AFTER this, del Torre’s body grew broken, with his heart.
It was the last campaign of liberation. The final battle was fought not
far from Los Teques, where the convent was; and the wall of the church
of the Vergen de las Mercedes was scarred with balls. The fight was
over, the country was free. And the General at last was killed.
Bolivar himself went with del Torre’s body to Carácas; our General’s
_corps d’armée_ were his pall-bearers. The news, of course, had
been sent to the city; the Governor had fled; the General’s tri-color
now, the red-white-green of Colombia, was floating over the Capitol.
All the town was gay with banners, merry with song. It had forgotten
the earthquake, and was now rebuilt, though lower down. The Casa Rey
now stood at the head of the principal street, which sloped from
it down the mountain side. And as the regiment escorting his body
debouched into this avenue and turned upward (as its dead leader had so
often done before), and the town came in view, there was a great hush
upon the people. For lo! Now, at last, the window of the tower was wide
open and the house bore all no black, but was festooned with laughing
tri-color. And the window of the tower was open, and there within stood
our Lady Dolores, in her white wedding laces, waving her hand.
She met them at the great door. Bolivar, and the officers who had been
with our General, started. For, as she stood there in her slender satin
gown, her eyes upon them, she was like a young girl. And her girlish
waist was bound about with pearls.
The fact was, she was seven-and-twenty. They placed his bier first in
the great room; but she would have it in hers, so in the tower-room
they placed it, with burning candles standing sentry now where she had
stood; and by its side were lilies--the flower of the Holy Ghost--and
then they left her. Then first, since her wedding-day, she looked upon
him, face to face, his eyes now dead to see. Their eyes so met. And
outside, from the city now again joyous, came the carillon of freedom
bells.