PERU remembered!

Almost as trite as the saying that corporations have no souls, or that politics makes strange bed fellows, is another that in international affairs the friends of yesterday may be the foes of to-day, and that nations, as nations, have no memories. If it is true, Peru is the rule proving exception. Her gracious welcome to the American fleet, from the first acclaim of greeting to the last farewell, was marked by a sincerity that was peculiar in the exchange of international courtesies.

There was reason for this. Of all South American countries none is more devotedly the friend of the United States than Peru. In the time of Peru's direct distress, when the hell horrors of war left her plundered, sacked, pillaged, as no nation in modern times has been despoiled; when she was bereft of nearly her entire population of early manhood; when dynamite and the torch were employed in a heartless exhibition of brutality to mark as permanently as possible the pathway of a mocking conquerer; when the vandalism of victory even destroyed the trees of botanical gardens, robbed altars of decorations, cut paintings from frames to make bonfires, pillaged the savings of children, destroyed civic utilities for the sake of wanton destruction; when the conqueror struck the most terrible blow that a conqueror can strike, the violation of the sanctity of homes—and be it remembered that the women of Peru are declared by all authority to be the most beautiful, proud and high spirited in the world—when all this was done, the first nation to comfort, to advise, to shield was the United States.

True, once or twice the United States seemed to falter and Peru almost cried out with bitterness because of it, but there was another handclasp with sincere words of real friendship back of it and Peru emerged from her trial grateful and steadfast. That was a quarter of a century ago and Peru said she would remember. Her hospitality to the great American fleet proved that she did. She is no longer poverty stricken. She is fairly well-to-do and things are looking better all the time. She lives in comfort. She even wears colors occasionally. She has young men again and their energy is making for prosperity and advancement all around. To the American fleet Peru said as plainly as could be:

"I am truly glad to see you. We can't do as much for you in the way of entertainment as our hearts could wish. We can't lavish wealth upon you, but such as we have is yours, all yours. We have remembered."

And so it was that Peru's entertainment of the fleet was not extravagant or burdensome. It was delicate rather than effusive. It was the welcome and hospitality of high breeding. From the first gun of the cruiser Bolognesi, sent 250 miles out to sea to escort the fleet in to Callao, to the last "Eep! Eep! Eep! Oorah!" on the tug that followed us furthest to sea as we left this morning every act of hospitality was in perfect taste and in a spirit utterly foreign to vulgar display.

Yes, Peru remembered, and its effect upon the American visitors was well expressed officially by Rear Admiral Thomas on board the Connecticut on February 27 at a dinner given in honor of President Pardo when he said:

"Nothing has been left undone that would add to our convenience, comfort or happiness, and, permit me to say, as military men, with the instinct of organization, we have been impressed with the perfection of every detail and the artistic taste displayed at every entertainment from the time the fleet dropped anchor in Callao Bay to the occasion of the brilliant garden party at the exposition grounds. But most important of all, and that which has touched our hearts deeply, is the warmth and sincerity of the welcome that has been accorded to us, so patent to all.

"In our fleet there are nearly six hundred officers and fourteen thousand men, and when we reach home waters and in the course of time these officers and men are dispersed throughout the forty-five States of the Union, visiting their respective homes, each and every one of them will be a missionary to carry a message throughout our broad land from the Atlantic to the Pacific, from the Canadian border to the Gulf of Mexico, telling of this welcome, the result of which must of necessity tend to the drawing closer and closer the ties of union between the two republics. It will be a tradition to be handed down not only to our children, but to our children's children."

The Admiral's speech was the fleet's answer to the formal welcome of President Pardo at a dinner the republic gave to the Americans on the night of Washington's Birthday. This translation of the President's words was placed in front of each of the guests the instant President Pardo finished.

So much for the official welcome. The unofficial welcome was everywhere. It began as soon as the ships entered Callao Bay. There are no headlands or hills surrounding the harbor, which is practically an open roadstead. The fleet had to anchor two miles out. The harbor was crowded with all sorts of little craft laden to the danger point. Every tug, every launch, all the sailboats that could be found, rowing barges, dories, two large ocean-going steamers, came out to say howdy and bearing cheering people by the thousand. Some of the little craft fired national salutes with toy cannon. Those that had whistles tied down the cords. One tug was crowded with young men who insisted on giving the Cornell yell every time a ship passed by.

