DARK DAYS.
"I have decided to leave you in Lima, Crawford, to help Videla with the
second battalion. I have good reasons for doing so," continued the
colonel, observing my disappointed look; "and, anyhow, you are well out
of this expedition. I don't expect much from it."
The expedition of which Colonel Miller spoke had been planned on a
large scale for the purpose of crushing the enemy in the south, and the
first battalion of the Peruvian Legion formed part of it. Naturally I
had quite looked forward to sailing with it, and was not at all
pleased, therefore, to be left behind. I had many friends, some of
them not much older than myself, among the officers of the first
battalion, and on the morning of the embarkation I went over to Callao
to see them off. They were delighted at the thought of active service,
and of course chaffed me unmercifully.
"Take care of the town, Juan," said one; "we shall want it when we come
back."
"Some day, when you are a man, we will take you with us," laughed
Ensign Alzura, a merry, round-faced youngster of sixteen; "but we must
have seasoned men for this trip, dear boy."
"Should the Spaniards arrive while we're away, ask them to wait till
our return," remarked another.
"I don't wonder you are so excited," said I coolly; "I felt the same
before I knew what a battle is really like."
"Bravo, Crawford!" cried the colonel, who had joined us unperceived;
"that's a round shot for them. They haven't heard the whistle of the
bullets yet, eh? Well, good-bye; it's time you were getting ashore.
You'll hear news of us from time to time."
"Good news too, I hope, colonel.--Good-bye, Zuviria, Alzura, and all of
you. I hope you've shipped a schoolmaster," and with that parting shot
I ran down to the quay.
The Peruvians were on board the _O'Higgins_; but there were several
other vessels, and presently they all stood out of the bay amidst a
regular salvo of cheering from the spectators.
I returned to Lima feeling rather gloomy, but Lieutenant-Colonel
Videla, who commanded our second battalion, gave me little time for
brooding. Fresh recruits were coming in every day, and the work of
attending to them kept me employed for weeks. There was still a
Patriot army encamped outside Lima, but it did nothing, though who was
to blame I could not say.
About the end of the year, vague yet disquieting rumours began to
circulate in the city. It was said that our troops in the south had
met with defeat, had been cut to pieces and practically swept out of
existence. The victorious Spaniards, uniting all their forces, were
making ready for a swoop on Lima. Everything was lost!
Don Felipe brought us the news, and it was easy to see, in spite of his
talk, that it did not displease him.
"We shall have to call in Bolivar now," said he, "or make peace with
the viceroy. Of course you and I will suffer. Our estates will be
confiscated; we shall probably be thrown into prison; but we are good
patriots, and will not shrink from our duty."
"If the others agree with me," replied my father, "we shall neither
call in Bolivar nor make peace. There is still an army left!"
"Just so, but we cannot trust it. The troops are almost in open
rebellion, and this news will not quiet them."
"We do not yet know that it is true."
"I am sure of it," said our neighbour hastily. "I have--that is to
say, there can be no doubt of it."
A week or two later--January 20, 1823, to be precise--there walked into
the quarters of the second battalion a young officer. His face was
white and drawn, his eyes were sunken; he looked so pitifully weak and
ill that at first I failed to recognize him.
"Well, Crawford," he exclaimed, "am I as changed as all that? Don't
you know your old chum Alzura when you see him?"
"Alzura?" I echoed, aghast.
"All that is left of him."
"Where is the first battalion?"
Spreading his hands out dramatically, he said, "Haven't you heard?
Don't you know what has happened at Torata and Moquegua?"
"I have heard nothing but some very dark rumours," I replied uneasily.
"They cannot be darker than the truth. The army has been destroyed,
and the battalion with it."
"And the colonel?"
"Oh, he was in another district with the light company. But I'll tell
you all about it. We had a wretched voyage, and arrived at Arica half
dead. After that we sat down for three weeks doing nothing, when
Alvarado, who was in chief command, sent the colonel north with the
light company. A lucky thing for them, too!"
"Go on!" said I impatiently.
"Well, at last we moved, and marched as far as Torata. Do you know the
place at all?"
