Where Strongest Tide Winds Blew
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The stretch of road from Julica to Cabanillas was level and straight, except about two miles from Cabanillas station, where a heavy side cut and sharp curve was the only obstruction to the view for miles. I was going at the rate of forty miles an hour, when, on nearing this curve, I beheld a large Rogers locomotive with a train of coaches coming toward me. I cannot describe the thoughts that went through my brain–there was a terrific crash–flying debris–a hissing of steam–mingled with the groans of the wounded and dying.
I was thrown out of the way of the wreck and near the edge of a river, and when I regained my senses a priest was bending over me, bathing my forehead. I gradually realized what had happened and went to my engine. There was scarcely a vestige left of The Little Arequipena, only a piece of the boiler and two pairs of driving wheels. The shock was so great that the little coach was hurled over the other engine, which was not damaged much.
I saw several persons bending over some one, and, on going closer, found William Cuthbert, our traveling engineer, stretched on the ground dying. Five soldiers were dead beneath the ruins. One officer, with his legs broken in two places, begged that others be cared for first. The road-master was in agony, his lower limbs frightfully burned by escaping steam; all the others were more or less seriously injured, except myself. When relief came our dead and wounded were taken to Arequipa.
We had been sent out to repair the wires, and orders had come to me that we should be given the right of way. The engineer who collided with me told me that the commander of the government forces had ordered our superintendent to furnish transportation for his troops to Puno at once, and when informed that it would be impossible to send a train until we were heard from, he threatened to place the superintendent in jail unless his orders were complied with. No one on the other train was hurt. They had six coaches full of soldiers, the priest who assisted me being among them.
The day after our arrival at Arequipa the funeral of William Cuthbert took place. The procession was the largest that I had ever witnessed at any funeral in Arequipa, natives as well as foreigners taking part.
It was a long time before I recovered from the shock, not alone of the collision, but the death of William Cuthbert who always had been ready to befriend me and who had given me much valuable information. He lies buried in the cemetery at Arequipa, in a vault. A marble slab was erected to his memory.
The general manager sent for me one day to come to his office in Arequipa, and after talking over the cause of the collision, I told him that I considered him to blame for allowing any engine and train to go out without knowing first where we were, and that it would have been better to have gone to prison, that if he had been sent there the American government would have demanded his freedom, and he would have been honored. As it stood, he was to a certain extent responsible for that dreadful affair. After some more words I left the office, realizing that I had incurred the displeasure of the head officer. I concluded to leave, which I was sorry to do, as I looked upon Arequipa as my only home.
I visited Valparaiso and again met Cockney Spider. He was still at his old business, conducting a runaway sailors’ boarding house. A few weeks later found me in Panama, an engineer on the Panama and Aspinwall railroad. The climate, I believe, is the most wretched in the world, and tropical vegetation grows the rankest. In a few months I was stricken with the yellow fever, but thanks to my robust constitution I soon recovered. About this time I met an official of the government railway at Ilo, who desired me to return and accept a position as engineer on the road. I told him of my troubles in that town with the officials. He met me soon afterwards, with a contract duly drawn up for eighteen months’ service and a guarantee that I should not be molested by any petty official.
When I arrived at Ilo, imagine my surprise to find that the man who rowed me ashore was the Italian who caused my arrest. He offered to shake hands but I refused. When I went to the hotel many of my old native friends came to see me, and informed me that after I had left they discovered the person who did the shooting. It was done by one of their own number, who managed to get away.
It was very gratifying to thus have my innocence established, but it did not recompense for the time I had spent in jail and the loss of money.
