I sat on the broad balcony of the British consulate at Mollendo,
looking out over the blue waters of the Pacific. The soft breeze from
the south seas imparted the glow of health. How proud I felt with the
knowledge that no one dared insult me beneath the blue and crimson
folds that waved above. Safe from the assassin's knife at the hands of
some of Pierola's men, of whom I had been warned, I felt a certain
refuge beneath the ensign of my country.
"Don Juan, does that make me a Britisher, too?" asked Manuel, pointing
to the flag above.
"Yes, it protects you too. Pierola's men do not dare to harm us
here."
"Praised be the Virgin," replied Manuel, crossing himself.
The great bells of the cathedral tolled out a funeral knell as a
solemn procession marched to a transport ship. They were dust covered,
haggard men, with a hunted look, chained in pairs. On either side
marched a file of soldiers with fixed bayonets. Pierola's men were
being taken to Lima.
I arose from the balcony and went inside. They had to pass under the
balcony of the British consulate to reach the wharf. I did not care to
witness their misery and so remained indoors until their departure.
The revolution over, there was nothing now to fear; Manuel packed my
belongings and we returned to Arequipa.
The general manager requested me to take care of the shops of
Vincocaya. It would enable me to be quiet and recover from my wounds,
as there was nothing to do but to see that the work was kept going.
Meanwhile the excitement of the revolution would die out.
Vincocaya is situated high in the Andes, above timber line, a desolate
and dreary waste of rock and crag, where wild winds scream among the
cliffs in the blackness of the night, as though a thousand imprisoned
Joshuas were reaching upward for that sun which will stand still no
more over the plains of Ajalon. Leaden clouds drift like winding
sheets among the peaks and hover like a pall over cañon and deep
ravine. The grave of Don Rodrigo was but a few miles distant, but I
never visited it. There have been times when I regretted not
stretching forth my hand to save him, but at the time, with a most
violent hatred of the man and the many injuries I had received from
him, and the attempt to save the bridge foremost in my mind, I found
excuse for lack of the finer feelings. And, too, what would it benefit
had he been saved? His life was spent in debauchery, the gambling
table and plots to overthrow any government where a leader in
opposition to the ruling power would promise him a political office.
Deep down in my heart I felt the weight of the past; those shrieking
winds of the night were the responsive echoes of my soul for the
loved and lost. Was it upon this planet or upon some distant sphere
that we two had met and loved and builded hopes as high as the lofty
peaks that now entombed me--hope and love that may have been breathed
in the morning of the world when the spirit of God dwelt within
us--hope that existed before the wrathful change that shattered all
and turned an Eden into blackness and despair?
Days, weeks and months passed. Often I would spend hours in the wild
solitudes hunting the vicuna and alpaca, or in some gloomy cañon
communing with myself. Within my spirit I could hear an undertone,
"Why cast thyself on waters wild, believing that God is gone, that
love is dead and Nature spurns her child?" So, from my grief, I arose
at length to feel new life returning. New hopes and ambitions sprang
forth in my soul that had so keenly felt God's chastening rod.
A year had passed. I was in Arequipa. Chico had my room ready and my
friends gave me a splendid banquet in one of the largest restaurants
in the city. In all ages the world has had two ways of doing honor to
a man. One is by parade, the other by setting him down to a banquet
table and making speeches about him until they overcrowd his emotions
and leave him limp and speechless. I had to pass through this ordeal.
The Prefectos of Arequipa and Puno, the Commanding General of the
Government troops, the manager and officials of the railway and a host
of friends of lesser note, but none the less loyal hearts, crowded the
banquet room. They feasted, drank wine, sang songs and made speeches
to me and about me that were enough to have satisfied the vanity of a
survivor of Thermopylae. At the close, the Prefecto of Puno arose, and
after saying things that were loudly applauded, presented me with ten
thousand dollars not as a gift, but as something I had justly earned.
He was followed by the general manager of the railroad, who said his
company desired to show their appreciation of my conduct in the Sumbay
bridge affair, and on their behalf he presented me with two thousand
dollars. Manuel, too, came in for his share of honors and praise. He
was presented with five hundred dollars by the Prefecto of Puno and
two hundred dollars by the company--more money than he had ever seen
in his life, or ever hoped to possess. Deserving fellow, his eyes
streamed with tears of joy and gratitude when he received the money
which would now enable him to own a comfortable home. His pleasure was
even greater the next day, when I gave him one thousand dollars.
[Illustration: THE HOME VOYAGE OF THE AVEN WAS FRAUGHT WITH ALL THE
DANGERS OF THE SEA. (Page 26)]
A month later, and Arequipa was wild with excitement. War had been
declared by Chile against allied Peru and Bolivia. It was a sad blow,
as Peru had been extremely prosperous and was rapidly forging ahead in
the commerce of the world. I had concluded to leave the country and
seek some other field, when a call was made to the railroad men to
assist the government to convey troops from the interior to the coast.
I responded and was sent to Santa Rosa on the proposed railway to
Cusco, the ancient capital of Peru. Here a great number of Indians
were huddled together to be sent to Arequipa, and drilled and sent to
the coast. They were abject and disconsolate. The priests were calling
on them to be brave and return victorious. These people had never seen
the ocean and had never lived in an altitude of less than two miles.
There was much suffering in store for them under the tropic sun of the
coast. I asked an officer if he thought these men would make good
soldiers. He replied with an air of great importance, and looking
quite serious, that he had received word that the Chilean navy was
coming to bombard Mollendo, and it was his intention to instruct the
Indians in the use of the rifle. When the ships came near enough, he
would station his men among the rocks and shoot the sailors off the
decks. This, too, with flint lock rifles--a sample of the calibre of
the Peruvian officer of the interior and his unfortunate Indian
soldiers.
After getting to the head of the Tambo valley, I proceeded to
Mollendo and found a terrible state of affairs. Everyone was expecting
the Chilean fleet; men and women were carrying their household goods
to the mountains. At sight of every ship on the horizon, whether
sailing vessel or steamer, a cry would go forth--"They come--they
come!" The greatest confusion prevailed. There was no organization, no
discipline; everybody for himself, and all running at the cry
of--"They come!"
One morning about ten o'clock the hostile fleet did come.