The railroad had now been extended from Arequipa to Puno. A revolution
had broken out and insurgents were cutting the telegraph wires.
I was engineer on a combination locomotive and coach and as this
locomotive will be in the scene of more than one tragedy, I will
describe it. It was specially designed for the president and officers
of the road, weighing only eight tons. On the same frame with the
engine, in fact, a part of it, was built a beautiful black walnut
coach, with a seating capacity of from twelve to eighteen persons. It
had two side doors and one in front, which, when opened, communicated
with the engineer. There were windows hung with beautiful damask
curtains, the carpets were of rich velvet, and a center table and
several cupboards under the seats completed the furnishings. It was
in reality a palace on wheels, named The Arequipena, meaning a native
of Arequipa. I mention the design of the combination engine-car for
the reason that, on a duplicate of The Arequipena, later occurred one
of the most perilous and tragic events of my life.
The stretch of road from Julica to Cabanillas was level and straight,
except about two miles from Cabanillas station, where a heavy side cut
and sharp curve was the only obstruction to the view for miles. I was
going at the rate of forty miles an hour, when, on nearing this curve,
I beheld a large Rogers locomotive with a train of coaches coming
toward me. I cannot describe the thoughts that went through my
brain--there was a terrific crash--flying debris--a hissing of
steam--mingled with the groans of the wounded and dying.
I was thrown out of the way of the wreck and near the edge of a river,
and when I regained my senses a priest was bending over me, bathing my
forehead. I gradually realized what had happened and went to my
engine. There was scarcely a vestige left of The Little Arequipena,
only a piece of the boiler and two pairs of driving wheels. The shock
was so great that the little coach was hurled over the other engine,
which was not damaged much.
I saw several persons bending over some one, and, on going closer,
found William Cuthbert, our traveling engineer, stretched on the
ground dying. Five soldiers were dead beneath the ruins. One officer,
with his legs broken in two places, begged that others be cared for
first. The road-master was in agony, his lower limbs frightfully
burned by escaping steam; all the others were more or less seriously
injured, except myself. When relief came our dead and wounded were
taken to Arequipa.
We had been sent out to repair the wires, and orders had come to me
that we should be given the right of way. The engineer who collided
with me told me that the commander of the government forces had
ordered our superintendent to furnish transportation for his troops
to Puno at once, and when informed that it would be impossible to send
a train until we were heard from, he threatened to place the
superintendent in jail unless his orders were complied with. No one on
the other train was hurt. They had six coaches full of soldiers, the
priest who assisted me being among them.
The day after our arrival at Arequipa the funeral of William Cuthbert
took place. The procession was the largest that I had ever witnessed
at any funeral in Arequipa, natives as well as foreigners taking
part.
It was a long time before I recovered from the shock, not alone of the
collision, but the death of William Cuthbert who always had been ready
to befriend me and who had given me much valuable information. He lies
buried in the cemetery at Arequipa, in a vault. A marble slab was
erected to his memory.
The general manager sent for me one day to come to his office in
Arequipa, and after talking over the cause of the collision, I told
him that I considered him to blame for allowing any engine and train
to go out without knowing first where we were, and that it would have
been better to have gone to prison, that if he had been sent there the
American government would have demanded his freedom, and he would have
been honored. As it stood, he was to a certain extent responsible for
that dreadful affair. After some more words I left the office,
realizing that I had incurred the displeasure of the head officer. I
concluded to leave, which I was sorry to do, as I looked upon Arequipa
as my only home.
I visited Valparaiso and again met Cockney Spider. He was still at his
old business, conducting a runaway sailors' boarding house. A few
weeks later found me in Panama, an engineer on the Panama and
Aspinwall railroad. The climate, I believe, is the most wretched in
the world, and tropical vegetation grows the rankest. In a few months
I was stricken with the yellow fever, but thanks to my robust
constitution I soon recovered. About this time I met an official of
the government railway at Ilo, who desired me to return and accept a
position as engineer on the road. I told him of my troubles in that
town with the officials. He met me soon afterwards, with a contract
duly drawn up for eighteen months' service and a guarantee that I
should not be molested by any petty official.
When I arrived at Ilo, imagine my surprise to find that the man who
rowed me ashore was the Italian who caused my arrest. He offered to
shake hands but I refused. When I went to the hotel many of my old
native friends came to see me, and informed me that after I had left
they discovered the person who did the shooting. It was done by one of
their own number, who managed to get away.
It was very gratifying to thus have my innocence established, but it
did not recompense for the time I had spent in jail and the loss of
money.
I had been running a train out of Ilo about a month, when one night I
was invited to a "wake." Having never attended one, I accepted the
invitation. At one end of the room stood a large table, and upon it
the body of a child two years old. On its head was a wreath of
flowers. The child was dressed in white; in its tiny hands was a
bouquet of flowers; the feet were encased in small white slippers;
lighted candles surrounded the body. At either end of the table were
several old women, who were employed by the family as mourners, and
they kept up a continual low moaning sound. Occasionally they would
stop to partake of wine, and start again, more dismal than ever. The
room was large and on each side were seated ladies and gentlemen
talking and laughing and seemingly enjoying themselves. The parents of
the dead child appeared to have surpassed the expectations of their
friends and made a great success of the "wake."
There is a custom in Peru that when several persons are gathered
together there is constant drinking. A large bottle of wine or
whiskey is placed on the table with one glass. A lady or gentleman
will fill the glass and drink to the health of some one present. It is
bad form to leave any liquor in the glass, so it is always drained,
refilled and presented to the one whose health has been drunk. It is
an insult to refuse to drink, after one has drank to your health and
the person accepting the glass drinks to the health of some one else.
In this manner the glass is constantly on the move. On this occasion,
the wine was on the table with the corpse.
About one o'clock in the morning not seeing any disposition on the
part of the guests to retire, I bade our friends good night.
I had barely reached the street when I heard firing and saw people
running. Suddenly there came a volley of musketry, and a woman dropped
dead a few feet in front of me. Almost immediately the streets were
deserted, but I could hear the cries of "Vivia Pierola," and I knew
another revolution had broken out.