Don Rodrigo and his soldiers were surprised. I dealt the one nearest
me a terrific blow in the face. Don Rodrigo raised his hand to fire. I
knocked his gun from his hand. The other soldier thrust at me with his
bayonet, inflicting a severe scalp wound, which along with another
thrust at me with his bayonet in my left arm, gave him time to
recover. I struck the soldier in the face, and knocked him to the
floor. The other was coming at me, when Manuel, armed with a shovel,
brought it down with terrific force on his head.
By this time the engine was going at lightning speed, having reached a
down grade of 160 feet to the mile. The throttle was wide open. I knew
we would soon reach some sharp curves and if the speed was not
checked, the engine would jump the track. I called to Manuel to shut
off the steam, and apply the brakes. At this time I was struggling
with Don Rodrigo for life or death. We had clinched one another. I
spoke once.
"Recuerdo Felicita," I hissed in his ear.
He did not speak. He was never a physical match for me, but at this
moment he seemed endowed with superhuman strength. His face took on
the awful look of desperation, that comes to men when death seems near
at hand. His lithe body struggled to be free of my grasp. He tried to
trip me and just then the engine rounded a sharp curve causing him to
stagger. The side door of the coach was open. For a moment he vainly
tried to catch hold of something, and then, with a shriek upon his
lips, fell from the speeding coach.
The struggle had lasted but a short time, but it had seemed to me
hours. Manuel bandaged my head and arm. The two soldiers remained
perfectly passive, suffering from severe blows. The one felled by
Manuel was still unconscious.
We were within three miles of Pucacancha, rounding a sharp curve, when
I looked back and exclaimed: "My God, Manuel, the troop train is
coming!" My blood almost froze, but realizing that this was no time
for fright, I determined to master the situation.
I knew the two soldiers would not attempt to molest us. They had
learned a lesson. I looked at my watch. In five minutes the passenger,
if on time, would be at Pucacancha. The troop train could not reach
there for fifteen minutes, because at all obscure places it would have
to go slow for fear of meeting obstructions on the track.
I reached Pucacancha, stopping far enough back to allow the passenger
to pull up and back on the side track. The siding had only one switch,
chiefly used for ballast for the road bed. I looked anxiously for the
passenger. Seconds dragged like hours. Would she never come? There was
a curve not far from the station, and the passenger could not be seen
until it almost reached it. I listened. I could hear the low
tremulous noise of the rails, a puff of black smoke went up from
behind the curve--at last it was in view, engine No. 8. On seeing me
the engineer came to a sudden stop. I hurriedly told him what to do.
He was to back onto the siding and let me pass, then pull out and
follow me back to Pampa de Avieras, where I told him the government
troops would surely be. Our plans were quickly executed. I determined
that should the troop train come before I could get by the passenger,
Manuel and I would desert the Arequipena, start her back with a full
head of steam, and cause a collision. No doubt there would have been
loss of life, but it would have given an opportunity to escape by
going on the passenger train.
Dobbie, the engineer, succeeded well in backing into the clear. Not
seeing the troop train, I ran with a hammer and spike when he left the
switch with the Arequipena ahead of him and spiked the track. Just
then the troop train came in sight. I hurriedly boarded the
Arequipena and started, Dobbie backing up at fast as he could.
There were several officers on the engine of the troop train, and when
they saw us they compelled the engineer to increase his speed, with
the result he could not check his train in time to stop it from
running into the switch. His engine jumped the track half burying
itself in the ground.
We arrived at Pampa de Avieras and the government troops came thirty
minutes later. I was beginning to get weak from loss of blood. My left
arm seemed to be a dead weight, and the muscles were painful and
swollen. The people from the passenger train crowded about me and did
everything in their power to relieve my suffering. The soldier who had
been struck with the shovel came out of his stupor.
I was lying in the coach of the Arequipena, when the commanding
officer of the government troops came to see me. After detailing the
story to him, I turned over fourteen rifles, ten revolvers, and seven
swords, all the cartridges and barrels of powder, together with the
three soldiers whom I pleaded for, stating that compulsion was the
cause of their joining the insurgents. I insisted on their hurrying to
Sumbay bridge, although I told him they did not have anything now with
which to destroy the bridge. However, they could post their troops
should they arrive first and be in position to command the approaches.
After leaving me, he ordered his troops forward.
I was getting weaker and weaker. At last orders came to go to Arequipa
with the Arequipena. The station master telegraphed to have a doctor
ready for me on my arrival. It was nearly forty miles from Pampa de
Avieras to Arequipa, mostly down grade. I had to give the engine up to
Manuel, as the pain in my arm became so intense I had to lie down. The
station at Arequipa was crowded back to the street, the news having
been telegraphed by the officer in command of the government troops. I
could hear cries of "Viva Juancita!" that being my name in Spanish.
The people in Arequipa were loyal to the existing government. The
general manager met me with the doctor. His eyes were full of tears
when he saw me. I presented a horrible and bloody appearance, the
wound in my head still bleeding, my left arm in a sling and my clothes
almost in rags.
I was carried from the coach by four of my friends to my room where
the faithful Chico had everything prepared. Cries of "Viva Juancita!"
rent the air from the time I left the coach until the doctor requested
silence. Manuel was taken home by his friends. The poor people,
ignorant of the revolution, but knowing by the demonstration that
something unusual had happened, realized that he had done something
deserving recognition.
My friends grouped about with tear-dimmed eyes, and warmly pressed my
hand. Chico, looking at me with a most sympathetic expression on his
Indian features, did not restrain his tears. For days I tossed in
pain and delirium.
One day when the general manager came, he told me that another
engineer who had taken out the Arequipena to repair the telegraph,
came up with a body of the insurgents who were going to surrender, but
they intended to kill him first thinking he was I. Only the timely
interposition of one who knew him, saved his life. The insurgents had
got their engine back on the track after much time and labor, but it
was damaged and as they were out of water, they gave up hope of
winning their cause.
The train bearing the government troops stopped when within a few
miles of Vincocaya, where they picked up the body of Don Rodrigo
Garcia and buried it near the track. He would have exulted over my
death, but I cannot say that I felt any satisfaction because he was
dead. It only brought sad memories of the past.