"Oh yes; it's a few miles from Moquegua, isn't it?"
"That's it. Well, the Spaniards were at Torata, and we tried to turn
them out, but failed. Then they attacked, and we were beaten. It was
simply awful. The legion fought like a battalion of heroes. Every one
praised us; but praise won't bring the dead to life. We broke two
cavalry charges, and stood our ground till there wasn't a cartridge
left."
"Then you retreated?"
"Some of us did, not many! We left fifteen of our officers there and
three-fourths of the battalion, all dead or dangerously wounded.
Alvarado took us back to Moquegua; but the Spaniards caught us again.
The second defeat was worse than the first, and when the battle was
over there was no army left. As to the battalion--! O Juan, isn't it
awful? La Rosa, Tarramona, Escobar, Rivero--all gone! I should
think," he added, with a bitter laugh, "I must have been senior
officer."
It was, indeed, a terrible story. I could hardly realize that of all
my high-spirited young friends who had sailed from Callao this was the
only one to return.
"How did you get back?" I asked, after a time.
"With General Martinez. We embarked at Ilo, while General Alvarado
went on to Iquiqui. The game's up in that part of the country, Juan!"
"Oh, nonsense!" I replied brusquely. "We aren't going to lose heart
over a couple of defeats."
Of course the news soon spread, and the people, especially the
soldiers, were wild with anger. They said it was the fault of the
government, and called for fresh rulers. Some advised sending for
Bolivar, while a few prominent citizens even talked of coming to terms
with the enemy.
One morning, toward the end of February, Videla called a council of the
officers belonging to his battalion. He looked pale, but firm and
determined, as if he had resolved on some particular course.
When we had taken our seats, he rose and said, "Señors, I have called
you together to discuss an important proposal. Affairs, as you know,
are in a bad state; the country is in disorder, and the enemy are
triumphing everywhere. Under these circumstances, the chiefs of the
army have decided to force the hands of the government. To-morrow the
troops will march to Lima and demand that a president shall be
appointed with full powers. Now, I will have no part or lot in this
matter. I call it treason. If the government choose to resign, well
and good; if they resist, my sword, at least, is at their service."
A round of cheering greeted his remarks, and one after another the
officers sprang up, pledging themselves to support him.
"Thank you," said he quietly; "I knew you would not fail me. Nothing
will be done until the morning. Then, when the order to march is
issued, I shall command you to stand still."
"Suppose they use force, colonel?" I suggested.
His face grew paler, but he answered steadily, "I trust they will not
be so foolish. Should they be, the battalion, will know how to defend
itself."
"Caramba!" exclaimed Alzura, when the meeting broke up, "it seems to me
that the second battalion is likely to follow the first. What can we
do against an army?"
"There will be no fighting," I answered cheerfully. "They will simply
march without us, and the government will agree to their demands."
I spoke as if my opinion were conclusive, but nevertheless I did not
sleep comfortably that night. The troops were wakened early, breakfast
was hurried over, and then, to the sound of bugles, the various
regiments paraded. Presently they began to move, and a mounted officer
dashed over to know why our battalion remained still.
"By my orders they remain. I refuse to join in what my officers and I
regard as an act of treason," calmly replied Videla. "We will
willingly march against the enemy, but not against our own government."
Bending over, the officer whispered something in his ear.
"We have counted the cost," replied our chief, "and are not to be
frightened. Let the men who are unwilling to obey me fall out; no harm
will happen to them," said he, turning to the troop.
Not a man moved, the brave fellows stood in their ranks, firm as rocks.
Again the officer whispered to Videla, and then dashed off at full
speed. It was, as Alzura afterwards remarked, a bad quarter of an hour
for us. If the chiefs endeavoured to force us into submission, there
could be but one result. Videla would not yield, and we could not
desert him. Perhaps the firmness of our bearing saved us; perhaps the
chiefs feared the people, for the battalion was composed entirely of
Peruvians; but whatever the reason, we remained unmolested, and the
army marched off without us. Then the men were dismissed, and we
gathered in groups to chat over the incident.
"What will happen now?" asked one fellow.
