retreat to the southward, where they could join the army. Thus Popayan once more fell into the hands of the Spaniards.
Chapter Seven.
Don Cassiodoro conceals my father and me—Fearful treatment of the inhabitants by the Spanish soldiery—I visit our house in disguise—Mr Laffan’s mode of preserving the house—I meet Paul Lobo in disguise—News of my relations—He goes towards our home—I visit the market—Nearly betray myself—Paul tells us that Dr Cazalla and the Monteverdes are made prisoners and sent to Bogota—Plans for rescuing them—I return to Don Cassiodoros—My father determines to send Mr Laffan and me to Bogota—The Spaniards search for my father—Our host conceals him and me—I return to our house and prepare with Mr Laffan for our expedition—I go back to Don Cassiodoro’s, and assume the character of a young english milord—The dominie and I, attended by Domingo and Lion, start from the hotel—Journey along the valley of the Cauca—Stop at Calli.
A reign of terror now commenced in Popayan. The city was filled with Spanish troops, which took up their quarters in the houses lately occupied by the Patriots. A considerable number of the latter made their escape, but numbers were cut down in the streets, and others were captured and thrust into prison. The square was literally strewed with the dead.
My father proposed to return home, but Don Cassiodoro insisted that he should remain.
“You will be safe here,” he said; “for no one will suspect me of being capable of harbouring disaffected persons; and I owe you a debt of gratitude, which I can only partially repay by concealing you from your enemies.”
“But I am a non-combatant, and it is my duty to attend to the wounded,” said my father.