The Rover of the Andes: A Tale of Adventure on South America Read online

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  The Rover of the Andes, a Tale of Adventure in South America, by R.M.Ballantyne.

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  This book is well-written and carries the reader right up to the lastchapter, always panting to know what ever will happen next. It describesa journey across central South America, at about the latitude of BuenosAires in Argentina. Lots of different sorts of nasty happenings, andnasty people are encountered, and the problems are overcome one by one.It seems quite realistic, but at anyrate it is a good product of thewriter's imagination and research. I enjoyed transcribing it very much.

  Robert Michael Ballantyne was born in 1825 and died in 1894. He waseducated at the Edinburgh Academy, and in 1841 he became a clerk withthe Hudson Bay Company, working at the Red River Settlement in NorthenCanada until 1847, arriving back in Edinburgh in 1848. The letters hehad written home were very amusing in their description of backwoodslife, and his family publishing connections suggested that he shouldconstruct a book based on these letters. Three of his most enduringbooks were written over the next decade, "The Young Fur Traders","Ungava", "The Hudson Bay Company", and were based on his experienceswith the HBC. In this period he also wrote "The Coral island" and"Martin Rattler", both of these taking place in places never visited byBallantyne. Having been chided for small mistakes he made in thesebooks, he resolved always to visit the places he wrote about. Withthese books he became known as a great master of literature intended forteenagers. He researched the Cornish Mines, the London Fire Brigade,the Postal Service, the Railways, the laying down of submarine telegraphcables, the construction of light-houses, the light-ship service, thelife-boat service, South Africa, Norway, the North Sea fishing fleet,ballooning, deep-sea diving, Algiers, and many more, experiencing thelives of the men and women in these settings by living with them forweeks and months at a time, and he lived as they lived.

  He was a very true-to-life author, depicting the often squalid scenes heencountered with great care and attention to detail. His young readerslooked forward eagerly to his next books, and through the 1860s and1870s there was a flow of books from his pen, sometimes four in a year,all very good reading. The rate of production diminished in the lastten or fifteen years of his life, but the quality never failed.

  He published over ninety books under his own name, and a few books forvery young children under the pseudonym "Comus".

  For today's taste his books are perhaps a little too religious, and whatwe would nowadays call "pi". In part that was the way people wrote inthose days, but more important was the fact that in his days at the RedRiver Settlement, in the wilds of Canada, he had been a littledissolute, and he did not want his young readers to be unmindful of howthey ought to behave, as he felt he had been.

  Some of his books were quite short, little over 100 pages. These booksformed a series intended for the children of poorer parents, having lesspocket-money. These books are particularly well-written and researched,because he wanted that readership to get the very best possible fortheir money. They were published as six series, three books in eachseries. Typical of these series is "On the Coast".

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  THE ROVER OF THE ANDES, A TALE OF ADVENTURE IN SOUTH AMERICA, BY R.M.BALLANTYNE.

  CHAPTER ONE.

  A TALE OF ADVENTURE IN SOUTH AMERICA.

  AT THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAIN RANGE.

  Towards the close of a bright and warm day, between fifty and sixtyyears ago, a solitary man might have been seen, mounted on a mule,wending his way slowly up the western slopes of the Andes.

  Although decidedly inelegant and unhandsome, this specimen of the humanfamily was by no means uninteresting. He was so large, and his legswere so long, that the contrast between him and the little mule which hebestrode was ridiculous. He was what is sometimes styled "loosely puttogether;" nevertheless, the various parts of him were so massive andmuscular that, however loosely he might have been built up, most menwould have found it rather difficult to take him down. Although wantingin grace, he was by no means repulsive, for his face, which wasornamented with a soft flaxen beard and moustache of juvenile texture,expressed wonderful depths of the milk of human kindness.

  He wore boots with the trousers tucked into them, a grey tunic, orhunting coat, belted at the waist, and a broad-brimmed straw hat, orsombrero.

  Evidently the times in which he travelled were troublous, for, besideshaving a brace of large pistols in his belt, he wore a cavalry sabre athis side. As if to increase the eccentricity of his appearance, hecarried a heavy cudgel, by way of riding-whip; but it might have beenobserved that, however much he flourished this whip about, he neveractually applied it to his steed.

