OLD GLORY IN THE BAY.
“The star-spangled banner,
O long may it wave!
O’er the land of the free
And the home of the brave.”
General Matajente and Señor Cisneros acted as hosts one afternoon, a
week after the stirring events related in the last two chapters, and
entertained as guests at luncheon those who were about to undertake the
overland journey north. The tables were set in the grand salle of the
big hotel on the tip of La Punta.
The truce agreed upon by the commanders of the land and sea forces would
end with the going down of the sun on the morrow, and it was expected
that warlike operations would be renewed with vigor. This meant active
work for the general, and as his friends would leave for the States
within twenty-four hours, he had suggested this means of bidding
farewell.
Don Isaac was also there, and so were Señor and Señora Caceras and
Bella. The latter would, of course, remain in Peru; at least everybody
thought they would remain, until, immediately after rising from the
table, Mr. Dartmoor announced that he had persuaded Señor Caceras to
send his wife and daughter to the States with them. There was much
rejoicing among the young people at this, for they had been drawn very
close by the perils through which they had passed.
“I don’t see how it is possible for me to get ready,” said the señora.
“Try,” urged Mrs. Dartmoor. “I will help you to-night and to-morrow
morning.”
“I would advise you to make the journey, madam,” said Don Isaac “Your
daughter does not seem to have been well since her exciting experience.”
“No, she has not, and I suppose the journey, especially the sea voyage,
would be of great benefit.”
“Indeed it will,” assented Mrs. Dartmoor. “Rosita also needs a change.
She has become very nervous. For that matter, I think we have all been
somewhat upset by these trying times. I wish your husband could
accompany us.”
“I may be able to do so, at least as far as Panama,” he said.
“Then I shall go,” said Señora Caceras.
Bella brightened at this, and Harvey, who had appeared somewhat worried
when the conversation had taken a doubtful tone, exclaimed in
unromantic, but no less hearty, tones, “Isn’t that bully!”
“General Matajente, I wish that you could go,” said Mrs. Dartmoor.
“Duty, señora, compels me to remain.”
“And you, Señor Cisneros?”
“I must return to Huari.”
From the large salle in which luncheon had been served they went to the
broad veranda above, where there were many chairs, and from where they
could enjoy the beautiful view of the bay, the seacoast city beyond, and
Lima in the distance.
Both Carl and his father felt a twinge of sadness when they saw the
suite of rooms where they had passed so many happy months before Mrs.
Saunders had returned to the States with Harold, but this was followed
by the glad thought that they would soon be speeding north, homeward
bound.
While the adults drew chairs near the centre of the broad balcony, the
young people walked to the end, from where they could command a better
view of the bay and also of San Lorenzo.
“Oh, those were happy days when we could row over there in the practice
boats!” exclaimed Louis, pointing to the big island.
“Are not these days happy, sir?” asked Bella Caceras.
“Y-e-s,” he stammered, somewhat confused. “You know, I meant——”
“Well, what did you mean?” she demanded laughingly.
“It was a different kind of happiness,” said Harvey, coming to the
rescue.
“You said that very prettily; didn’t he, Rosita?”
“Yes, he did. But tell the honest truth, boys, where would you rather
be—out in the bay, or talking with us here, on the veranda?”
“Here,” replied Carl.
“So I say,” Louis replied.
“And you, Harvey?”
“I would rather be out in the bay, and have you girls with us.”
At this they all laughed heartily.
“Look, there’s another ship coming to join the fleet!” exclaimed the
youngest lad, pointing seaward; and they saw a seventh vessel farther
out, heading toward the six that composed the blockading squadron.
“It was there that you were capsized, was it not?” asked Bella of Louis.
“Yes, just off the end of San Lorenzo, near where the _Blanco Encalada_
is cruising. My! Carl, but that was an anxious evening! I don’t believe
I ever told you how frightened I was during the hours that we clung to
the overturned cat-boat.”
“No, and I never told you. I think we kept one another’s courage up,
don’t you?”
“Yes I’m sure we did.”
“Let’s leave this place,” said Harvey, “and go where the others are. It
makes me homesick to look out over the bay.”
“Why?” asked the girls.
“Because the ships are all gone. It’s like going through a house where
everybody is dead.”
“Ugh! what a comparison!”
Captain Saunders was talking when they came near, and they drew up
chairs and listened. He had been telling those near him of a lonely six
months he had passed in Nicaragua, soon after the close of the war, when
he had been compelled to remain in that country as an attaché to the
United States legation.
“I had not been long married,” he was saying, “and had left Mrs.
Saunders and Carl in the States, for there was no steamship
communication then, and the voyage to many parts of the Central American
coast was made in sailing vessels. It was a very lonely life, there were
few congenial spirits, and the one or two who were companionable were as
homesick as I. On three occasions I was sorely tempted to go on board a
steamer and sail for New York, and it is curious to note how old
associations influenced me at such times.”