"It is all decided," replied Videla. "I heard last night that the
government will yield. Riva-Aguero is to be made president, and Santa
Cruz commander-in-chief."
"And what shall we do, colonel?"
"Obey orders," he answered, smiling. "We cannot fight for a government
that has resigned its powers."
The evening proved Videla's words true. The troops, having
accomplished their object, returned to camp, rejoicing that the country
had a new ruler.
"Now," exclaimed Alzura, as we turned in for the night, "I suppose we
shall see great things done!"
"New brooms sweep clean," said I, laughing, "but unfortunately they
soon become old ones."
However, it really did seem as if the new general intended to push on
the war in vigorous style. Preparations were made for another
expedition to the south; Bolivar was invited to Peru; and Sucre, his
most brilliant general, had already come.
At this time we knew nothing of Colonel Miller; but about the end of
March he returned to Lima, having done more with his handful of men
than all the southern army. The stories told by officers who served
with him filled us with envy.
"Did you hear how we cleared the Royalists out of Arequipa?" asked
Captain Plaza. "That was a rich joke," and he laughed even at the
recollection of it.
"Let us hear it," said I.
"Well, of course, it loses in the telling, but I'll do my best. First
of all, we caught a peasant and shut him up where he could hear all and
see nothing. The poor fellow imagined we were going to shoot him as a
spy. About every half-hour or so one of us would go to the colonel to
report the arrival of fresh troops, and ask where they were to camp.
Then we spread our few men about the valley and kindled dozens of
blazing fires. As soon as it was dark enough, the colonel ordered the
man to be brought out."
"His face was a study," interrupted Cordova. "He certainly expected to
be shot."
"The colonel read him a lecture," continued Plaza, "and wound up by
offering to spare his life on his promising to take a letter to the
governor of Arequipa. 'But,' said the colonel sternly, 'you are not to
tell what you have seen here. I want him to think we are very few in
number. Do you understand?' The fellow promised readily enough,
placed the letter in his hat, mounted his horse, and rode down the
valley, counting the fires as he went. Of course he told every
Royalist officer the truth as he believed it, and they cleared out of
the district in double-quick time. Then we forced the governor to
supply us with forage for five hundred horses."
"But you didn't have five hundred!"
"That was the joke. We carted the stuff to some sandhills, where a
part of the force was supposed to lie in ambush. When the Royalists
returned with large reinforcements, they wasted days, being afraid of
falling into a trap. It was very funny watching their manoeuvres."
"Then there was the officer with the flag of truce near Chala," said
Cordova. "He carried back a pretty report to his chief!"
"Yes," said Plaza, laughing; "he believed we were just the
advance-guard of a large force. He stayed with us the night, but I'm
afraid his slumbers were troubled ones. The bustle was
tremendous--soldiers coming and going every few minutes. The colonel
was giving all kinds of impossible orders; in fact, you would have
thought we had quite a big army there. Next morning I escorted the
Royalist a mile or so on the road. All our men were spread out, some
in fatigue dress, to make him believe there were at least two
regiments."
"That was a good trick," laughed Alzura.
"And the officers galloped about, shouting to the men to go to their
camps in the rear. Turning to me, the fellow exclaimed seriously, 'It
is all very well for Miller to have a couple of battalions; but we have
a couple as well as he!'
"'Ah,' said I, trying to keep a straight face, 'you keep your eyes
open, I see. I warned the colonel not to let you see so much.'"
"Did you really fool him?" asked half a dozen men in a breath.
"Yes, and kept our position till the colonel was ready to move. If I
had my way, Miller should be commander-in-chief. He is now the best
man in the country for the post."
"Bravo!" cried Cordova. "As it is, I suppose we shall all be under
Bolivar's thumb soon."
"I don't much care who leads," said Alzura, "as long as we win; and
it's about time something was done. The Royalists are getting a strong
following in the city again."
"Bah!" exclaimed Plaza scornfully, "they're just weather-cocks,
twisting about with every wind that blows--first Royalist, then
Patriot, then Royalist again! It's enough to take away one's breath.
Did you hear about Camba?"
