HOME AGAIN.
Home again! The weary journey was at an end.
I had crossed the desolate mountains, and was riding into Lima. The
city was gay with flags and bunting; decorations abounded on all sides;
joy-bells pealed, and the streets resounded with the merry laughter and
chatter of the citizens.
News of the brilliant victory at Ayacucho had evidently preceded me.
I longed to ride home at a gallop and throw myself into my mother's
arms; I yearned eagerly for a glimpse of my father's face. I was (do
not think the confession weak) utterly homesick. Duty, however,
claimed me a while longer, and I turned my horse's head toward the
Government House.
It was not possible to move at more than a foot-pace. The crowd surged
around me; little children, garlanded with flowers, ran close to my
horse's hoofs. I was terribly afraid some of them would be trampled to
death.
Many soldiers were there, too, their uniforms spick and span, and
unspotted by the soil of the Andes. Mine was dirty, bloodstained, and
not altogether free from rents. I rode carefully, but my eyes were
heavy and my limbs ached with fatigue.
Darting suddenly from the throng, a man seized my bridle-rein and cried
aloud, "A soldier from Ayacucho! Here is one of our brave deliverers!"
[Illustration: "A soldier from Ayacucho! Here is one of our brave
deliverers!"]
Instantly I was surrounded by the crowd, which pressed me so closely
that my horse could barely move. Viva after viva rent the air;
laughing girls and women half smothered me with flowers; men marched
beside me or fell into line behind, forming a kind of triumphal
procession. One would have thought I was the saviour of the country--a
second Bolivar!
Thus, laughing, cheering, and singing, they escorted me to the
Government House, where, leaving my astonished horse with the guards, I
hurried inside. An official, in all the glory of a gorgeous uniform,
demanded my business, and remarked haughtily that the president was
engaged.
"Tell him," said I, "that a lieutenant of the Hussars of Junin is here
with dispatches from General Sucre."
After waiting a few minutes, I was conducted through the spacious hall
to a room guarded by a file of soldiers. My attendant knocked timidly
at the door, which was immediately opened, and I entered the apartment.
Bolivar sat at a table dictating letters to his secretary and talking
to several officers of high rank. His complexion seemed sallower than
ever, his dark hair had more of gray in it, but his eyes had lost none
of their penetrating keenness.
I saluted and stood at attention, waiting for him to speak.
"Ah," exclaimed he, in his loud, rasping voice, and turning his eyes
askance as he usually did in conversation, "you are Lieutenant
Crawford! I have not forgotten you. How is it that you still have
only two stripes?" pointing to the stripes of silver lace round my
cuff, which denoted the rank of lieutenant.
"I do not know, general," I replied.
"Your Excellency!" corrected one of the officers standing near.
"Let him alone!" cried Bolivar; "he is a soldier, and 'general' comes
more naturally to his lips.--Where are the dispatches?"
I presented them.
"Humph! enough work here for the rest of the day," said he on glancing
through them.--"Garcia," turning to one of the officers, "countermand
the reception; I shall be too busy.--Ah, here is a letter from Miller!
I see he commends you very highly, young man, and desires to bring you
to my notice. There is nothing I like so much as rewarding true
merit.--Garcia, make out Lieutenant Crawford's commission as captain in
the Hussars of Junin, for bravery on the field.--I congratulate you,
captain. I see by your face you are anxious to go."
After thanking him for my promotion, I said, "Yes, general; I have not
seen my father and mother for a very long time."
"Your father--ah, now I remember. He is no friend to me--would be glad
to see me out of Peru, in fact, eh? Well, I shall go some day. But he
is a true man for all that, and an Englishman. I love the English.
Perhaps it is as well for your father that I do. Tell him, Captain
Crawford, that Bolivar has some good points."
"He has already recognized them, general," I answered.
"He conceals his discovery well, then. But I will not keep you longer.
Present yourself at my levee in the morning, and don't forget to wear
that extra band of lace."
"There is no fear of that, general," said I, with a smile; "I am too
proud of the honour."
Apparently the remark pleased him, as he was very gracious when I took
my leave, though the officers-in-waiting looked at me as if I had been
overbold.
Out again into the street. The crowd had dispersed, and only a few
people were about as I once more mounted my jaded animal. Now for
home! Forward, good horse! My spirits rose with every step; the tired
feeling left me; I could have sung aloud for very joy.
The sight of the Montilla hacienda sobered my happiness somewhat. The
grounds were trim and well-kept, but the dwelling looked untenanted.
What had become of Rosa? Perhaps--yes, that must be it--she was
staying with my mother. I urged my horse into a spasmodic gallop, but
the poor beast soon resumed his old pace.
There was a horse behind me, though, that could gallop. I turned
quickly to see who the rider was, and laughed gaily.
