DARNING THE NEEDLE.
The darkest period in Peruvian history was the year 1880. Defeated on
sea and on land, the nation had drawn its forces toward the centre and
awaited a final struggle near historic Lima, the City of the Kings.
But the Chileans, triumphant, were in no haste to follow up the
victories of Tarapacá, Tacna, Arica, and Point Angamos; they realized
the enervating influences that always are at work in an army that is
inactive and on the defensive; and although as early as January nothing
hindered the northward movement of their land forces, they refrained
from striking the decisive blow, and passed the time perfecting the
transport service, increasing the efficiency of the troops and laying by
stores of munitions of war.
The blockade of Callao, established toward the close of 1879, was
maintained without interruption, and the harbor, which only two years
before had been second only to San Francisco in commercial importance on
the west coast of the Americas, became a drear waste of water, for not a
vessel, of sail or steam, was permitted to enter, unless it might be an
occasional war-ship of a neutral power; nor could any craft depart after
the expiration of the forty-eight hours which the Chilean admiral had
given as notification.
During those two days and two nights, craft of all description and
flying flags of all nations prominent in the maritime world put to sea
and sailed north or south, some laden, but the majority in ballast; and
when the last one had departed and the enemy’s cordon was close drawn in
the offing, the Bay of Callao reflected only one story—the death of
commerce.
Where two hundred ships had swung at anchor, a Peruvian sloop or an
abandoned bark rose sluggishly with the ground swell; where once was
seen the men-of-war of the Peruvian navy, awaiting the word from Lima to
dash south, now appeared only the wooden corvette _Union_, the obsolete
coast defence monitor _Atahuallpa_, and the school-ship _Maria Theresa_;
once there was constant danger of collision in the harbor, because of
the press of small boats—cutters, gigs, and barges, propelled by oars;
steam launches darting here and there, whistles blowing lustily;
lighters moving slowly as long sweeps were pushed, and sailboats gliding
with white wings outstretched,—now the appearance of even a rowboat
caused conjecture.
Before Harvey’s departure for the interior, the bay had been a never
ending source of delight to the three boys; indeed, it had appealed to
all foreign residents, as well as to the natives, but to none more than
to the members of the Callao Rowing Club, for the placid waters
permitted their going some distance from the shore, even in the racing
shells, and the trade wind not reaching the water near the beach line,
and the surface not being ruffled, it was possible to feather the spoon
oars by sliding them, even as is done on pond and river. After the
blockade was established, Carl, Louis, and Harvey occasionally went out
for spins; but the wide waste of harbor had little attraction, and they
soon abandoned visits to the boat-house at Los Baños, preferring to take
their recreation in the fields, on horseback, or in some of the games
that had been introduced from the United States and England.
Other members of the club felt the same about rowing in the bay; and a
fortnight after the Chilean vessels appeared in the offing, the
governing board decided to close the boat-house until peace should be
declared and normal conditions be restored in Callao. So the shells,
practice boats, canoes, and the sail-boat were carefully housed in the
large covered barge that was anchored a short distance from shore; the
doors were securely fastened, and Pedro, the keeper, was told he would
have to seek other employment. The members removed their effects from
the lockers in the apartments which had been rented from the owner of
the Baños del Oroya, and the lease to these shore quarters was
surrendered. But the Callao Rowing Club did not disband. The
organization was maintained, and to-day it is a flourishing athletic
association, famous up and down the West Coast.
In naval parlance ships are “darning the needle” when they steam back
and forth before a harbor, out of the reach of shore batteries, yet near
enough to prevent entrance and departure of vessels. This is what the
Chileans did day after day, week after week, and month after month, and
it became an accustomed sight to see their low, black hulls in the
offing, steam rising lazily from the funnels.
The vessels first on blockade duty were the _Blanco Encalada_, which
flew the admiral’s pennant, the _Huascar_, the _Angamos_, the
_Pilcomayo_, and the _Mathias Cousino_. Others were added after a time,
and there were frequent changes in the squadron; but the little
_Huascar_ was kept on the station as an aggravation to the Peruvians.
The _Angamos_ was a cruiser of a modern type and armed with one rifle
gun, which, reports said, could throw a shell from Callao to Lima—eight
miles.
The monotony of the blockade was broken after the first month by a short
bombardment of Callao, which was brought about by the Chucuito forts
opening upon a steam launch from the _Blanco Encalada_, that ran in
close to La Punta, evidently to reconnoitre the shore battery there. The
shots from the land guns were fired at six o’clock in the evening, and
the Chilean squadron steamed into the harbor one hour later. The first
broadside from out in the bay was followed by a panic in the seacoast
city and a wild rush of the residents to escape into the environs. Among
the thousands who fled from their homes were Mr. Dartmoor and the
members of his family and Captain Saunders and Carl. After that exciting
night, most of which was passed in the fields, they and many others
moved to Lima and only visited Callao during the day.
Little damage was done by the bombardment; only a few houses were
destroyed, and no loss of life was reported. But the brief engagement
was signalled by as remarkable an incident as any ever related
concerning war times, and the story thereof is told in Callao to this
day. Immediately after dinner that evening the daughter of an American
bookseller sat down before the piano in the parlor of her father’s home
and commenced playing. After rendering one of Mozart’s compositions she
swung around on the stool, in order that she might easily reach for more
sheet music, and the motion brought her feet and lower limbs from
beneath the instrument. At that instant the _Blanco Encalada_ opened
fire out in the bay, and a shot from one of her guns, flying shoreward,
pierced the side of this residence, cut through the piano stool, as
neatly as would a buzz-saw, crushed the lower part of the piano, and
made its exit through another wall. The young woman fell upon the floor
unharmed. Had she not swung partly around her legs would have been shot
away. No other residence of any consequence was struck that night, the
dwellings destroyed being ramshackle structures.
One week later an attempt was made at midnight to destroy the monitor
_Atahuallpa_ with a torpedo, but side-nets had been lowered around the
war-ship, and the submarine engine was caught in the meshes, where it
exploded, throwing water on board. The report caused alarm in the city,
but investigation proved that no damage had been done. Attempts were
made later in January to destroy the _Union_, and they also failed.
Short bombardments became of more frequency, and those who remained in
Callao grew accustomed to the gun-fire and the whistling of shot and
shell.
Thus passed the late summer and early spring of 1880. With each
succeeding week the value of food products increased, for no supplies
came into port, and the irrigated lands were not of sufficient area to
furnish all vegetable products that were required. Demand was made on
the interior, but the means of transportation were so poor that articles
thus brought commanded almost prohibitive prices. Eggs were sold for two
and three dollars a dozen, and meat became worth almost that sum per
pound; potatoes, even in the land of their birth, brought fancy prices,
and milk and butter were soon not obtainable. But rice and corn were in
plenty, so that, although the majority were compelled to deny themselves
a variety of diet, there was no fear of starvation.