IN QUEST OF FORTUNE.
When the war came to an end my occupation was gone, for both circumstances
and my own will compelled me to leave the army. My allowance could no
longer be continued. At the best, the life of a lieutenant of dragoons in
peace time would have been little to my liking; with no other resource
than my pay, it would have been intolerable. So I sent in my papers, and
resolved to seek my fortune in South America. After the payment of my
debts (incurred partly in the purchase of my first commission) and the
provision of my outfit, the sum left at my disposal was comparatively
trifling. But I possessed a valuable asset in the ring given me by the
French lady on the field of Vittoria. It was heavy, of antique make,
curiously wrought, and set with a large sapphire of incomparable beauty. A
jeweler, to whom I showed it, said he had never seen a finer. I could have
sold it for a hundred guineas. But as the gem was property in a portable
shape and more convertible than a bill of exchange, I preferred to keep
it, taking, however, the precaution to have the sapphire covered with a
composition, in order that its value might not be too readily apparent to
covetous eyes.
At this time the Spanish colonies of Colombia (including the countries now
known as Venezuela, New Granada, and Ecuador, as also the present republic
of southern Central America) were in full revolt against the mother
country. The war had been going on for several years with varying
fortunes; but latterly the Spaniards had been getting decidedly the best
of it. Caracas and all the seaport towns were in their possession, and the
patriot cause was only maintained by a few bands of irregulars, who were
waging a desperate and almost hopeless contest in the forests and on the
llanos of the interior.
My sympathies were on the popular side, and I might have joined the
volunteer force which was being raised in England for service with the
insurgents. But this did not suit my purpose. If I accepted a commission
in the Legion I should have to go where I was ordered. I preferred to go
where I listed. I had no objection to fighting, but I wanted to do it in
my own way and at my own time, and rather in the ranks of the rebels
themselves than as officer in a foreign force.
This view of the case I represented to Señor Moreña, one of the "patriot"
agents in London, and asked his advice.
"Why not go to Caracas?" he said.
"What would be the use of that? Caracas is in the hands of the Spaniards."
"You could get from Caracas into the interior, and do the cause an
important service."
"How?"
Señor Moreña explained that the patriots of the capital, being sorely
oppressed by the Spaniards, were losing courage, and he wished greatly to
send them a message of hope and the assurance that help was at hand. It
was also most desirable that the insurgent leaders on the field should be
informed of the organization of a British liberating Legion, and of other
measures which were being taken to afford them relief and turn the tide of
victory in their favor.
But to communicate these tidings to the parties concerned was by no means
easy. The post was obviously quite out of the question, and no Spanish
creole could land at any port held by the Royalists without the almost
certainty of being promptly strangled or shot. "An Englishman,
however--especially an Englishman who had fought under Wellington in
Spain--might undertake the mission with comparative impunity," said Señor
Moreña.
"I understand perfectly," I answered. "I have to go in the character of an
ordinary travelling Englishman, and act as an emissary of the insurgent
junta. But if my true character is detected, what then?"
"That is not at all likely, Mr. Fortescue."
"Yet the unlikely happens sometimes--happens generally, in fact. Suppose
it does in the present instance?"
"In that case I am very much afraid that you would be shot."
"I have not a doubt of it. Nevertheless, your proposal pleases me, and I
shall do my best to carry out your wishes."
Whereupon Señor Moreña expressed his thanks in sonorous Castilian,
protested that my courage and devotion would earn me the eternal gratitude
of every patriot, and promised to have everything ready for me in the
course of the week, a promise which he faithfully kept.
Three days later Moreña brought me a packet of letters and a memorandum
containing minute instructions for my guidance. Nothing could be more
harmless looking than the letters. They contained merely a few items of
general news and the recommendation of the bearer to the good offices of
the recipient. But this was only a blind; the real letters were written in
cipher, with sympathetic ink. They were, moreover, addressed to secret
friends of the revolutionary cause, who, as Señor Moreña believed and
hoped, were, as yet, unsuspected by the Spanish authorities, and at large.
"To give you letters to known patriots would be simply to insure your
destruction," said the señor, "even if you were to find them alive and at
liberty."
I had also Don Alberto's letter, and as the old gentleman had once been
president of the _Audiencia Real_ (Royal Council), Moreña thought it would
be of great use to me, and serve to ward off suspicion, even though some
of the friends to whom he had himself written should have meanwhile got
into trouble.
But as if he had not complete confidence in the efficacy of these
elaborate precautions, Señor Moreña strongly advised me to stay no longer
in Caracas than I could possibly help.
"Spies more vigilant than those of the Inquisition are continually on the
lookout for victims," he said. "An inadvertent word, a look even, might
betray you; the only law is the will of the military and police, and they
make very short work of those whom they suspect. Yes, leave Caracas the
moment you have delivered your letters; our friends will smuggle you
through the Spanish line and lead you to one of the patriot camps."
This was not very encouraging; but I was at an adventurous age and in an
enterprising mood, and the creole's warnings had rather the effect of
increasing my desire to go forward with the undertaking in which I had
engaged than causing me to falter in my resolve. Like Napoleon, I believed
in my star, and I had faced death too often on the field of battle to fear
the rather remote dangers Moreña had foreshadowed, and in whose existence
I only half believed.