As soon as anchors were cast a look shoreward revealed that tens of thousands had come to the waterfront. Later when one went ashore he learned that the Government had declared a holiday in honor of the arrival of the fleet and that all of Callao and Lima, seven miles distant, had come down to see the ships. The stores and shops were closed as if it were Sunday. Business was at a standstill. Official visits were begun at once, but those who could get away made haste to go to Lima on the modern trolley system which in addition to two railroads accommodates the traffic between the two cities.

The visitor noted that Callao was an ill smelling place of garish colored houses and narrow streets—a mere port of 40,000 inhabitants—and that it had many of the characteristics of some of the cities on the southern shore of the Mediterranean. Once out in the flat country, the visitor was reminded somewhat of the country between Brooklyn and Coney Island. Truck farms were frequent. What looked to be American corn was growing profusely side by side with banana trees and sugarcane fields. Patches of good old fashioned vegetables—onions, cabbages, radishes, lettuce—were also under cultivation. Large herds of fine cattle grazed on some of the fields, and in others were herded splendid flocks of sheep. It looked almost like home. The fences alone were strange. They were made of thick blocks of dried mud. The entire cultivation was dependent upon irrigation from the Rimac River, the splendid mountain stream that dashes down from the Andes in a torrent clear to the sea.

Then one came to Lima itself, situated on a plain girdled by the foothills of the Andes, with its low lying houses, all made of mud plastered upon bamboo reeds, with not a roof in the city that would shed water, for in Lima it never rains; to Lima, the one city in the Western Hemisphere which has preserved a large amount of the architecture of the Middle Ages and is rich in traditions of the past. There in this city of 150,000 people with its well paved streets, its bustling activities, its fine climate (the temperature never goes above 80 degrees, although the city is only 12 degrees from the equator) and attractive people the Americans found plastered on every building in town a paper reproduction of the American flag with the words printed on it: "Welcome to the American fleet!"

Peru's flag was posted by its side frequently. The Government had done it. You see every person in town couldn't come up to you and tell you that he or she was glad to see you. He or she was; but it had to be told in some other way, and so these placards voiced the feeling of the people. If anything else were needed to complete the greeting it was supplied when the Diario, the leading newspaper of Lima, came out with halftone reproductions of ships, officers and the Annapolis Academy, a page of news in English from the United States and a formal welcome to the fleet. This welcome was unique. It is worth reproducing at length. This is what it said:

This welcome is presented to show how Lima and the editors of the Diario really tried to make the Americans feel at ease. Of course the printed English translation failed to do full credit to the excellent Castilian of the original, but there could be no mistaking the genuineness of the welcome.

It was sincere all right, and no doubt there was a proud man in Lima as he contemplated the mass of fine words he had piled up. As soon as the paper came out and the Americans had passed the word along that it was great there was a rush to get it. The visitors stopped one another on the street corners to read it aloud and the general comment was: "Fine! It makes us feel as if we were right back in Brooklyn. No such language as that can be read in a newspaper in any other place in the world except Brooklyn. Of course we are used to such expressions as 'colossal fermentation of greatness,' 'threatening and apocalyptic spectre,' 'aggrupations of factors' and the like of that in Brooklyn, but who would have imagined that we'd meet 'em so far from home?"

And as if that wasn't enough to make it plain to the Americans that the freedom of the place was theirs they were met at the terminal of the trolley line from Callao with men who distributed a pamphlet of information got out by a firm with American names, makers and purveyors of a popular libation. The title page bore this inscription:

"Here's happy days to the men of the American squadron!"

The inside of the pamphlet told salient facts and gave statistics about Callao and Lima, informed you how to get about, where to go and what to see among the "points of interest." The way it put the matter was this: "Over and above a hearty welcome, here's what's worth while." It advised the visitors to give the sexton of the Cathedral a tip for showing them Pizarro's bones, but said:

"Don't tip him too much or you'll spoil the market, 'cause this isn't New York."

Then the pamphlet said, sundry items of advertising being eliminated:

Then began the exploration of Lima. Standing on one side of the beautiful Plaza de Armas is the great Cathedral, which was started in 1540 and which cost $9,000,000, despite the fact that its walls are of mud and, as one writer has said, could be run through with a fence rail in almost any place. It was the inside decoration that cost so much, for it has rare wood carvings, and once was fairly plastered with gold and silver stolen by Pizarro, "the pious old cutthroat," from the Incas. You see, Pizarro founded Lima in 1535, and although he was known as the "Indian butcher," he began right by establishing a Cathedral, and there his bones in a mummified condition rest. They are kept in a glass case and are in a crypt. An attendant takes you to the coffin, lights a candle for you to read the inscription on the case and to peer in and you get a first rate look at a mummy.

