name was Montevo.

As the schooner was to sail at daylight, our friends remained with us,
and, sitting in the dingy cabin, chatted with Jose about the state of
the country. By listening to the talk I learned that General San
Martin was a great soldier from Buenos Ayres, who, having overthrown
the Spanish power in Chili, was collecting an army with which to drive
the Spanish rulers from Peru. At the same time another leader, General
Bolivar, was freeing the northern provinces, and it was thought that
the two generals, joining their forces, would sweep Peru from north to
south.

"And a good thing, too!" exclaimed Mr. Warren. "Perhaps we shall have
a little peace then!"

"Pooh! stuff!" said his friend; "things will be worse than ever! These
people can't rule themselves. They're like disorderly schoolboys, and
need a firm master who knows how to use the birch. I am all for a
stern master."

"So am I," agreed Jose, "if he's just, which the Spaniards aren't."

"That is so," cried Mr. Warren. "What would our property be worth if
it wasn't for the British frigate lying in the harbour? Tell me that,
Maxwell; tell me that, sir! They'd confiscate the whole lot, and clap
us into prison for being paupers," and the thumbs revolved like the
sails of a windmill.

So the talk continued until daybreak, when the skipper, knocking at the
cabin door, informed us that the schooner was ready to sail; so we all
went on deck, where the kindly merchants bade us good-bye, and hoped we
should have a pleasant voyage.

"Keep the youngster out of mischief, Joseph. There's plenty of food
for powder without using him," were Mr. Warren's last words as he
stepped ashore, followed by his friend.

It was the first time I had been on board a ship, and I knew absolutely
nothing of what the sailors were doing; but presently the boat began to
move, the merchants, waving their hands, shouted a last good-bye, and
very quickly we passed to the outer harbour.

I have been in many dangers and suffered numerous hardships since then,
some of which are narrated in this book, but I have never felt quite so
wretched and miserable as on the morning of our departure from Callao.

Wishing to divert my thoughts, Jose pointed out the beauties of the bay
and the shore; but my gaze went far inland--to the lonely home where my
mother sat with her grief, to the mighty cordillera where my father lay
dead. Time softened the pain, and brought back the pleasu