The die being cast, the next question was how I should reach my
destination. The Spaniards of that age kept the trade with their colonies
in their own hands, and it was seldom, indeed, that a ship sailed from the
Thames for La Guayra or any other port on the Main. I was, however, lucky
enough to find a vessel in the river taking in cargo for the island of
Curaçoa, which had just been ceded by England to the Dutch, from whom it
was captured in 1807, and for a reasonable consideration the master agreed
to fit me up a cabin and give me a passage.
The voyage was rather long--something like fifty days--yet not altogether
uneventful; for in the course of it we were chased by an American
privateer, overhauled by a Spanish cruiser, nearly caught by a pirate, and
almost swamped in a hurricane; but we fortunately escaped these and all
other dangers, and eventually reached our haven in safety.
I had brought with me letters of credit on a Dutch merchant at Curaçoa, of
the name of Van Voorst, from whom I obtained as much coin as I thought
would cover my expenses for a few months, and left the balance in his
hands on deposit. With the help of this gentleman, moreover, I chartered a
_falucha_ for the voyage to La Guayra. Also at his suggestion, moreover, I
stitched several gold pieces in the lining of my vest and the waistband of
my trousers, as a reserve in case of accident.
We made the run in twenty-four hours, and as the _falucha_ let go in the
roadstead I tore up my memorandum of instructions (which I had carefully
committed to memory) and threw the fragments into the sea.
A little later we were boarded by two revenue officers, who seemed more
surprised than pleased to see me; as, however, my papers were in perfect
order, and nothing either compromising or contraband was found in my
possession, they allowed me to land, and I thought that my troubles (for
the present) were over. But I had not been ashore many minutes when I was
met by a sergeant and a file of soldiers, who asked me politely, yet
firmly, to accompany them to the commandant of the garrison.
I complied, of course, and was conducted to the barracks, where I found
the gentleman in question lolling in a _chinchura_ (hammock) and smoking a
cigar. He eyed me with great suspicion, and after examining my passport,
demanded my business, and wanted to know why I had taken it into my head
to visit Colombia at a time when the country was being convulsed with
civil war.
Thinking it best to answer frankly (with one or two reservations), I said
that, having heard much of South America while campaigning in Spain, I had
made up my mind to voyage thither on the first opportunity.
"What! you have served in Spain, in the army of Lord Wellington!"
interposed the commandant with great vivacity.
"Yes; I joined shortly before the battle of Salamanca, where I was
wounded. I was also at Vittoria, and--"
"So was I. I commanded a regiment in Murillo's _corps d'armée_, and have
come out with him to Colombia. We are brothers in arms. We have both bled
in the sacred cause of Spanish independence. Let me embrace you."
Whereupon the commandant, springing from his hammock, put his arms round
my neck and his head on my shoulders, patted me on the back, and kissed me
on both cheeks, a salute which I thought it expedient to return, though
his face was not overclean and he smelled abominably of garlic and stale
tobacco.
"So you have come to see South America--only to see it!" he said. "But
perhaps you are scientific; you have the intention to explore the country
and write a book, like the illustrious Humboldt?"
The idea was useful. I modestly admitted that I did cultivate a little
science, and allowed my "brother-in-arms" to remain in the belief that I
proposed to follow in the footsteps of the author of "Cosmos"--at a
distance.
"I have an immense respect for science," continued the commandant, "and I
doubt not that you will write a book which will make you famous. My only
regret is, that in the present state of the country you may find going
about rather difficult. But it won't be for long. We have well-nigh got
this accursed rebellion under. A few weeks more, and there will not be a
rebel left alive between the Andes and the Atlantic. The Captain-General
of New Granada reports that he has either shot or hanged every known
patriot in the province. We are doing the same here in Venezuela. We give
no quarter; it is the only way with rebels. _Guerra a la muerte!_"
After this the commandant asked me to dinner, and insisted on my becoming
his guest until the morrow, when he would provide me with mules for myself
and my baggage, and give me an escort to Caracas, and letter of
introduction to one of his friends there. So great was his kindness,
indeed, that only the ferocious sentiments which he had avowed in respect
of the rebels reconciled me to the deception which I was compelled to
practise. I accepted his hospitality and his offer of mules and an escort,
and the next morning I set out on the first stage of my inland journey.
Before parting he expressed a hope--which I deemed it prudent to
reciprocate--that we should meet again.
Nothing can be finer than the ride to Caracas by the old Spanish road, or
more superb than its position in a magnificent valley, watered by four
rivers, surrounded by a rampart of lofty mountains, and enjoying, by
reason of its altitude, a climate of perpetual spring. But the city itself
wore an aspect of gloom and desolation. Four years previously the ground
on which it stood had been torn and rent by a succession of terrible
earthquakes in which hundreds of houses were levelled with the earth, and
thousands of its people bereft of their lives. Since that time two sieges,
and wholesale proscription and executions, first by one side and then by
the other, had well-nigh completed its destruction. Its principal
buildings were still in ruins, and half its population had either perished
or fled. Nearly every civilian whom I met in the streets was in mourning.
Even the Royalists (who were more numerous than I expected) looked
unhappy, for all had suffered either in person or in property, and none
knew what further woes the future might bring them.