troops from the front in future
– if he had any future.
There wasn’t an atom of soldierly courage in all this. I was angry, and certain that I was going to die. The safest place seemed to be the armoured troop carrier which was halted to my
left and a little below me. I regretted that I had not the experience to drive a tracked vehicle, but there was a chance that the driver was still in his seat. If he was, I could get at him from
behind by a possible wriggle through what might be called cover.
I reached the carrier, apparently unseen by its previous occupants who were up ahead busy searching every rock and patch of scrub, and climbed in. The driver was still there. He heard me and
turned round to see my rifle trained on him. I ordered him to drive straight ahead. Neither of us had any temptation to be a hero, so he obeyed, pushing our empty van viciously out of the way.
I gratefully admired the American troop carrier. None of the shots which hit us penetrated the armour. But there was no enthusiasm for the chase in the Heredia troops; some of the shots
presumably aimed at the carrier missed so widely that men on the far side of it, instead of searching the outcrops of rock, crouched behind them. Meanwhile, we reached the top of the ridge and were
in dead ground; beyond was the edge of the forest and I could see three or four of my fellow prisoners dodging from tree to tree until they disappeared. The driver was disinclined to go further for
shots were coming from ahead, and it was obvious that we now faced an advanced detachment of Retadores from which the raiders of the police station had started.
I ordered the driver to take off his uniform coat and his fairly white shirt which I raised, attached by the sleeves, to the barrel of my rifle. That puzzled the enemy; firing stopped and then
began again. I waved my improvised white flag, and they let us alone while we rumbled down the track which continued clear of obstructions, into the trees. There we were savagely charged, but
instead of a load of Heredistas they found only Edmond Hawkins shouting that he too had been a prisoner, terrified by what seemed a hedge of bayonets but turned out to be only four.
They thought at first that the driver had come over to them and slapped him on the back for his courage in joining the side of the people. He had the sense to keep silent and charged boldly
along what once had been a forest path. After half a mile the tracks of the carrier became so entwined by lianas and saplings that it gave up.
Meanwhile, they tied my hands and threw me on the ground. After a discussion whether to shoot me or not, assuming that I was one of Heredia’s American advisers, they decided to take me
back to their camp.
‘You’ll have to walk for the first time in your life, son of a whore,’ one of them said to me.
‘Well, I have legs.’
They were amused by my retort.
‘He has legs,’ they repeated jovially. ‘And he speaks Spanish.’
‘Is that such a marvel? It is the language of half the world.’
‘Who are you?’
‘An Englishman recently arrived in Malpelo, and they put me in prison.’
‘What for?’
‘Frankly, friend, I do not know. It seems to be the custom in this country for one half of the people to put the other half in prison and then that first half returns to let them out. So
if you need some prisoners to take home as presents I will tell you how to get them. The Heredistas are wandering about the hillside searching for more of you to kill. But as they no longer have an
officer, I’ll bet you they are tired of it and are sitting still and smoking. You will see them from the ridge, and if you then creep round the flanks, give a yell and charge, you will get
them for nothing.’
‘And what about you, Englishman? I would let you go but you would run away.’
‘Where to, compañero? All I know is that this is a forest in Malpelo. Give me something to eat and drink and I will await your
– if he had any future.
There wasn’t an atom of soldierly courage in all this. I was angry, and certain that I was going to die. The safest place seemed to be the armoured troop carrier which was halted to my
left and a little below me. I regretted that I had not the experience to drive a tracked vehicle, but there was a chance that the driver was still in his seat. If he was, I could get at him from
behind by a possible wriggle through what might be called cover.
I reached the carrier, apparently unseen by its previous occupants who were up ahead busy searching every rock and patch of scrub, and climbed in. The driver was still there. He heard me and
turned round to see my rifle trained on him. I ordered him to drive straight ahead. Neither of us had any temptation to be a hero, so he obeyed, pushing our empty van viciously out of the way.
I gratefully admired the American troop carrier. None of the shots which hit us penetrated the armour. But there was no enthusiasm for the chase in the Heredia troops; some of the shots
presumably aimed at the carrier missed so widely that men on the far side of it, instead of searching the outcrops of rock, crouched behind them. Meanwhile, we reached the top of the ridge and were
in dead ground; beyond was the edge of the forest and I could see three or four of my fellow prisoners dodging from tree to tree until they disappeared. The driver was disinclined to go further for
shots were coming from ahead, and it was obvious that we now faced an advanced detachment of Retadores from which the raiders of the police station had started.
I ordered the driver to take off his uniform coat and his fairly white shirt which I raised, attached by the sleeves, to the barrel of my rifle. That puzzled the enemy; firing stopped and then
began again. I waved my improvised white flag, and they let us alone while we rumbled down the track which continued clear of obstructions, into the trees. There we were savagely charged, but
instead of a load of Heredistas they found only Edmond Hawkins shouting that he too had been a prisoner, terrified by what seemed a hedge of bayonets but turned out to be only four.
They thought at first that the driver had come over to them and slapped him on the back for his courage in joining the side of the people. He had the sense to keep silent and charged boldly
along what once had been a forest path. After half a mile the tracks of the carrier became so entwined by lianas and saplings that it gave up.
Meanwhile, they tied my hands and threw me on the ground. After a discussion whether to shoot me or not, assuming that I was one of Heredia’s American advisers, they decided to take me
back to their camp.
‘You’ll have to walk for the first time in your life, son of a whore,’ one of them said to me.
‘Well, I have legs.’
They were amused by my retort.
‘He has legs,’ they repeated jovially. ‘And he speaks Spanish.’
‘Is that such a marvel? It is the language of half the world.’
‘Who are you?’
‘An Englishman recently arrived in Malpelo, and they put me in prison.’
‘What for?’
‘Frankly, friend, I do not know. It seems to be the custom in this country for one half of the people to put the other half in prison and then that first half returns to let them out. So
if you need some prisoners to take home as presents I will tell you how to get them. The Heredistas are wandering about the hillside searching for more of you to kill. But as they no longer have an
officer, I’ll bet you they are tired of it and are sitting still and smoking. You will see them from the ridge, and if you then creep round the flanks, give a yell and charge, you will get
them for nothing.’
‘And what about you, Englishman? I would let you go but you would run away.’
‘Where to, compañero? All I know is that this is a forest in Malpelo. Give me something to eat and drink and I will await your
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