"Why, Jack!" cried the faithful José, his eyes brimful of pleasure.
"Captain Crawford, if you please!" I interrupted with assumed dignity.
"Captain or general, it's all the same to me, as long as you're home
again, Jack, with no scratch on you! Hurrah! won't there be a fuss in
the house to-night!" and away he went at breakneck speed toward the
gate.
"Better so," said I, jogging along. "He'll be able to prepare them a
little.--Come, old boy," to my horse, "can't you manage even a trot?
Well, never mind; we're nearly there."
The gate of the park was wide open, and inside stood more than half of
my father's servants. They could not wait for me to reach the
courtyard. How they cheered, to be sure! It was a pleasant foretaste
of the welcome that awaited me.
Good old Antonio was at the little gate, so I dismounted and spoke a
word with him, though my feet itched to be dashing along the courtyard.
Then I sent my horse to the stables, with strict orders that it should
be carefully groomed and fed, and made comfortable.
At last! My heart beat loudly; my head was dizzy; I could barely
distinguish the figures in the hall. But my mother's arms were round
me, her lips pressed close to mine, in a fond embrace.
Then came my father's welcome, and presently, in the brilliantly-lit
drawing-room, a young girl came forward and placed her hand in mine.
She was dressed in black, and looked somewhat sad and careworn, as if
life had not been particularly pleasant of late.
"Welcome home, Juan," said she softly; and I saw by her face she was
thinking of the night when I had ridden hurriedly away in the vain
endeavour to save her father's life. We did not speak of it then, and
when, after changing my clothes, I returned to the drawing-room, Rosa
was not there.
"She has gone to her own room," explained my mother, noticing my look
of disappointment. "It would have been difficult for the poor child to
stay with us this first evening."
"She has heard of her father's death, then?"
"Yes," said my father, quickly and with a warning glance. "She knows
that the Indians shot him, thinking he had been in correspondence with
the Royalists."
I understood at once that my father was aware of the truth, but that,
with his usual kindly thought, he had kept it from both the bereaved
girl and my mother. He never alluded to the miserable incident, nor
did I; and Rosa was left in ignorance of the real reason for her
father's untimely end.
Of course, we sat late talking over my adventures in the mountains, and
of the terrible battle which had secured the independence of Peru.
"Yes," said my father confidently, "whatever else happens, the
Spaniards will never again rule over this country; their power is
broken. But we are not yet out of the wood: as a Peruvian, I still
fear Bolivar's ambition."
"Oh," I exclaimed gaily, "I had forgotten Bolivar! He has made me a
captain!" and I told them all about my interview with the celebrated
general.
"I admit his good points," laughed my father; "but I do not like to see
one person invested with such tremendous power. Still, there is no
doubt we owe our liberty in great part to his wonderful energy,
together with his determination never to acknowledge defeat. He has
toiled day and night like a slave."
"I shall be glad when your regiment returns, Juan," said my mother. "I
am longing to see your brave friends, and especially Alzura. I seem to
know him quite well already."
"You are sure to like him, mother. He is a delightful companion, full
of fun, and always laughing and joking. Plaza is older and more of a
soldier, but I owe a great deal to his kindness."
"We will endeavour to repay it, my boy," said she brightly, kissing me
good-night. "Don't stay up too long. Remember you have to attend the
levee in the morning."
When she had retired, I asked my father for news of Raymon Sorillo.
"He is still serving against the Royalists, but his band has sadly
diminished. He came here secretly one night, and informed me of your
attempt to rescue Montilla. I think he was very angry; but he said it
was a daring act, and almost successful. However, he bears no malice,
and is as ready as ever to stand your friend."
"Ugh!" said I, getting up with a shiver; "I hope I shall not need his
assistance."
The next day, after attending the levee, where Bolivar was particularly
gracious, I obtained an indefinite leave of absence, and returned home.
Rosa was alone, and though rather dreading to be asked about the
business of the silver key, I thought it best to get the interview
over. As it happened, I need not have worried myself at all.
"I wanted to see you, Juan," she said, giving me her hand. "It seems
ages ago when I sent you out on that terrible errand. I ought not to
have done it; but my father's life was at stake, and I did not think of
the danger to you."
"Think no more of it, Rosa. After all, the danger was trifling; the
Indians would not have hurt me."
"I don't quite understand the story," she said thoughtfully, "but I
know you risked your life."
"There was little risk. I had a slight chance to rescue your father
from the Indians, and seized it. Unfortunately the attempt failed, and
I was captured by the Royalists. So in one way you did me a good turn;
for while the other fellows were starving and fighting in the
mountains, I was pretty comfortably off."
"But you were in the great battle?"
"Yes, I was. I escaped from prison chiefly to please a mad-brained
young lieutenant of my regiment. But it is all past now, Rosa, and
there will be no more fighting."