  On reaching a turn of the road at the brow of an eminence the mulestopped, and, letting its head droop till almost as pendent as its tail,silently expressed a desire for repose. The cavalier stepped off. Itwould convey a false impression to say that he dismounted. The muleheaved a sigh.

  "Poor little thing!" murmured the traveller in a soft, low voice, and ina language which even a mule might have recognised as English; "you maywell sigh. I really feel ashamed of myself for asking you to carry sucha mass of flesh and bone. But it's your own fault--you know it is--foryou _won't_ be led. I'm quite willing to walk if you will only follow.Come--let us try!"

  Gently, insinuatingly, persuasively, the traveller touched the reins,and sought to lead the way. He might as well have tried to lead one ofthe snow-clad peaks of the mighty Cordillera which towered into the skybefore him. With ears inclining to the neck, a resolute expression inthe eyes, his fore-legs thrown forward and a lean slightly backward, themule refused to move.

  "Come now, _do_ be amiable; there's a good little thing! Come on," saidthe strong youth, applying more force.

  Peruvian mules are not open to flattery. The advance of the fore-legsbecame more decided, the lean backward more pronounced, the ears wentflat down, and incipient passion gleamed in the eyes.

  "Well, well, have it your own way," exclaimed the youth, with a laugh,"but don't blame me for riding you so much."

  He once more re-m-; no, we forgot--he once more lifted his right legover the saddle and sat down. Fired, no doubt, with the glow ofconscious victory the mule moved on and up at a more lively pace thanbefore.

  Thus the pair advanced until they gained a rocky eminence, whence therich Peruvian plains could be seen stretching far-away toward theglowing horizon, where the sun was about to dip into the Pacific.

  Here again the mule stopped, and the rider getting off sat down on arock to take a look at the level horizon of the west--for he had reacheda spot where the next turn in the road would partially shut out theplains and enclose him among the giant mountains.

  As he sat there meditating, while the mule cropped the herbage at hisside, he observed two riders a considerable way down the circuitous roadby which he had ascended--a man and a boy, apparently.

  Whether it was the fine stalwart figure of the man that influenced him,or the mere presence of wayfarers in such a solitary place, ourtraveller could not tell, but he certainly felt unusual interest, andnot only watched the pair as they approached, but sat still until theycame up. As they drew near he perceived that the smaller of the two,whom at a distance he had taken for a boy, was an Indian girl, who,according to custom, bestrode her mule like a man. Her companion was ahandsome Spanish-looking man--a Peruvian or it might be a Chilian--withfine masculine features and magnificent black eyes. He
was well-armed,and, to judge from his looks, seemed a little suspicious of the tallEnglishman.

  The hearty salutation of the latter, however, in bad Spanish, at oncedissipated his suspicions. Replying in the same tongue, he then added,in good English:--

  "You are a stranger in this land, I perceive."

  "In truth I am," replied the other, while the Peruvian dismounted,"nevertheless, I ought scarcely to admit the fact, for I was born inPeru. This perhaps may seem contradictory, but it is not more so thanyour being apparently a native of the soil yet speaking English like anEnglishman."

  "From which it follows," returned the Peruvian, "that men ought not tojudge altogether by appearances. But you are wrong in supposing me anative of the soil, and yet--I am not an Englishman. I have got a giftof language, however--at least I feel myself equally at home in English,Indian, Spanish, and Portuguese, which is not to be wondered at, seeingthat I have been forced to talk in all four languages for nigh a quarterof a century."

  "Then you must have been but a boy when you came here," returned theEnglishman, "for you seem to be not yet middle-aged."

  "Right, I was indeed a mere boy when I came to this land."

  "And I was a boy of seven when I left it to be educated in Europe,"returned the Englishman. "It is sixteen years since then, and I hadfeared that my memory might have failed to recognise the old landmarks,but I am rejoiced to find that I remember every turn of the road as if Ihad left home but yesterday."

  We have said that the tall youth's face was not handsome, but the glowof animation which rested on it when he spoke of home, seemed for amoment to transform it.

  "Your home, then, cannot be far distant?" remarked the Peruvian, with apeculiar look that might have attracted the attention of the younger manif his gaze had not at the moment been directed to the Indian girl, who,during the foregoing conversation, had remained motionless on her mulewith her eyes looking pensively at the ground, like a beautiful statuein bronze.

