As Caracas was still held by the Republicans, I was to be taken, I found, to La Guayra, on the coast, and from thence sent to wherever the general happened to be. It occurred to me that by the time I could reach him, even should I tell him everything I knew it would be of little use, as the patriot leaders might by that time have completely changed their plans.

From an unusual oversight on their part, my captors had not thought of searching me, as they supposed all the letters I was carrying had been thrown away in the case. I determined, however, to destroy the despatches on the first opportunity.

I cannot attempt to describe my journey, for my wound pained me so much that I could think of little else. I was constantly on the watch for an opportunity of destroying the papers hidden in my bosom, and was now sorry that I had taken them out of the despatch-case. We sometimes slept in the open air; and my wound, as I lay on the hard ground, caused me so much pain that I could scarcely sleep. At other times we stopped at guard-houses, where I was devoured by fleas and other insects; for the men who escorted me were afraid of entering the villages, the inhabitants being generally favourable to the patriot cause. We of course kept at a distance from Caracas, but I heard from my guards that General Morales was marching from Valencia with a powerful force for the purpose of recapturing it; and on the very day that we reached La Guayra, I was further informed that he had entered the city and put the whole of the patriot garrison to the sword. “Such will be the fate,” added my informant in a triumphant tone, “of all who oppose our rightful sovereign, the King of Spain.” I thought it wise to make no reply to this remark.

Shortly afterwards we reached a strong castle, close to the sea,—to the governor of which I was delivered up. Though a Spaniard, he cast, I thought, a glance of commiseration at me; and he whispered to an officer in attendance—“Poor youth! he looks ill and weak. He has but a few days to live, I suspect.”

I had, indeed, suffered much from the pain of my wound and the fatigue of the journey; the food, also, with which I had been furnished, was insufficient and coarse. I was nevertheless placed in a dungeon, but I was supplied with a bed and bedding, and a chair and table, by the compassionate governor. There was also a small window, strongly barred, through which the fresh sea-breeze blew into my cell, so that I was better off than I had expected.

All this time I had never been searched, and had still the despatches about me. Better food than I had hitherto been able to obtain was brought to me; and had I not known that the fate of most prisoners captured as I had been was to be put to death, I should have been tolerably contented, in the hope of recovering, and of some day or other regaining my liberty.

Chapter Nine.

In prison—My jailer gives me unpleasant information—Sufferings from my wound—I ask for a surgeon—The doctor appears—Plan for escaping—The doctor again comes to me—The jailer informs me that I am to be strangled—Visited by a friar, who proves to be an old friend—Escape—Reach the “Flying Fish”—Joined by the doctor and padre—Voyage up the Orinoco—Land at Angostura—Proceed on in a canoe—Scenes on the river—Adventure with peccaries—Turtle-catching at night—Hunt for turtles’ eggs—Mode of obtaining oil from them—Alligators and vultures—Land and proceed to the camp.