"You remember the poor fellow who got into trouble soon after we sailed
from Valparaiso?" she said. "His name is Frascuelo. He was wounded
again in last night's fight, but not seriously, and he and I are quite
chums. He assures me that he was drugged by a man named José Anacleto,
who took his place among the coal-trimmers--"
"Oh, Miss Maxwell, come quick!" screamed Mrs. Somerville, for Isobel
had lurched sideways out of her chair in a fainting fit, and the
missionary's wife was barely able to save her head from striking the
ship's rails.
Joey was shot out of Elsie's lap with such surprising speed that he
trotted away without any exhibition of lameness. He was quite
disgusted, for at least five minutes, but it is reasonable to suppose
that a dog of his intelligence would brighten up when he heard the
wholly unlooked-for story which Christobal was translating to
Courtenay, word for word, as it was dragged hesitatingly out of Suarez.
The Argentine miner had been badly injured during the struggle for
possession of the promenade deck. Owing to loss of consciousness,
supplemented by an awkward fall, he might have choked to death had he
not been rescued within a few minutes. He was very ill all night, and
it was not until midday that he recovered sufficient strength to enable
him to question the Indians on board.
Courtenay wished specially to find out what chance, if any, there was
of the Alaculof attack being renewed. When Christobal assured him that
Suarez might safely leave his bunk, he asked the doctor to bring the
Spaniard to the fore-cabin, in which the wounded savages lay under an
armed guard.
It was obvious that some of the maimed wretches recognized Suarez,
notwithstanding his changed appearance, the instant he spoke to them.
At once they broke out into an excited chattering, and Suarez was so
disconcerted by the tidings they conveyed that he stammered a good
deal, and seemed to flounder in giving the Spanish rendering.
"This fellow is telling us just as much as he thinks it is good for us
to know," said Courtenay, sternly, when the interpreter avoided his
accusing gaze. "Bid him out with the whole truth, Christobal, or it
shall be his pleasing task to escort his dear friends back to their
family circles."
Being detected, Suarez faltered no longer. A ship's life-boat had been
driven ashore lower down the coast. Fourteen men had landed; they were
captured by the Indians, after a useless resistance, in which three
were killed. The dead men supplied a ghoulish feast next day, and the
others were bound securely, and placed in a cave, in order to be killed
at intervals, an exact parallel to the fate of Suarez's own companions
five years earlier.
But, on this occasion, a woman intervened. Suarez confessed, very
reluctantly, that there was a girl in the tribe to whom he had taught
some words of his own language. He said that she cooked for him, and
caught fish or gathered shell-fish for their joint needs when the
larder was otherwise empty. He declared that the relations between
them were those of master and servant, but the poor creature had fallen
in love with him, and had become nearly frantic with grief when he
disappeared. It was difficult to analyze her motives, but she had
undoubtedly freed the eleven sailors, and led them over the rocks at
low water to the haunted cave on Guanaco Hill. The Indians dared not
follow; but they took good care that no canoes were obtainable in which
the unhappy fugitives could reach the ship, and they were confident
that hunger would soon drive them forth.