Chapter Four.
Approach my home—A welcome—My sister Norah—The Indian’s wound dressed—He takes his medicine from Norah—His gratitude—My family—A happy evening—Candela leaves us—Our relative, Don Fernando Serrano—Gerald and I pay him a visit—The Barawa Indians—Our cousins—Donna Isabella Monterola—I practise with the lance—Win Donna Isabella’s approval—We take our departure—Swim across a river—Put to flight by a boa-constrictor—Travel along the borders of a lake—See Dr Stutterheim—He accompanies us home—Takes Kanimapo in hand—The fate of Donna Paola Salabriata—Start on a shooting expedition with the doctor—Encounter a huge anaconda—I shoot it, and save the doctor—Carry off the skin in triumph.
We were now approaching my father’s house, and I recognised several points in the surrounding scenery. The northern end of the lake came into view, bordered by lofty palms and other graceful trees, and I remembered well the shape of the mountains which rose above it.
Tim kept a watchful eye on our prisoner, who, though badly wounded, might still, he thought it probable, attempt to make his escape. He had not spoken as yet, but I observed his dark eye wandering on every side, either in the hope of rescue, or as if considering in what direction he should fly, should he be able to free himself from the thongs by which he was secured to the mule. I was surprised that his followers should have deserted him in the cowardly way they had done. He was a fine-looking savage, with features more refined and regular than those of the Indians I had hitherto seen. But his countenance was sullen; and, from his resolute aspect, he probably expected that he would meet with the fate the Spaniards invariably inflicted on their captives, and be immediately put to death on our arrival at our destination. I suspect that he was in ignorance as to who we were, and supposed that we belonged to a party of patriots; and if so, he must have been surprised on discovering the smallness of our numbers.
Tim led his mule, constantly looking back to assure himself that he had not succeeded in loosening the thongs which secured his arms and legs. At the same time Tim continued talking to me, and pointing out various objects which I thought I remembered.
At length he exclaimed,—“Sure, Masther Barry, there’s the masther’s house; and mighty glad they’ll all be to see you safe;” and he pointed to a good-sized house with a broad verandah in front, shaded by trees, and standing in the midst of a large, well-irrigated garden. Though smaller than I had supposed, I at once knew the house to be that in which I was born. “And beyond it there, higher up the hill, you see Mr Concannan’s mansion—Castle Concannan, we call it, you’ll remember—and a pretty dacent castle it is, with its high, thick walls and courtyard; it would take a pretty strong earthquake to shake it down. He has made it stronger still, by blocking up some of the lower windows.”
In our eagerness to reach home, we pushed on as rapidly as our mules could move. We were yet at a little distance, when, riding on ahead, I caught sight of the figure of a black woman holding up a chubby little boy in her arms. I felt sure that he must be my youngest brother,—the baby, as he was called,—whom I had never seen, and that the woman must be our nurse, Josefa. She gazed at me, doubting whether the tall young man she saw approaching could be the little boy who had gone away but a few years before. The baby, who was a good bouncing one, shook his rattle, and seemed satisfied that I was some one he ought to expect.
Josefa knew me the moment I uttered her name; and as I sprang from my mule, she and little Denis, who was named after our uncle, threw their arms round my neck. We then hastened on towards the front gate, Josefa shrieking out in her delight,—“They are come! they are come! It is Señor Barry!” Her voice was heard at the house; and my father and mother, with my sister Norah and the rest of the family, guessing who we were, hurried out to welcome us.