  "My home is close at hand," said the Englishman, when the question hadbeen repeated; "unless memory plays me false, two more turns in the roadwill reveal it."

  The earnest look of the Peruvian deepened as he asked if the Estate ofPassamanka was his home.

  "Yes, you know it, then?" exclaimed the youth eagerly; "and perhaps youknew my father too?"

  "Yes, indeed; there are few people within a hundred miles of the placewho did not know the famous sugar-mill and its hospitable owner, SenhorArmstrong. But excuse me," added the Peruvian, with some hesitation,"you are aware, I suppose, that your father is dead?"

  "Ay, well do I know that," returned the other in a deeper tone. "It isto take my father's place at the mills that I have been hastily summonedfrom England. Alas! I know nothing of the work, and it will be sorelyagainst the grain to attempt the carrying on of the old business in thedesolate old home."

  "Of course you also know," continued the Peruvian, "that the country isdisturbed just now--that the old smouldering enmity between Chili andPeru has broken forth again in open war."

  "I could not have passed through the low country without finding thatout. Indeed," said the youth, glancing at his belt with ahalf-apologetic smile, "these weapons, which are so unfamiliar to myhand, and so distasteful to my spirit, are proof that I, at least, donot look for a time of peace. I accoutred myself thus on landing, atthe urgent advice of a friend, though my good cudgel--which has sufficedfor all my needs hitherto--is more to my mind, besides being useful as amountain staff. But why do you ask? Is there much probability of thebelligerents coming so far among the hills?"

  "Wherever carrion is to be found, there you may be sure the vultureswill congregate. There is booty to be got here among the hills; andwhether the soldiers belong to the well-trained battalions of Chili, orthe wretched levies of Peru, they are always prepared, for plunder--ready to make hay while the sun shines. I only hope, Senhor Armstrong,that--but come, let us advance and see before the sun sets."

  Turning abruptly as he spoke, the man mounted his mule and rode brisklyup the winding road, followed by the Indian girl and our Englishman.

  At the second turning of the road they reached a spot where an openingin the hills revealed the level country below, stretching away intoillimitable distance.

  As had been anticipated, they here came upon the mills they were inquest of. The Peruvian reined up abruptly and looked back.

  "I feared as much," he said in a low tone as the Englishman rodeforward.

  Rendered anxious by the man's manner, Lawrence Armstrong sprang from hismule and pushed forward, but suddenly stopped and stood with claspedhands and a gaze of agony.

  For there stood the ruins of his early home--where his mother had diedwhile he was yet a child, where his father had made a fortune, which, inhis desolation, he had failed to enjoy, and where he finally died,leaving his possessions to his only child.

  The troops had visited the spot, fired no doubt with patriotic fervourand knowing its owner to be wealthy. They had sacked the place, feastedon the provisions, drunk the wines, smashed up, by way of pleasantry,all the valuables that were too heavy to carry away, and, finally,setting fire to the place, had marched off to other fields of "glory."

  It was a tremendous blow to poor Lawrence, coming as he did fresh fromcollege in a peaceful land, and full of the reminiscences of childhood.

  Sitting down on a broken wall, he bowed his head and wept bitterly--though silently--while the Peruvian, quietly retiring with the Indiangirl, left him alone.

  The first paroxysm of grief over, young Armstrong rose, and began sadlyto wander about the ruins. It had been an extensive structure, fittedwith all the most approved appliances of mechanism which wealth couldpurchase. These now helped to enhance the wild aspect of the wreck, foriron girders had been twisted by the action of fire into snake-likeconvolutions in some places, while, in others, their ends stuck outfantastically from the blackened walls. Beautiful furniture had beensmashed up to furnish firewood for the cooking of the meal with whichthe heroic troops had refreshed themselves before leaving, while anumber of broken wine-bottles at the side of a rosewood writing-deskwith an empty bottle on the top of it and heaps of stones and pebblesaround, suggested the idea that the warriors had mingled light amusementwith sterner business. The roofs of most of the buildings had fallenin; the window-frames, where spared by the fire, had been torn out; anda pianoforte, which lay on its back on the grass, showed evidence ofhaving undergone an examination of its internal arrangements, with theaid of the butt-ends of muskets.

