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Updated: May 14, 2025
But the grand event took place some days later, when my father himself came to remove me to Lima. Sorillo marshalled his Indians at the mouth of the pass, and they escorted him up the ravine in a triumphal procession, amidst enthusiastic cries of "Long live Don Eduardo Crawford! long live the Indians' friend!" There is not much to tell about our meeting.
Don Felipe never once interrupted him either by word or gesture; to look at him, one would have thought he was merely a spectator, with no interest in the matter one way or another. But when at last the tale ended, and Sorillo called upon him to speak, his attitude changed. "Do your murders your own way," he cried defiantly. "If the farce pleases you, play it. What has it to do with me?
He would relate my story to Raymon Sorillo, and I knew that the gigantic chief would carry the news to my mother. I no longer fretted at being shut up in the valley, but passed my time merrily with the boys and younger men of the tribe, learning their patois, riding, and practising shooting with the musket, and with bow and arrow.
And now come; you must not be able to accuse me of inhospitality." The guerillas led away my horses, and I followed Sorillo to his own hut, where in a short time a plentiful meal was laid. I was both hungry and thirsty, yet I had to force myself to eat and drink. Sorillo made no attempt at conversation, and I did not care to talk.
The pain had considerably decreased, and I had no cause for fear or anxiety. Sorillo slept in another corner of the hut, going out so quietly in the morning that he did not disturb me. Indeed the sun was high in the heavens when I wakened. The chief's messenger had not returned, and another day passed before he appeared; then, to my delight, he brought José with him.
However, I repeated my statement, told him we had fought under the Englishman Miller, and at last introduced the name of Raymon Sorillo. "We know him well," I said in conclusion, "and are good friends of the Silver Key."
Now this was an awkward question for me to answer. In the first place, the man might or might not be trustworthy; and in the second, the only name I knew was that of the bandit chief. However, I concluded the venture was worth making, and said, "Men call the owner of the key Raymon Sorillo." "Ah!" exclaimed the Indian, with a sigh of satisfaction, "he is a great chief.
In spite of my prejudice against the man, I rejoiced to see how boldly he held himself. He appeared to have summoned to his aid all the pride of his dead-and-gone ancestors. He glanced contemptuously at the gigantic Sorillo, and meeting my eyes, smiled defiantly. As to the officers, he did not give them even a look. "Thank goodness," said I to myself, "no one can call Rosa's father a coward!"
I was still wondering what this might mean, when Sorillo, touching my arm, led me to the centre of the stone seat, saying, "Sit there; you shall be a witness that the people of the Silver Key treat their enemies justly." Rather reluctantly I took the seat indicated. Sorillo sat next me, and six officers, ascending the platform, took their places, three on either side of us.
A part of the chain was still there, but it had snapped off, and the key was gone, sunk probably in the dreadful morass. However, turning to one of the fellows, I said, first in Spanish, then in the patois used by Sorillo's men, "We are officers in the Patriot army, and friends of Raymon Sorillo and the Silver Key; who are you?" He shook his head solemnly, and looked at me with a blank stare.
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