"I am sorry for his Majesty," she said simply, "and for the loyal
gentlemen who have died for him."
"There were some splendid fellows amongst the Royalists," I said, and
proceeded to tell her the story of the gallant Santiago Mariano.
"He must have been a brave man, Juan!"
"He was, and he had equally brave comrades. Now that the struggle is
over, they will join us, and we shall all work together in peace for
the prosperity of our common country. The war has been a terrible
evil, but I am hoping that much good may come from it. I dream of a
grand future for Peru, and of a time when the Land of the Sun shall
recover its ancient glory."
"I hope your dream will come true, Juan. I am sure you will try to
make it do so," she said. "But you must not expect me to be pleased
that we are no longer loyal subjects of the Spanish king."
* * * * * *
Here ends the story of my adventures during the War of Independence.
The Spanish power was completely crushed; but, as my father had
foretold, there were still many misfortunes in store for our unhappy
country. The men who had fought so hard for liberty quarrelled among
themselves. There were endless disputes and conspiracies, and many
soldiers who had bravely faced death on the battlefield were executed
by their fellow-countrymen.
For two years Bolivar ruled at Lima. He was at the height of his
glory. He had freed Venezuela, New Granada, and Ecuador from the
Spaniards, and joined them into the one country of Colombia. Upper
Peru he had formed into another country called Bolivia, and he was the
real master of Peru proper.
His boundless ambition, however, overreached itself. Enemies rose up
against him on all sides. He was driven from power, and seven years
after the battle of Ayacucho died a broken-hearted man.
After his departure from Lima, my father's Spanish friend, General La
Mar, who had once been Governor of Callao, was elected president, and
the country settled down into a state of something like order.
There still remain a few personal matters to be recorded before my pen
is finally laid aside.
Among those who opposed Bolivar's rule in Peru, none was more bitter or
reckless than the guerilla chief, Raymon Sorillo. Unfortunately for
him, the war had greatly weakened the society of the Silver Key. His
bravest men and ablest lieutenants had died fighting, and he was left
with only a shadow of his former power.
Undaunted by this, he openly defied Bolivar's authority. For several
months he held his own against the regular troops, but at last, being
captured, was tried as a traitor, and condemned to death.
My father made strenuous efforts to save him, and would have succeeded
but for Sorillo himself.
"The man is a desperate ruffian," said Bolivar, in answer to my
father's appeal for mercy; "but I will pardon him on condition that he
takes the oath of allegiance and swears to obey the laws."
Overjoyed by his success, my father hurried to the prison where Sorillo
was confined. The doughty mountaineer refused the offer with scorn.
"I took up arms for the independence of Peru," said he, "not to
exchange the tyranny of the Spaniards for that of a Venezuelan
adventurer. I thank you, señor, from my heart, but I prefer death to
these conditions."
My father stayed with him nearly the whole day, but could not shake his
resolve. So in the early morning the redoubtable chief was led into
the prison yard, and was placed near a wall. Some of the soldiers
wished to bandage his eyes, but he would not allow it.
"No," said he; "I have looked in the face of death too closely and too
often to fear it. Fire! I shall not tremble."
Thus he died, and whatever else may be said, it cannot be denied that,
in his own headstrong, obstinate way, he was faithful to the cause for
which many better men had laid down their lives.
Of my friend Plaza it is only necessary to say that, through General
Miller's influence as well as by his own merit, he rapidly advanced to
high office, being made governor of one of the inland provinces. He
has paid me several visits since he left the hussars, and his sole
regret is that Cordova did not live to share in the general good
fortune.
An old acquaintance, who has also since done well in the world, is
Barriero. When the victory at Ayacucho became known, the prisoners on
the island rose in revolt, and overpowered their guards. Barriero
placed himself at their head, seized all the arms and ammunition, and
formed the patriots into a company. Then, assisted by some Indians, he
crossed the morass and marched to Cuzco, where, to his joy and
astonishment, he heard that Alzura and I had safely escaped across the
dreaded swamp.
Alzura resigned his commission shortly after the regiment returned to
Lima. He succeeded to a fine estate near the capital, and is one of
our most frequent visitors. My father is very fond of him, and as for
my mother, I sometimes say she thinks more of him than of myself;
indeed, the dear fellow has almost become like a second son to her.
José is still my father's right-hand man. He has long since amassed a
snug fortune; but I expect he will die in the old home, where he is an
esteemed and valued and trusty friend.
Felipe Montilla's hacienda no longer stands desolate. Rosa has again
taken up her residence there, but under the name of Crawford, and
employs me, as my father jokingly says, to look after her estates. She
is still a Royalist at heart, but as the years pass she becomes more
and more reconciled to the changes which have taken place since Peru
obtained its independence
AT THE POINT OF THE SWORD.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's At the Point of the Sword, by Herbert Hayens