I had been running a train out of Ilo about a month, when one night I was invited to a “wake.” Having never attended one, I accepted the invitation. At one end of the room stood a large table, and upon it the body of a child two years old. On its head was a wreath of flowers. The child was dressed in white; in its tiny hands was a bouquet of flowers; the feet were encased in small white slippers; lighted candles surrounded the body. At either end of the table were several old women, who were employed by the family as mourners, and they kept up a continual low moaning sound. Occasionally they would stop to partake of wine, and start again, more dismal than ever. The room was large and on each side were seated ladies and gentlemen talking and laughing and seemingly enjoying themselves. The parents of the dead child appeared to have surpassed the expectations of their friends and made a great success of the “wake.”
There is a custom in Peru that when several persons are gathered together there is constant drinking. A large bottle of wine or whiskey is placed on the table with one glass. A lady or gentleman will fill the glass and drink to the health of some one present. It is bad form to leave any liquor in the glass, so it is always drained, refilled and presented to the one whose health has been drunk. It is an insult to refuse to drink, after one has drank to your health and the person accepting the glass drinks to the health of some one else. In this manner the glass is constantly on the move. On this occasion, the wine was on the table with the corpse.
About one o’clock in the morning not seeing any disposition on the part of the guests to retire, I bade our friends good night.
I had barely reached the street when I heard firing and saw people running. Suddenly there came a volley of musketry, and a woman dropped dead a few feet in front of me. Almost immediately the streets were deserted, but I could hear the cries of “Vivia Pierola,” and I knew another revolution had broken out.
VIII.
VIVA GENERALISSIMO PIEROLA
I did not do anything for the woman. Shot through the heart, she was past all aid. I made a dash into a by-street, intending to reach the station, get my engine ready and go to Ilo to prevent the insurgents from using the road to transport their troops. But I ran into an officer’s arms before I had gone a block. He had been looking for me all night, and told me I was his prisoner. I was to be taken before Senor Pierola. Meantime I was to be treated with every consideration, the officer paying for breakfast and cigars, and insisting on my drinking some ale which he had taken as a contraband of war.
It was some time before we could get near the great leader of the revolution, the approaches to his house being crowded with people. Ladies were prominent among the crowd, carrying flowers and declaring their deliverer had come to make Peru the greatest nation on the Pacific.
After the officer presented me Pierola asked me if I spoke Spanish. Upon being answered in the affirmative, he asked my name, nationality and how long I had been employed by the Peruvian government; all of which being answered to his satisfaction, he asked me if I would work for him, and if I would, in the event of his being victorious, I should be appointed to take charge of the Ilo and Moquequa railways. He only wanted me to convey troops down the valley, take up some of the rails to prevent the government troops from using the line, and then before he retreated to another position which he would fortify, to dismantle the engine and hide the parts, so that in case the government troops should come to Moquequa the engine would be of no service to them.
I replied that I was a British subject, and that if I were to do what he requested of me, and should be taken prisoner by the government, and the fact became known that I had taken part, I would be unable to claim the protection of my government. He agreed that that was true, but he would insure against that by sending a few troops with me, and it would look as if force was compelling me to do what, which without force, I would not have done.
I finally agreed, and after giving my word that I would not attempt to escape, received orders to take the engine, as a squad of soldiers would accompany me, and at a certain place along the line which they would designate, the rails would be torn up. We started that afternoon.
We carried two flat cars to load the rails on. About forty miles from Moquequa we discovered another train coming toward us, but upon our nearer approach they backed off rapidly. It was a party of government troops sent out to ascertain whether the road was clear in order to bring up their main body. Our company then took up rails and made the road dangerous in ten different places. We blew up a small wooden bridge with giant powder.
The officer in charge made frequent stops in the valley and levied a tribute of money on all the wine merchants he could find. They usually gave, as they knew too well the consequence of refusing. Those who hid away found, on their return, their wine presses and vaults in ruins.
On our return to Moquequa, I was ordered to disable the engine, which I did by taking off both valve stems and driving rods. The officer hid them and that was the last I ever saw of them. We attended a dance which lasted all night, and drank much wine in anticipation of the success of the revolution. It was a gala night. There was dancing and music in nearly all the houses.