"He was one of us," said Alzura, "went over to the Royalists, and came
back again."
"And was appointed second in command of the Legion!"
There was a cry of amazement from every one in the room; but Plaza
continued, "It's a fact; only Miller put his foot down. 'My officers
are gentlemen,' said he. 'If you appoint this man over them they will
break their swords, and I shall be the first to do so.' That stopped
the game, and Camba was pushed in somewhere else."
"It's a wonder he hasn't changed again," I said.
"He is only biding his time, like a good many others."
"I know nearly a dozen myself," said Alzura, "and one of them is a
neighbour of yours, Crawford."
"Do you mean the fellow with the pretty daughter?" some one asked.
"Yes. I respect the girl. She is an out-and-out Royalist, and makes
no attempt to deny it; but the old man is a schemer--he runs with the
hare and hunts with the hounds."
"Don't vent your opinion too freely, my boy; Montilla has powerful
influence in high quarters."
"Well," said Alzura doggedly, "if he isn't working hard to bring back
the Royalists, I am very much mistaken."
The young officer's words made me very uneasy. I knew little of Don
Felipe's proceedings, as, although he was an occasional visitor at our
house, a certain coolness had sprung up between us. For this feeling
it would have been difficult, perhaps, to give any particular reason.
To all appearance the man had acted fairly enough; indeed, according to
his own account, he had always been my best friend.
Still, I had very little love for him, and no respect at all. I was
rather suspicious of a man who changed sides just when it best suited
his interests. With Rosa things were different. She was a born
Royalist, and though I thought her views mistaken, I admired her pluck
in holding so stoutly to them.
But the idea that her father was preparing to turn his coat again
worried me. True, he might win a big reward by helping the Spaniards;
but in the event of discovery, he could hardly expect to escape death.
I told myself the punishment would serve him right, and that the
business was none of mine; yet somehow I could not get rid of the
uneasy feeling. If Alzura's suspicions were correct, the man might be
taken and hanged at any moment. I said again it would serve him right,
but the justice of his sentence would not lessen Rosa's suffering.
All that night I lay awake thinking. I could not get the girl out of
my head. You see, I had known her so long; we had played together like
brother and sister; she was so pretty and winsome that I hated the idea
of trouble assailing her.
In the morning I was inclined to laugh at my fears. Every one knew
there were many people in Lima willing to welcome the Royalists, and it
had been openly stated more than once that Don Felipe Montilla had only
changed sides to secure his property. Doubtless Alzura, knowing this,
had jumped to the conclusion that he would willingly return to his
former allegiance.
"That is about all there is in it," said I, feeling a little more
assured. "It is marvellous what stories some men can build up from a
word here and there! If Alzura lives till the end of the war, he
should be a novelist."
At this time I was a great deal in Lima, being employed by Colonel
Miller in connection with the new expedition which Santa Cruz was to
lead south. Several nights a week I slept at home, much to mother's
satisfaction. My father continued to be busy in public matters, though
he had resigned his office as a protest against the invitation to
Bolivar.
Now, it chanced, about a fortnight after young Alzura's disquieting
talk, that I had occasion to go late at night to Callao, and José
offered to accompany me. It is likely enough that my mother put the
idea into his head, for though brave enough herself, she was always
fearful on my account. However, I was glad to avail myself of José's
offer. The night was fine, the sky was studded with stars, and the
moon, nearly at the full, gave forth a splendid light.
"You may go to bed, Antonio," said I to the old janitor, as he opened
the gate. "We are not likely to return till morning."
"Do you remember our first night ride to Callao?" asked José. "There
was no need for any one to sit up for us then."
"Yes, that I do. And the voyage in the schooner," I added gaily.
"That was an adventure, if you like! We were as near to death then,
José, as ever we have been since."
"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "I have often wondered how we managed to
escape."
Passing through the outer gates of the park on to the highroad, we
cantered our horses about a quarter of a mile, and then turned up a
narrow lane which separated our property from that of Don Felipe
Montilla.
Suddenly checking his horse, José whispered, "See to your pistols, my
boy; there are horsemen coming this way."