Thinking it best to answer frankly (with one or two reservations), I said that, having heard much of South America while campaigning in Spain, I had made up my mind to voyage thither on the first opportunity.

“What! you have served in Spain, in the army of Lord Wellington!” interposed the commandant with great vivacity.

“Yes; I joined shortly before the battle of Salamanca, where I was wounded.  I was also at Vittoria, and—­”

“So was I. I commanded a regiment in Murillo’s corps d’armee, and have come out with him to Colombia.  We are brothers in arms.  We have both bled in the sacred cause of Spanish independence.  Let me embrace you.”

Whereupon the commandant, springing from his hammock, put his arms round my neck and his head on my shoulders, patted me on the back, and kissed me on both cheeks, a salute which I thought it expedient to return, though his face was not overclean and he smelled abominably of garlic and stale tobacco.

“So you have come to see South America—­only to see it!” he said.  “But perhaps you are scientific; you have the intention to explore the country and write a book, like the illustrious Humboldt?”

The idea was useful.  I modestly admitted that I did cultivate a little science, and allowed my “brother-in-arms” to remain in the belief that I proposed to follow in the footsteps of the author of “Cosmos”—­at a distance.

“I have an immense respect for science,” continued the commandant, “and I doubt not that you will write a book which will make you famous.  My only regret is, that in the present state of the country you may find going about rather difficult.  But it won’t be for long.  We have well-nigh got this accursed rebellion under.  A few weeks more, and there will not be a rebel left alive between the Andes and the Atlantic.  The Captain-General of New Granada reports that he has either shot or hanged every known patriot in the province.  We are doing the same here in Venezuela.  We give no quarter; it is the only way with rebels. Guerra a la muerte!”

After this the commandant asked me to dinner, and insisted on my becoming his guest until the morrow, when he would provide me with mules for myself and my baggage, and give me an escort to Caracas, and letter of introduction to one of his friends there.  So great was his kindness, indeed, that only the ferocious sentiments which he had avowed in respect of the rebels reconciled me to the deception which I was compelled to practise.  I accepted his hospitality and his offer of mules and an escort, and the next morning I set out on the first stage of my inland journey.  Before parting he expressed a hope—­which I deemed it prudent to reciprocate—­that we should meet again.