When M. T. Pate rushed from the hotel in Callao, he had been rendered frantic by the ridicule of the merciless wags by whom he was surrounded. Blinded with passion, he was hurrying along, not knowing nor caring whither he went, when he ran over a buzzard in the street and fell flat on his face. Springing to his feet, he struck the bird a heavy blow with a stick which laid it dead in the gutter. These industrious scavengers are protected by law in the Peruvian cities, and hardly had Pate committed this outrage when he was seized by a couple of soldiers and carried to the calaboose. For many weeks Pate pined in prison, living on exceedingly low diet. He was plunged in the depths of despair, and supposed that he would have to end his days in captivity as an expiation for his offense. He could see but a single gleam of hope. An earthquake might come and shake down the walls of his prison, and he might thus effect his escape. But there appeared to be a dearth of earthquakes in the country just at that time. Pate had often, during a long drought, read the prayers in church for rain, and he now used the same formula and prayed for an earthquake. But no convulsion of nature occurred, although he would often put his ear to the floor, and eagerly listen for the rumbling sounds which usually precede a subterranean commotion. One afternoon an old American tar was put in the calaboose for riotous conduct while drunk. The sailor lay on the floor, in the same room with Pate, and slept soundly until about the middle of the night, when he woke up sobered and in the full possession of his faculties. Pate was on his knees, loudly and fervently praying for an earthquake. The old salt sat on the floor and listened until he began to comprehend, when he became much excited.

"Avast, you lubber!" he cried out, springing to his feet.

Pate paid no attention. He was so absorbed in his devotions as not to be conscious of exterior surroundings.

"Stop your yarn!" said the sailor.

Pate heeded him not.

"Shiver my timbers!" shouted the old tar, fiercely, "if I don't plug up your dead-lights!" And he seized Pate by the collar and thrust his huge fist under his nose.

"Murder!" cried Pate.

"Murder, and bloody murder, it will be, if you don't stop spinning your yarn," said the sailor.

"Who are you? who are you?" cried Pate.

"Belong to the ship Fredonia," said the tar.

"Did you kill a buzzard?" said Pate.

"No; I got drunk. They'll let me out in the morning. I've been here before."

"Will you get out? I'll have to stay here all my life."

"What sort of a cruise have you been on that brought you into this port? What did they put you here for?"

"I killed a buzzard."

"If you'd killed a man they wouldn't have minded it much. But they think more of their blasted buzzards than they do of their shovel-hats."

"Will I ever get out?" cried Pate. "Oh, that I could get a letter to my friends!"

"Are you an American man?"

"I am! I am! And in a dirty prison for killing a buzzard!"

"Give me your paw, shipmate! I'll stand by you. Good luck was the wind that brought me under your stern."

Pate and the old tar now had a long talk, and it was determined that the former should address a note to the American consul, which he did; writing with a pencil on a blank leaf torn from his pocket-book. In the morning the sailor was released, and carried Pate's communication to the consul, who transmitted it to the American minister at Lima.

The condition of the unhappy captive thus came to the knowledge of the representative of the great republic; who told the Peruvian government, in plain terms, that his country would not permit one of her citizens to remain in prison during so long a period, merely for the paltry offense of slaying a turkey-buzzard. An angry correspondence ensued; and during its pendency, a heavy American frigate and two corvettes came into the harbor of Callao, and anchored with their broadsides bearing upon the fort. The decided tone of the minister who was a man of nerve and determination, and the presence of this formidable force, convinced the Peruvian authorities that his Excellency was in earnest; and being in no condition to risk a bombardment, much less a ruinous war with a nation so powerful as the United States, they consented to the release of the prisoner on condition that he should leave the country within forty-eight hours.

Pate now determined to return home without delay. He had long since become disgusted with gold-hunting; and the home-sickness, which came over him in the calaboose, continued after he got out. So he immediately took passage on an English brig bound for Panama; intending to proceed by way of the Isthmus to New York.

Having purchased a monkey to keep him company during the voyage, he went on board, and the vessel sailed. He had a pleasant passage until they were within a day's sail of Panama, when he met with a sad mishap. He was sitting on deck, dandling his monkey on his knee, when a careless lubber let a pot containing red paint fall from the tops. The paint was spattered over M. T. Pate, who thought that it was his own blood and brains, and under this impression, supposing that he would have to give up the ghost, fainted away. But a bucket of salt-water being dashed in his face by an old tar, he revived, and, looking around, perceived that his monkey was dead. The pot had hit it on the head and killed it instantly. He mourned over his monkey until he reached Panama, where he rested a day, and then bought a mule and started across the Isthmus.

At a short distance from Cruces, in sight of the road, is a large ship's anchor lying in the wood. How it came there nobody can tell. Many suppose that it was conveyed from the Caribbean Sea up the Chagres River by Pizarro and his Spaniards, when they were proceeding to Panama to construct vessels for the conquest of Peru; and that being unable to transport it any farther by land, they had left it lying in the forest.

Pate tied his mule to a tree, and, walking aside from the road, seated himself on the anchor and began to meditate.

"Here," said he, in a soliloquy, "once stood Pizarro the Conqueror. No daring robber, animated by the sordid love of gold, was that great man. He came to destroy the pagan superstitions of a benighted land, and to extend the blessings of civilization over an entire continent."

As Pate uttered these words, his guardian angel, who was anxiously hovering over him, wanted to warn him of his danger, but was unable to do so. A man of savage aspect had crept from a thicket in his rear, and, with a catlike step, was cautiously advancing, having a heavy club raised in readiness to strike.

"In those days," said Pate, "all was darkness and barbarism; but now, the benign influences of——"

The club descended. Pate beheld a whole constellation, and several planets at mid-day, and sank senseless to the earth.

When Pate opened his eyes it was late in the afternoon. Flocks of parrots were fluttering around him, and multitudes of monkeys were chattering and nimbly leaping among the boughs of the trees. He arose from the greensward with a bad headache, and discovered that he had been robbed. His money was gone, and his mule had disappeared. Without a dollar, he was in a strange land and thousands of miles from home. He staggered on until he reached Cruces, where he entered a public house kept by an American, to whom he related his misfortunes.

The man had just lost his bar-keeper, and employed M. T. Pate to wait upon his customers until he could earn money enough to pay his passage to the United States. And here he was found by Wiggins and his companions washing a bottle.