and pitiless than the stoniest of barren ground. Castro
did not mind in the least, but lay on his back looking at the starry
sky and placidly chewing his coca.

"Come, lieutenant," said he briskly at the end of an hour, "it is time
to mount;" and we were soon plodding on as patiently as before.

It was nine o'clock when we finally arrived at Ilo. It may have been
owing to my own tired state, but I thought I had never seen such a
miserable and desolate spot in all my life. The houses were wretched
mud-built hovels, and the few people in the place looked woebegone
beyond belief.

The three brigs were in keeping with the village, being old and
worm-eaten, and the craziest craft imaginable. I would not have sailed
one across a pond. However, I sought out the commander of this ragged
squadron, and gave him the colonel's order.

On reading it his face brightened, and he declared his intention of
running out to sea that very afternoon.

"He doesn't look much of a hero," observed Castro; "but," with an
expressive glance at the three floating coffins, "I imagine there are
few braver men in Peru."

"One need not be brave to seize any chance of getting away from this
depressing place," said I. "I believe I could easily take the risk of
being drowned if there were no other way of escape."

"You will have the risk, lieutenant, if we are to go afloat in these
brigs; but my opinion is that the bottoms will drop out of them before
they reach Arica."

"In that case we must either beat La Hera or be annihilated."

"That's what it looks like," replied Castro coolly.

We stabled our horses in a tumble-down shed, fed and watered them, and,
as it was impossible to leave till they were rested, lay down to snatch
a brief sleep on the ground. We were invited to use the floor of a
hovel for a couch, but after glancing at it, declined with great
politeness and many sonorous words of thanks.

When we awoke the brigs had disappeared, and a roaring wind was
sweeping down from the north.

"They'll never make headway against that," remarked Castro. "We can
return to the colonel and tell him his brigs are at the bottom of the
sea. There will be a pretty tune played presently, and La Hera will
provide the music."

To a sailor, perhaps, the danger would not have seemed formidable; but
standing on that desolate beach, listening to the hurricane rush of the
wind, I could not but think Castro was right. And if indeed he had
prophe