  "And this is the result of war!" muttered the young man, at lastbreaking silence.

  "Only one phase of it," replied a voice at his side, in tones ofexceeding bitterness; "you must imagine a few corpses of slaughtered menand women and children, if you would have a perfect picture of war."

  The speaker was the Peruvian, who had quietly approached to say that ifthey wished to reach the next resting-place before dark it was necessaryto proceed without delay.

  "But perhaps," he added, "you do not intend to go further. No doubtthis was to have been the end of your journey had all been well. It canscarcely, I fear, be the end of it now. I do not wish to intrude uponyour sorrows, Mr Armstrong, but my business will not admit of delay. Imust push on, yet I would not do so without expressing my profoundsympathy, and offering to aid you if it lies in my power."

  There was a tone and look about the man which awoke a feeling ofgratitude and confidence in the forlorn youth's heart.

  "You are very kind," he said, "but it is not in the power of man to helpme. As your business is urgent you had better go and leave me. I thankyou for the sympathy you express--yet stay. You cannot advance muchfurther to-night, why not encamp here? There used to be a small hut orout-house not far-off, in which my father spent much of his leisure.Perhaps the--the--"

  "Patriots!" suggested the Peruvian.

  "The scoundrels," said Lawrence, "may have spared or overlooked it. Thehut would furnish shelter en
ough, and we have provisions with us."

  After a moment's reflection the Peruvian assented to this proposal, and,leaving the ruins together, they returned to the road, where they foundthe Indian girl holding the youth's mule as well as that of hercompanion.

  Hastening forward, Lawrence apologised for having in the agitation ofthe moment allowed his mule to run loose.

  "But I forgot," he added, "of course you do not understand English."

  "Try Spanish," suggested the Peruvian, "she knows a little of that."

  "Unfortunately I have forgotten the little that I had picked up herewhen a boy," returned Lawrence, as he mounted, "if I can manage to askfor food and lodging in that tongue, it is all that I can do."

  They soon reached an opening in the bushes at the roadside, and, at thefurther end of a natural glade or track, observed a small wooden hutthatched with rushes. Towards this young Armstrong led the way.

  He was evidently much affected, for his lips were compressed, and hegave no heed to a remark made by his companion. Entering the hut, hestood for some time looking silently round.

  It was but a poor place with bare walls; a carpenter's bench in onecorner, near to it a smith's forge, one or two chairs, and a fewtools;--not much to interest a stranger but to Lawrence full of tenderassociations.

  "It was here," he said in tones of deepest pathos, "that my fathershowed me how to handle tools, and my mother taught me to read from theWord of God."

  Looking at his companions he observed that the large dark eyes of theIndian girl were fixed on him with an expression of unmistakablesympathy. He felt grateful at the moment, for to most men sympathy issweet when unobtrusively offered whether it come from rich or poor--civilised or savage.

  "Come, this will do," said the Peruvian, looking round, "if you willkindle a fire on the forge, Senhor Armstrong, Manuela will arrange asleeping chamber for herself in the closet I see there, while I lookafter the beasts."

  He spoke in cheering tones, which had the effect of rousing the pooryouth somewhat from his despondency.

  "Well, then," he replied, "let us to work, and it is but just, as we areto sup together, and you know my name, that I should be put on an equalfooting with yourself--"

  "Impossible!" interrupted the other, with a slight curl of hismoustache, "for as I am only six feet one, and you are at least six feetfour, we can never be on an equal footing."

  "Nay, but I referred to names, not to inches. Pray, by what name shallI call you?"

  "Pedro," returned the Spaniard. "I am known by several names in theseparts--some of them complimentary, others the reverse, according as I amreferred to by friends or foes. Men often speak of me as a confirmedrover because of my wandering tendencies, but I'm not particular andwill answer to any name you choose, so long as it is politely uttered.The one I prefer is Pedro."

  He went out as he spoke to look after the mules, while Lawrence setabout kindling a small fire and otherwise making preparations forsupper.

  The Indian girl, Manuela, with that prompt and humble obediencecharacteristic of the race to which she belonged, had gone at once intothe little closet which her companion had pointed out, and was by thattime busily arranging it as a sleeping chamber for the night.