coast, where a small patriot detachment had landed under the
command of Colonel Miller.

"A countryman of ours, Jack," remarked Jose, "and, from what I hear, one
of the finest fellows in South America. The patriots think almost as
much of him as they do of the famous Lord Cochrane."

"What is he like?"

"I haven't seen him; but he is quite young--not twenty-four yet--though
he has been soldiering for the last eight years. He served under
Wellington in Spain, fought all through the Chilian War, was Cochrane's
right-hand man at the capture of Valdivia, and now he has come to help
us. He has been shipwrecked, taken prisoner, wounded times out of
number, blown up by a powder explosion--after which he was confined for
six weeks in a dark room and fed through a plaster mask--and nearly
killed by fever. I should say he has crowded as much excitement into his
life as any man in the world."

"He seems to be a lively customer!"

"He is," laughed Jose; "and nothing will ever kill him, in my opinion!"

"Don't you think we might join him?" I asked, my blood being fired by
Jose's description.

"Well," said my companion, after a pause, "that's what I was about to
suggest. You must throw in somewhere, and I'm not over anxious for
Sorillo to get hold of you. He's a cruel fellow, though kind enough to
us, and all the cut-throats in the country are likely to flock to him.
I'm sorry for the Spaniards who fall into his hands!"

Quilca was rather opposed to our plans, but finding us determined, he at
last agreed that we should accompany him on the next expedition.

Day had but just broken when we rode from the valley and I turned to take
a farewell glance at the place which had been my home so long. I had not
been altogether unhappy there, yet I was glad to go into the world again,
to take the first step on the road to Lima and my mother.

The march to Pisco passed without incident. We suffered horribly, it is
true, from thirst, and from choking, blinding sandstorms; but there were
no Spaniards in that desolate district to bar our way.

A few hours' march from the town we fell in with some Indian scouts, and
learned from them that the Patriots lay encamped in the Chincha Baja, a
beautiful valley. Our joy at these tidings was, however, soon dashed by
the report that they were in a deplorable condition--suffering from fever
and ague, and unable to move.

The gloomy picture was not overdrawn. The valley was a hospital, bu