Pizarro undoubtedly knew his business well. He gathered in the millions upon millions that the Incas had saved up for a rainy day. It was explained that Pizarro had found out that it never rained where he intended to set up in Lima and therefore he told the Incas they really had no use for all that gold and he would take it, establish a city and give them real religion and be a missionary and all that for them.

"All of which," as a bluejacket who had been reading up the history of the place said, "he done good and proper."

Pizarro attracted the attention of thousands of the visitors. Not all were irreverent or flippant. Many of them paused a long time before the mortal remains of one the greatest men in history. You felt as if you were really at a shrine.

Then the explorers visited other churches which took one back to the Middle Ages. There was the Franciscan convent and church. There was the church where the remains of Santa Rosa, the only American woman saint, rest. Then there were numerous other edifices with old doors and heavy bolts and locks, and inside some of them were decorated with what seemed to be solid sheets of gold about their pillars; churches where there were beautiful old paintings of religious subjects, churches where the tiling was brought from Europe and is now almost priceless in value, churches where there were historic parchments. The visitors then went to see the Senate Chamber, with its carved ceiling, one of the wonders of the world in that line; brought from Europe and paid for with Inca treasure in 1560. That room was used in the days of the Inquisition, which lasted longer in Peru than in Spain and was almost as terrible. In fact in this viceregal city, the second founded in the Americas by the Spanish, one could see religious emblems at every turn. Just outside the city on a hill overlooking the bullring is an enormous cross, probably fifty feet high. Every year the society that had it erected makes a pilgrimage up that hill after a parade in the city and holds services, wherein vows to uphold the faith and lead lives of purity and honor are retaken. On a dozen other hills crosses and shrines may be seen.

It is evident that Peru as a nation is still devout, but if one could have seen the crowd at the San Pedro Church on Sunday morning when the doors were opened and the beauty and high blood of Lima came out from their devotions he would have been convinced that Peru is really no exception to other Latin American countries, and indeed most other countries, in that the women are the mainstay of the church. That beauty parade is one of the sights of Lima, and the Americans, officers and men, were there, side by side with the men of the city to see the show.

As the visitors went about, one change, national in character, impressed itself upon them immediately. Every writer on Peru has commented on the fact that the headdress of the women, worn universally, is the black manta. It is said that it is a relic that has come down from the Incas when they put on mourning for their great chief Atahualpa. Rich and poor have worn that headdress on the street for centuries. It was an established institution.

Well, it is going. About one-half of the women, some of them in good circumstances evidently, wore mantas on the streets, but as for the rest—well, a man has no business to write about women's hats. All that this man can say is that he never saw more dazzling specimens of flower gardens than those bobbing around over the graceful drapery with which the Peruvian women adorn themselves.

Thus does fashion war successfully upon established custom. The Peruvian woman loves a beautiful hat just as much as any other woman on earth. Moreover, what is said about her surpassing beauty is true. Given great beauty and the love of a hat on the part of a woman—what chance has a black manta got? The manta has got to go and is going. Truly this is a world of change and there are those who will say it is one of decay, but let no one breathe that in a fashionable millinery shop in Lima.

Then came more sightseeing. All the clubs of the city were thrown open. All the postal card shops had extra supplies.

"English Spoken Here" was posted on the windows and doors of scores of shops. One sign that was amusing to the Americans read:

The first formal entertainment came on the night of Washington's Birthday, when the officers of the fleet were the guests of the republic and the President at dinner. The banquet was given at the exposition grounds, a park where sundry exhibits of great worth from the standpoint of history, natural history, commerce, education and the like, are preserved. The dinner was in the grand hall of the main building. The decorations were almost exclusively of the colors of Peru, red and white. On the stage an immense orchestra was massed and the American colors were used there for decorations. That band played as only a trained South American band can play.

It was the opinion of naval officers who have dined the world over, with kings and emperors, with great welcoming committees and the like, with Government guests of our own in Washington and New York, that they had never attended a better managed affair than that dinner in Lima. Not only was the dinner perfect from an epicurean standpoint but the service matched it. Every appointment was in the best taste. Not the slightest detail was lacking. The American officers grew enthusiastic and when President Pardo finished his address of welcome there was tremendous enthusiasm. The President, after Admiral Thomas had made his reply, arose and walked into a beautiful illuminated garden and there the diners met him socially and found this young man, who represents what Peru has needed most for years, a commercial and not a military government, delightful and unassuming, with a grasp upon matters of statesmanship which showed that not only was he practical in his management of the country but a good deal of a scholar. Pardo believes in education rather than the sword, in the development of commerce rather than in personal aggrandizement and the display of military force.