In the early morning bugles, drums and other instruments began making a hideous noise, officers were commanding men to form ranks, horses, mules and donkeys were running hither and thither, and dogs were barking. Here and there were groups of men learning to load their rifles, others endeavoring to parry and thrust with cutlasses and making fierce swings at an imaginary government soldier. Louder and hoarser came the call of the officers, but their commands were lost on the motley crowd. After several hours the officers succeeded in getting the men into some kind of marching order.
I turned to a store to buy some cigars, when I heard someone calling, and turning I beheld three of my fellow prisoners that a few months before were in jail convicted of murder. One straightened out his hand to me, but I did not take it. I asked them how they escaped; it was the old story. The insurgents needed recruits and they were liberated on condition that they fight for Pierola.
Such was Peru, and such it is today. Instead of the people supporting the government, the government supports the people, and when all its favors become exhausted, then some one arises and proclaims himself president, organizes a band of thieves and murderers, and endeavors to gain control.
There have been exceptions, when an indignant people, who have been trodden to such an extent that it seems a revolution is the only means of righting their wrongs; but nine out of ten are the work of an ambitious man who wants to become ruler.
I asked the ex-convicts where the other three were who had been confined with them. Two had died and the other was with the troops. They begged for money and I gave them a dollar each, and after profusely thanking me they left to follow the rear guard of Pierola’s scoundrels.
After purchasing my cigars, I followed the main body of troops with my escort of twenty soldiers, to keep guard over me, as arranged with General Pierola. Our destination was Torato, thirty miles from Moquequa. The road led over passes and wound around mountain sides, and from several points of vantage I could see the army on the march, with General Pierola and a priest by his side in the lead. The priest was there to inspire courage in those who might waver. The army numbered six hundred infantry and two hundred cavalry, many of whom did not know the duties of a soldier.
On arriving at Torato, I secured quarters for myself and escort at the expense of the insurgent general. A month passed in wine drinking and dancing. There were gay festivities every night, lasting sometimes until late the next morning, the officers seldom seeing their men. Instead of drilling them, they spent their time telling how they were going to annihilate the government troops. Some little fortifying had been done, but the natural surroundings were sufficient to prevent a prudent attack. One day the news came that the government troops were advancing and then some little work was done to prepare for battle.
The day before the battle, I told General Pierola I had no objections to following him to the battlefield, but in consideration of being a non-combatant, I asked the privilege of selecting my own course, giving him my word of honor that I would not make any attempt to escape. He was satisfied and gave me a pass allowing the freedom I desired. The next day the cry arose that the government troops were only six miles away. There was hurrying to and fro with no discipline. The priest accomplished more by his cross than all the officers. There was a babel of voices. All were trying to give commands. Suddenly heavy firing was heard, the outpost had become engaged at last.
IX.
AMID THE DIN OF BATTLE
The main body of the insurgent troops began to move to the front, headed by General Pierola and the priest marching to the most unearthly music I ever heard. Women were conspicuous and cheered as the men marched past. “Viva Pierola!” was heard on all sides.
Then came an order to double quick. The outposts were driven in a short distance, and the enemy was in a valley, surrounded on both sides by a chain of hills with a huge mountain in the background. When I saw the position of the government troops, I was satisfied they would be defeated and the battle become a rout. There were two regiments of infantry and one of cavalry in the valley. Pierola stationed his troops on each side of the pass and in front, reserving his cavalry. In a short time the engagement became general. The priest encouraged the insurgents by displaying the cross. He was a courageous fellow, always to be found in places of danger. I mounted a huge boulder and could easily see all that was going on. The government troops would waver and fall back, and again they would renew the attempt to scale the hillsides, which was impossible as long as the insurgents held their position.
