“I warmly thank you for what you say, Don Eduardo,” I exclaimed; “but I cannot do what is proposed. If I am not guilty it will be more easy to die; but I trust that, as an Englishman, the government will not venture to put me to death unless my guilt is clearly proved.”
“In these times no respect is paid to persons,” he said. “You must not trust to such a hope; yet I would take a more satisfactory answer back to my colonel.”
“I can send no other answer than what I have given,” I replied; “you would from your heart despise me if I did.”
At this he looked very melancholy. “Well, I fear it must be so, yet I will do all I can for you,” he said, as again pressing my hand in token of his good-will, he rose to leave me.
Having ordered the sentries to return to their posts, he went to where my companion in misfortune was sitting. He conversed with him for some time; and though I had great confidence in Pedro, I was afraid that he might ultimately be tempted or threatened into compliance with the colonel’s demands. I wronged him; for I afterwards learned that he remained firm to his honour. The night passed away without any adventure; and wearied out by bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, though the hard ground was my couch, I slept till daylight. My conscience was, at all events, clear of wrong, and I never recollect to have slept so soundly. I awoke more refreshed than I had been for some time, and with a lighter heart in my bosom. Even hope revived, though I had little enough to ground it on. The air was pure and bracing, my nerves felt well strung, and the face of nature itself wore to my eyes a more cheerful aspect than it had done for many days. The troops advanced more rapidly than they had before done, and towards evening the spires of several churches rising from the plain, the rays of the sun lighting them brilliantly up, came in sight. They were in the town of San Pablo, the houses in which soon after appeared. As we approached, a number of the Spanish inhabitants came out to hear the news, and seemed highly gratified at the result of the expedition. The unfortunate Indians who were brought in as prisoners, chiefly attracted their attention; and I was shocked to hear the abuse they heaped on them. The miserable beings walked on with sullen and downcast looks, without deigning to reply. They had no hope—they had lost the day, and they knew the fate which awaited them.
As we marched through the unpaved, dirty streets, the inhabitants came out of their houses to look at us, and to offer the troops refreshments and congratulations. We found the town full of people of all colours, of whom a large number were Indians who had refused to join the revolt.
In the centre of the town was the usual large plaza or square; and on one side of it was a building which we were told was the prison. Towards it we were at once conducted. One side of the square was without buildings, a broad stream running past it, beyond which were cultivated fields, and gardens divided by walls. In the centre was a fountain, continually throwing up a jet of crystal water—a refreshing sight in that climate. The prison fronted the river. On one side was a church, and on the other the residence of the governor of the town, or of some other civil functionary. On either side of the buildings I have mentioned, were long rows of houses of various heights, though mostly of one story, very similar to those I have already described. Three streets, running at right angles to each other, led into the square. I have not without reason been thus particular in my description.
The soldiers who had us in charge, led us across the square, amid the shouts and jeers of the people. Even the blacks, the half-castes, and the Indians, came to stare at us with stupid wonder, calling us rebels, traitors, and robbers. The unfortunate Indians who had been made prisoners, went before us. The massive gates of the prison were thrown open, and they were forced within. We came last.
My heart sunk within me as we entered those gloomy walls. The interior was already crowded with human beings, many of them Indians, found with arms in their hands, or suspected of an intention of joining the rebels. We advanced along a low, arched gallery, intersected by several gates; and having passed two of them, we turned to the left, along a narrower passage, at the end of which we reached a small door. The gaoler, who showed the way with a torch, opened it; and, to my dismay, I saw that a steep flight of steps led down from it to some chambers below the ground.
“We are to be shut up in a dungeon, I fear,” I whispered to Pedro.