LITMIR.BIZ

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introduced me to Mr. Hill, his general manager, as his “boy protector” and told him to give me employment and see that I was well provided for.

      In a short while I was in the railway shops, learning the trade of machinist, and later I was engineer on the railroad running from the sea port of Mollendo to Arequipa, more than one hundred miles in the interior. The city is situated in a beautiful and fertile valley in the heart of the Andes. The majestic volcanic mountain Misti some miles away rises nearly four miles above the sea and smoke still issues from its crater.

      I had lately been transferred from the shops in Mollendo to Arequipa, when, hearing fabulous stories of rich gold finds in the Andes, and being imbued with an adventurous spirit, I resolved to try my fortune in the new El Dorado.

      V.

      FAIREST FLOWER OF THE CORDILLERAS

      I was in the heart of the Cordilleras, weary, footsore and alone. I was descending a rocky cliff a few hundred feet from a plateau, while the thunders roared with terrific crash. The rain fell in sheets, plunging in wild fury in cataracts down the mountain side. There was desolation and terror unutterable. I leaned close to a shelving rock, and as I thought of once happy days in Aberdeen, of the love bestowed upon me by my dear mother–gone forever from this world–my own condition, now a homeless wanderer in a foreign land, perhaps to soon meet death and my body be devoured by condors, I laid my head on my arms and wept bitterly.

      I am not superstitious, neither do I believe that my condition at that time caused my mind to wander; a peaceful calm came over me; it seemed as if some loving one was near, fear vanished, and I looked up but beheld nothing. The storm raged with even greater fury. I walked and even began to sing the “Garb of Old Gaul.” I ignored the elements in their war and had almost reached the plateau when the storm ceased and the sun suddenly appeared. Calm and warmth came from what a few minutes before had seemed death and destruction.

      A sudden turn in the trail and I beheld a child seated beneath the thick, spreading branches of a tree, her white apron filled with alpine flowers. “How came she here,” I wondered. Her dark bright eyes gazed questioningly into mine, eyes through which one could see the childish spirit and feel the witchery of her magic look; her raven locks fell in clusters over her fair temples and ended in ringlets about her shoulders; on her cheeks were the glowing tints of youth and health. As I spoke she rose and handed me a flower of delicate tint. I gallantly pinned it on the lapel of my coat, which won from her a pleasing look and smile. I could speak a little Spanish and she seemed to understand that I was going her way. Together we walked along the trail. Her childish grace appealed to me. A spirit of infinite goodness seemed to radiate from within and stirred my noblest impulses. A feeling of content settled upon me.

      Near by, I saw some Indian huts and the tambo or tavern where Frank Dunn and I had stopped on our way to Puno. The child ran ahead, leaving me to follow.

      The first sight of Puno had satisfied me that we had come to the most desolate spot in the world, Nature’s remains seemed to have been brought there and left without burial. The ground was thickly covered with a short, wild grass and appeared to be the natural dwelling place of the alpacas and wild vicunas.

      I had been in Puno but a few days when I was offered work on board one of the steamers, but I longed again for Arequipa and friends. Dunn had secured work on one of the steamers and refused to return. I thought this was hard, as it was my money that had helped him from the time he left Arequipa until he secured employment. My money was almost gone, but I had gone to the Amaras market and bought what edibles I needed, and without hesitation had started alone to return to Arequipa, over those fearful heights and dread solitudes of the Cordilleras, when I found her.

      When we were entering the tambo an elderly gentleman and the Indian host were speaking in Spanish, and even from my limited knowledge of the language I knew they were talking about me.

      No doubt but my appearance in the heart of the Cordilleras wet, forlorn looking and alone aroused his sympathy. After a difficult attempt at opening a conversation, the beautiful child I had met looking on all the time, I was given to understand that he desired me to eat with them. Of course I consented, but I did not do justice to the meal as the dark eyes of the young girl were constantly upon me.

      The gentleman gave me his name, Julian Maldonado, and that of his daughter, Felicita Maldonado. He was a well-to-do merchant of elderly years. I learned that his wife was dead and that their home was in Lima. The servants made me a bed in the room adjacent to my host. The next morning I was aroused by one of them who said his master wanted to see me. I went to him and after telling him I was on my way to Arequipa, and when there I would be among my friends, he offered to purchase a mule for me, but the only one to be had was lame. However, I told him I was young and would soon reach my destination. Felicita then came in and announced breakfast, after which the mules were packed and, everything being in readiness, we bade each other good-bye. Felicita came toward me, and as she extended her hand in her childish fashion, she placed in my own a Peruvian twenty-dollar gold piece, saying: “Adios mi amigo.”

      I was almost speechless. I started forward to return the money, but I had to retain it, as they quickly mounted and were gone before I could master my feelings.

      Roll on, relentless Time. Felicita, fairest flower of the Cordilleras, we shall meet again, when love’s young dream shall awaken amid the clash of arms and tragedies!

      Nine days later I arrived in Arequipa, sick, footsore and weary. My friends had sent out searching parties believing that I had been murdered. Their astonishment was great when they found where I had been and that I had spent many nights alone amid the dangers of the mountains. Many were the admonitions I received from older heads.

      I laughed at their words, and when I thought of the beautiful Felicita, I dreamed of love and felt an indescribable content with my surroundings and all the world.

      VI.

      A HUMILIATING INCIDENT

      There was a night riot in the streets of Ilo, knives gleamed in ruffian hands, curses and blasphemy fell from sodden lips. Shots were fired in the thick of the struggling mass, as the mob crowded in frenzy about some central figure. The crowd from behind pressed forward and Thompson and I were carried along by the crush of humanity, until of necessity we began to fight our way out. We had partially succeeded, when we were surrounded by soldiers. At sight of the soldiers the crowd began to disperse, but unfortunately for us it was too late, besides we had nothing to do with the riot, and thought we had nothing to fear.

      The officer stepped up and placed Thompson and I under arrest. We were searched, but no arms were found on us. However, we were marched away to jail and our feet placed in iron bars, fastened with a heavy lock, which compelled us to lie on our backs.

      The next morning an officer appeared and I notified him that I was a British subject, and resented such treatment. He told me that I was held for attempted murder. Thompson was also under the same charge. An Italian had been shot and would probably die. I demanded an immediate trial. Several officers of the railway came and endeavored to set us free, but their efforts were of no avail. There was no British consul nearer than Arica, about two days travel by steamer, and no means for communicating with him until the steamer arrived from the north.

      Our prison was an old wooden structure, and only one guard was over us. The officer and his men had quarters some distance away. It was our intention to ask the soldier on guard for a drink of water about midnight, when Thompson would overpower him and take his keys. A small boat was to be in readiness at a certain place. Our plan was, after obtaining the keys, to put the soldier in the stocks and walk out, all of which could easily have been accomplished, as the soldier was but a small ignorant half-breed Indian. It was Sunday night and we had decided to put our plan in operation, when–imagine our surprise–an officer informed us to get ready to take the train for Moquequa.

      We were accompanied by an officer and six men. I asked the officer what the removal was for, and he said our trial was to be held and it was necessary for us to be present. I asked permission to speak with the engineer, which was given. I told him I dreaded being taken into the interior, as we would be away from our friends, and begged him when we came to a certain grade along the line to increase the speed and I would jump off.

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