There was a strange happening just when success seemed assured. The insurgent cavalry had taken no part up to this time, as both sides of the valley had been actively engaged. The insurgents along the pass were running short of ammunition. An order was sent to the captain of the cavalry to send a company back to Torato and assist in hurrying up supplies. There was a brief cessation of hostilities. I could plainly see the government troops carrying their dead and wounded to the rear, but still holding their position. When another charge was made to take the heights, the firing again became general. Suddenly arose the cry, “They come! They come!” Firing along the sides of the pass ceased, and I looked in amazement. Evidently, something was wrong. The insurgents were throwing away their arms and running. There was a cloud of dust in the direction of Torato, and I could easily distinguish a company of cavalry, which I knew was the company sent to hurry up the ammunition. The insurgents saw them and imagined that the government cavalry had succeeded in getting to their rear. The panic became a rout. In vain did Pierola plead, as he threw himself in front of his demoralized men, in vain did the priest hold his crucifix on high, threatening and pleading, but no persuasion could stop those runaway cowards. The government troops realized something was wrong, and began to scale the heights. Still, if the cavalry which had done no fighting, could have been led to the side of the pass, the day would still have been with Pierola, and probably the stampede would have been checked. But unfortunately for the would-be president, there was no one in command capable of meeting the emergency.
I became excited, and snatching a cutlass from the hand of a retreating soldier, threw myself in front of a column in a vain endeavor to stop them, but they ran over me like so many sheep. Terror had lent them wings of flight and deprived them of reason. By this time the government infantry had reached the plateau and was forming into companies. Their cavalry had seized the heights and the day was lost.
I saw General Pierola shake hands with the priest and leave the field. The priest mounted and he, too, was gone. The ground was strewn with arms; even the discordant musical instruments were discarded.
Thus an army of revolutionists, who, a few hours before paraded through the streets of Torato, cheered by fair women, and shouting “Viva Pierola,” had won a battle by natural surroundings and lost it by their cowardice. I, too, thought it was time to retreat, as my escort of twenty soldiers had long since disappeared. I rode to Torato.
Along the way I overtook straggling bands of insurgents going into town to hide, while others were scaling the tallest mountains. I went to my quarters, and soon the town was surrounded.
The next morning about two hundred insurgents were captured. The others were hid in some mysterious way and the commanding officer of the government troops was made to believe that the main body of the insurgents was in the mountains.
I sought the general of the government troops to inform him of my presence. He replied that he knew of my being a prisoner, and asked me to return to Moquequa at once and help to get the railway in operation to convey his troops and prisoners.
I was glad no other questions were put to me, and after pleading with the general for my kind host who had treated me with great kindness in Torato, and who was not in sympathy with the revolutionists, he agreed to exempt him from the payment of money levied on nearly all the inhabitants.
Soon after this a troop ship arrived in Ilo to convey prisoners and escort to Lima. I felt sorry for the prisoners. Many of them recognized me and kept calling, “Don Juan, please try and help us,” but of course I was powerless to do anything for them. I was glad when they were aboard the transport for I felt miserable in the midst of so much suffering. But I knew they would not suffer long. Another revolution would set them free.
The railroad was again in running order and everything progressing smoothly when one morning at breakfast I was informed that Pierola had broken out again. This time his party had, by means unknown, captured the Peruvian ironclad ram, Huascar. He must have been aided by the officers, or at least one of them who declared in his favor. Howbeit, he had possession. The Peruvian fleet was sent in pursuit, but as the Huascar was the most powerful vessel of the fleet, they had to give her up.
The fortunes of Pierola were brighter now than ever. He could, with the exception of Callao, have entire command and control of all the sea ports along the coast. But unfortunately for him, he began to stop the British mail, and later the French mail on the high seas, his object being to intercept mail for the Peruvian government.
The British government dispatched H. M. S. Amythist and the Shah to compel him to surrender, the Huascar having had full sway along the coast for a month.