Then there was a garden party at Minister Coomb's home, a beautiful place; the garden party of the municipality at the exposition grounds, pronounced by all the naval officers as the finest thing of the kind they ever attended; the delightful ball at the National Club and the excursion to the famous Inca ruins of Pachacamac. The officers had the eminent archÆologist, Dr. Unhe, to explain the wonders of the Temple of the Sun, the other buildings and the hundreds of specimens of pottery, metal and other things recovered from the ruins at Pachacamac.

But with all these functions there were two others offered by the Government as the chief things in the way of entertainment, a bull fight and a trip up the wonderful Oroya railroad to the top of the Andes Mountains, the highest place in the world reached by a railroad.

Now, as to that bull fight. Let it be said at once that in the main it was like all other bull fights, described thousands upon thousands of times. All the trappings and fittings were there. Of course, the bulls had no show. They had to die, six of them. It was just as brutal as Americans are wont to call such exhibitions, with the exception that no horses were allowed to be disembowelled and killed. Peru up to two years ago had always fought bulls with the horse killing feature eliminated. For that reason many persons regarded her bull fighting as the best in the world. Two years ago the people demanded a change and horses were gored in the style of Spain's best brutality. Out of respect for the Americans, and by order of the President, the horse-goring feature was omitted this time.

There was plenty of excitement. All three of the matadors were injured. One was tossed by the first bull three minutes after the animal had entered the ring. That settled the famous Bonarillo. He went out of business. Another matador, Padilla, was gored in the throat by the fifth bull and for a time it was thought that he was injured mortally. The third matador was scraped up the side by the last bull as the death thrust was delivered, and Largartijillo chico, the young Largartijillo, just as we say Young Corbett, came near going to dwell with his fathers eternally.

Oh, yes, there was lots of excitement and agility and skill and all that, but why describe a bullfight as a bullfight? No story is older. What was peculiar about this fight was the presence of 3,000 American sailors. That's a different story. You want to know how Jack saw it and what he said and thought and did. You can see bullfights any time you want to pay for them; you can't see American bluejackets at such a spectacle as the chief guests of a Government, and that's what made this fight tremendously interesting.

Well, this one was held in the famous ring almost as old as Lima. Six bulls from the famous stock of Rinconada de Mala, the property of Dr. Don Jesus de Asin, had been provided. They were the fightiest bulls in all Peru; and to make sure that they would do their best they had been teased privately beforehand. The fight, as the handbills announced, was a "grand gala," one given "in honor of the North American squadron to celebrate its happy arrival at the port of Callao."

Well, the hospitality of the Government went further, for it named the bulls in honor of the fleet. The first bull was "the gallant Alfred, in honor of Admiral Evans"; the second, "the heroic Ranger, in honor of Admiral Thomas"; the third, "the Brave Teddy, in honor of Admiral Emory"; the fourth, "the Shufly, in honor of Admiral Sperry"; the fifth, "Banjo, in honor of the officers of the navy"; the sixth, "Yankee Doodle, in honor of the sailors." Could hospitality go further than that?

About 175 men from each ship and all the officers of the fleet were invited. The sailors filled two-thirds of the arena and the officers and the high society of Lima filled the boxes. All had assembled on time, and then came the President to sit in the box directly opposite that of the officers of the municipality, with chairs of red plush for the box and a dais for the President, who was in evening dress. The American Admirals and Captains were in that grand box. The Peruvian band played "The Star Spangled Banner" and the bluejackets stood at attention and then all hands cheered. When the President came and the Peruvian national hymn was played, the bluejackets gave three rousing cheers for Pardo and Peru. Then all was ready for business. The key was tossed into the ring for the parade of the fighters, capeadores, banderilleros, matadors, the rig to pull the dead bulls out, and all that.

The Americans were all intense. The fighters took their stations, the Mayor gave the word, a bugle blew, a door was opened and a great brown and black bull with horns, as one of the local newspapers described them, "like the spires of a steeple," bounded into the ring, took one look around and dashed madly after an aged horseman riding a beautiful iron gray pony and flaunting a red cape over his mount's flanks. There were two of these horsemen and the exhibition they gave of fine riding would have put the best cowboy or rough rider to shame. The man the bull put after was more than eighty years old and the way he twisted his pony here and there and just escaped the lunges of that bull, turning sharp angles, pulling up short, making his horse fairly leap out of the way, dodging this way and that until the bull was astonished elicited roars of applause from the bluejackets. They liked that part. Then a younger man took up the same work. He was even more skilful. Bullfighting was fine so far.