“How was that?” inquired Don Isaac.
“The first,” said the captain, “occurred one hot afternoon while I was
lying in a hammock under a cypress tree. It was a very oppressive day
and I was endeavoring to sleep, when suddenly from somewhere came the
notes of violin music. Somebody was playing, ‘Maryland, my Maryland.’
The air at once brought before my mind the two years I had passed at
college in northern Ohio, for one of my old fraternity songs had been
set to this music. I saw the fresh green campus, bordered with maples,
the gray weather-stained dormitories, the red brick gymnasium, and
before me passed one after another of my old college friends. An
irresistible longing came to rise and hurry to the land where they
lived, away from that land of strangers.”
“And the second time?” asked Señor Cisneros.
“Was one night while lying awake and tortured with fever I heard the
strains of ‘Home, Sweet Home.’ Then came a picture of my wife and child,
of the wooden house, opposite the Episcopal church, in the little
village where I had left them. I could see the yard, the well-sweep,
yes, and I could hear the wooden roller creak as the bucket was hauled
from the cool depths; and in my longing I believe I called out for some
of that cold, crystal water which I had drunk when a boy.”
“The third?”
“The third,” said Captain Saunders, sitting upright, “was at Greytown,
or San Juan del Norte, on a Christmas day. I was looking out into the
bay when there rounded a cape and steamed in full view a ship of
graceful lines, and I saw fluttering from her gaff——”
“Oh, father!” interrupted Carl. “A man-of-war is coming into the
harbor!”
They all jumped to their feet, and hastened to the end of the veranda.
“There,” said the captain, “there’s the picture I saw. Look! The stars
and stripes! An American war-ship has arrived.”
It was so. A cruiser, of graceful lines and tapering masts, was moving
slowly over the passive waters of the bay, and streaming from her
halyards was Old Glory. They watched her in silence as she steamed to a
point opposite Chucuito, where the anchor was let go, and then the
stillness of the afternoon was broken by the discharge of cannon as her
forward guns fired a salute to the Peruvian flag that had been broken at
the fore truck.
“That must be the _Pensacola_,” said Harvey.
“Yes, and Brown is her captain,” Captain Saunders exclaimed.
“Why has she come here, do you suppose?” asked Mr. Dartmoor.
“To take Americans and other foreigners to the north before a general
bombardment is begun. Brown has probably received word that Chile
contemplates aggressive action, and he has come to our rescue. Dartmoor,
our overland journey need not be undertaken. We can sail north in an
American man-of-war.”
A half hour later they left the hotel and went by the little train, some
to Chucuito and others to Callao. While walking to the station, Bella
Caceras, who had been very quiet ever since the advent of the
_Pensacola_, stepped to Captain Saunders’s side and said to him:—
“I’m so sorry. No, not exactly sorry, because I’m glad for your sake,
but I’m sorry for ours.”
“Sorry about what, young lady?”
“That mamma and I cannot go to the United States.”
“But why can’t you go?”
“You said, didn’t you, that the war vessel would take away Americans and
other foreigners? We are Peruvians.”
“Bless my heart!” ejaculated the captain, “if you look at old Brown only
half as wistfully as you do at me, he will not only take you, but will
surrender his cabin for your occupancy. Of course you will go, if any of
us do. I promise that.”
Whereat Bella became happy again, and ran to the side of her mother and
father, to whom she told the good news.
That evening the American consul sent word to the members of the foreign
colony that Captain Brown of the _Pensacola_ would take all citizens of
the United States on board the _Pensacola_ on the morrow and carry them
to Panama, and that he extended like invitations to other non-combatants
who wished to escape from the beleaguered city.
“The word ‘non-combatant’ applies to you, Miss Bella,” said Captain
Saunders, smiling at the young Peruvian.
He was right. The commander of the cruiser was glad that he could grant
passage to the friends of the Saunders and Dartmoors, and by three
o’clock the next day those who had planned the overland trip were stowed
away, bag and baggage, on the American man-of-war. As she steamed out of
port an hour later, two persons waved good-bys from the Peruvian state
barge, that had been pulled out into the harbor. One was General
Matajente and the other Señor Cisneros.
The war-ship steamed near the _Blanco Encalada_, and through a
speaking-trumpet Captain Brown thanked the admiral for permitting his
entrance into the harbor. Then the course was shaped for the north.
At five o’clock the land was but a blue haze in the distance. Carl,
Louis, and Harvey stood at the stern rail and watched the fading
outlines.
“Good-by, Peru,” said Carl, finally. “I suppose I shall never see you
again.”
“Poor Peru!” exclaimed Louis. “She has been kind to us. I wonder what
her future will be?”
Harvey said nothing, but to him the shore line was even more dim than to
the others, for a mist had formed in his eyes.