The Huascar finally made her appearance in the port of Ilo, and almost immediately the Amythist and Shah hove in sight. I had a good view from the beach and saw a boat lowered from the Shah and pull directly to the Huascar, I supposed for the purpose of demanding her surrender. However, if that was the object, it failed, for upon the return of the boat to the Shah, the Amythist cleared for action.
The afternoon was calm; not a ripple on the ocean. The Huascar was nearest the shore, less than a mile from where I stood. The Shah was over a mile distant seaward. A signal flashed from the Shah and the Amythist steamed toward the Huascar. The Amythist was a wooden corvette, equipped with twin screws. The Shah was a commerce destroyer. Neither vessel was a match for the modern ironclad Huascar.
Suddenly a shot came from the Shah. The flag and pole at the stern of the Huascar dropped overboard. The Huascar, equipped with a revolving turret, sent a shot at the Amythist, but it went wide of its mark. The Amythist circled and sent a broadside full on the Huascar, every shot taking effect. With the aid of a glass I could see the decks of the Amythist plainly from my position on a huge rock. The British sailors, stripped to the waist, cutlass in hand, stood eagerly awaiting orders. The gunners’ crews were engaged in firing rapidly. The Huascar replied by slow but heavy reports from her turret. The object of the British was to disable the Huascar’s turret, and they succeeded by directing all shots against it.
The Huascar, finding she could not effect the enemy by shots, turned to ram her. The Amythist, being equipped with twin screws, awaited the Huascar and when within a short distance ran alongside and poured her whole broadside on the rebel. That was the last act before the Huascar surrendered.
I was aboard the Huascar a few months afterward at Mollendo and she presented a most dilapidated appearance.
Thus again was General Pierola frustrated, and by a British wooden vessel against a crack ironclad of Peru. Pierola escaped as usual, and the Huascar was turned over to the Peruvian government.
A few days after the Amythist-Huascar battle I discovered the people of Ilo were cold and distant towards me, and I soon learned the cause. Although they were in favor of the existing government, they did not relish the idea of their people being beaten by the British. I could not condemn the acts of my own country and I felt it would be better to leave Ilo, which I did, little dreaming of the exciting events which were soon to follow.
X.
WE MEET AGAIN, FELICITA
The theater of Arequipa was ablaze with lights. The youth and beauty had assembled to follow the fortunes of the Count de Monte Christo. I was seated in the dress circle listening to the weird warlike strains of Spanish music, when my eyes fell upon the occupants of a box. A beautiful girl, half hidden by the rich draperies, was talking with an aristocratic looking old gentleman, while by their side sat a young man, dark-browed and sinister looking. I arose and entered the box from the side door. “Don Julian Maldonado, I am delighted to meet you,” I said, “I am the boy you befriended some years ago in the Cordilleras.”
He took my hand delightedly and bade me be seated, offering me a chair between himself and daughter. Don Julian whispered to me not to make myself known to Felicita to see if she would recognize me. All this was amusing to Don Julian, but somewhat embarrassing to me, seated, as I was, between them, and trying to carry on a conversation with him. The expression of wonderment in Felicita’s beautiful eyes was disconcerting to say the least. It was evident she did not remember me. And yet how could she be expected to. She was a child of only nine years when we first met, and who now, seven years later found me unexpected and unannounced sitting beside her in a theater.
Laughingly I turned to her and asked if she did not recognize me, explaining that the reason her father had not presented me was that we had met seven years ago.
While I was speaking she was looking earnestly at me, but when I recalled their journey to La Paz she appeared dubious and asked if I was the young lad she met near Puno and if it was possible that I had grown to manhood and learned to speak Spanish? When I reassured her, the look of astonishment gave way to an exclamation of joy.
The play was forgotten. We only talked of our first meeting. She asked if I was staying in Arequipa and on learning that I was, promised that we should meet again, as her father had decided to remain there for some time. I was delighted but felt somewhat disturbed because of the young man in the box with her. When I began to talk to Felicita he moved his seat farther away. The Peruvians are the acme of politeness.