But let Bill Watkins, bos'n's mate, be heard from. Bill, you see, had been to these things before in his gyrations round the world, now having five stripes on his sleeve. Bill gathered a group of youngsters about him and invited the Sun man to come along to have a bullfight "explained proper."

"You see," said Bill, "these Spiggoties (a sailor term applied to Latin Americans because they say 'Me no spiggoty English') think they know all about bullfights. They doesn't, to use good grammar. You want to look at 'em from the standp'int o' seamanship an' gunn'ry. There's where you get the real benefit. Why, many a middy c'n learn more 'bout seamanship an' gunn'ry here than he kin from two years on a bridge. I tell ye these bullfights oughter be in the kricklum, or whatever they call it, at Annapolis."

Just then a bugle blew telling the mounted cape men to give way to those on foot. Bonarillo, the matador, advanced with a purple lined cape "to feel the bull out." He waved the garment gracefully from side to side. The bull dashed at him. Bonarillo's foot caught in the corner of the cape, the bull gathered him on his horns and agilely tossed him over one shoulder and then dashed away after another capeador. Bonarillo tried to get up, but couldn't. Soon he was carried out of the ring. Glory was not to be his that day. Bill took it all in and explained:

"There ye go! Ye see, that matador ought ter remembered that he was in shoal water. He thought he c'd navigate 'thout takin' soundin's or gettin' bearin's. That bull had his range all right, but his deflection was poor. When the bull got 'im under the leg with his horn that shot sure counted. The bull hoisted 'im all right, but the man who was tendin' the fall let 'im go by the run when it came to lowerin' away. There, the wreckin' tugs have got 'im! Now they're carryin' 'm 'behind the breakwater. It's the drydock for cocky Bonarillo, all right. Mighty poor seamanship and just ordinary gunn'ry fer the bull! You see, 'twas only a pot shot."

Then the cape men began to wave their emblems at the bull. Now and then the bull would catch one of the capes in his horns and toss it to the ground and trample on it. The men had to run for the shelters often. The bull was fresh. Bill explained:

"Ye mustn't take too many chances in a fresh breeze. There, ye see, that fellow's let his lower stu'nsail get carried away. He didn't shorten sail soon enough. The man at the wheel let 'er luff too soon, and come to against the helm. Don't never belay no sheet!"

Then came the signal for the banderilleros to sink their darts in the shoulders of the bull. One of them would catch the bull's attention and they would rush toward each other. The banderillero would change his course after the bull got under way and by just grazing his horns would plant the darts in his shoulders. The first man got rousing cheers. From his darts two flags unfurled. One was that of Peru and the other that of the United States. It was supposed to be a pretty compliment to the Americans. Bill explained how the banderillero did it:

"Say, did y' see that feller? He stands close hauled right up to the weather mark, then he bears up and passes to leeward, with his lee rail awash. He's been whaling all right—we was eighteen months in the Mozambique once, when I was whaling out of New Bedford, and our iron man always took his fish like him. Ye see, ye stands yer course right up to the animal, then give a rank sheer, heave, and let him go by!"

The bull was now very tired. Padillo, the second matador, came out, bowed to the authorities and asked the President's permission to kill the bull. He got it and it was up to him to do it. He waved his bright red cape, sheltering his sword, repeatedly in front of the bull, stepping aside just in time to escape the horns. The bull was dazed. Then Padillo stood about ten feet away, poised his sword to take aim and rushed on the bull. The sword did not hit the fatal spot. The thrust was a failure. Bill said:

"Ah—he's a bum pointer! A guy what's been in training as long as he has and ain't got no better sense than to fire before he's steady on don't deserve to hold the rate. Mighty poor gunn'ry that!"

Again the matador failed. The sword went in deep. Muscular contraction, which had forced the first sword out, failed to move this one and a capeador threw his cloak over the weapon deftly and drew it out. Again there was a failure to kill, but the bull was almost exhausted. He sank to his knees, got up and made one more lunge at Padillo, who then sank the sword to the hilt in the proper place and all was over. There were cheers, but Padillo hadn't done well. Bill said:

"Say's he's a bum reefer and a yardarm furler. I'll bet that guy's a trimmer. Ye can tell by the cut of his jib that he's in everybody's mess and nobody's watch. He's jack outside the lift when the liberty party's called away, but sick bay for him when the coal comes alongside."

The second bull, Ranger, gave the horsemen plenty to do. He soon had the aged horseman in difficulty. Time and again the horseman, looking over his shoulder, flaunted his cape this way and that; but it was evident that the bull could not be escaped easily. All the fighters became nervous. At last the bull made a thrust that caught the beautiful iron gray pony in the flank with a deep wound. The cape men interfered at once and the horseman rode away to safety. Bill had this to say:

"There, that rider went wrong! The bull was after him under full sail and was yawin' 'round three or four p'ints each side o' the course and rollin' and pitchin' somethin' awful. That man on the horse, the picalilly, or whatever ye call 'im, tried to give the bull the right o' way, although, bein' close hauled, he should a-held his weather helm on 'im. However, not obeyin' the rules o' the road, he starts to give way, but at the critical moment the bull makes a yaw to port, rams the horse in the starboard quarter. The picalilly man tops his boom, stands to the eastward and tries to put his collision mat over. He should a-put his helm over the other way. Poor work, poor work!" So the fight went on. Padillo killed another bull, but he had three failures at thrusts before the beast sank down and died. There were hisses for him, and some of the bluejackets shouted:

"Take him out and put him in a minor league!"

Lagartijillo chico killed the third bull and did no better work. There was a diversion in this fight. A banderillero sat on a chair and made the bull charge at him. The banderillero rose just as the bull reached him, planted his darts in the animal's shoulders and leaped to one side. It was a beautiful piece of work, and the bluejackets roared their applause. Bill approved the seamanship and said:

"That man on the chair apparently didn't have no more chance than an ice skatin' rink in Zanzibar, not to mention a hotter place, usin' a shorter and uglier word. He shifted his moorin's jest in time. It was too late to repel boarders, but he got away. Fine seamanship for the man! Poor work by the bull! He ran down the moorin' buoy, that was all, and splintered it all t'ell and gone. Ye see the man got the right to choose position and fire at will. That's a great thing. Jest remember that lesson."

In the same fight one of the men took a long pole, ran straight at the bull, planted the pole directly in front of the animal and vaulted clear over him, coming down just as the bull hit the pole. In his descent the man seized the bull's tail and gave it a twist. Bill was delighted.

"Lay aft to the braces! Weather main and lee crojic braces! Hard down there! Lay yer maintops'l to the mast. No! by—! Hard down! He's going to wear sharp 'round and bring up to windward of him! Say, that feller's a sailor all right—every hair a rope yarn, every finger a fishhook and every drop of blood a drop of tar."

Padillo killed the fourth bull and made his usual number of failures. The fifth bull, Banjo, aroused the sympathy of the crowd. He fought magnificently. He would not be tired out. It came time to kill him. Padillo went after him with his cape and the bull deftly caught him, lifted him in the air, and he fell beside Banjo and rolled under the animal. Down went the horns to gore him. The cape men fluttered all around. Padillo curled himself up in a ball. The bull stepped this way and that and then charged off after a cape man, leaving Padillo unharmed but his nerve gone. He went after the bull again. He was deathly pale about the mouth. One of his legs trembled violently. Deathlike stillness was over the ring.

Soon the bull began to tear his cape from his hands, a disgrace. Once, twice, three times the bull did this. The Peruvians were enraged. They cried "Shame!" Padillo's father, who was in the ring, tried to explain that it was a bad bull and invited the critics to come and try it themselves. Almost beside himself, Padillo made three rushes at the bull without taking proper aim, in the hope of catching the animal unawares and giving him a death thrust. The fourth time he gave the thrust.

The bull saw him coming, did not lower his head, and just as Padillo placed his sword in the neck the bull raised his head, caught Padillo on his horns, one of them penetrating under the chin and entering the mouth cavity. A cry of horror went up. Padillo fell but got up quickly, and with a look of mighty disgust saw the bull reel away. Then, catching himself by the throat and staggering forward Padillo ran to the enclosure from which the bull had entered, a distance of about twenty feet, the blood streaming from his wound. He dropped just inside the enclosure and word was passed around that bull and man had each given the other the death thrust. Tragedy could not have been more complete had it been true, but Padillo went to a hospital and didn't die. There were thousands of Americans who said they really did feel a little sorry for the bull. Bill Watkins explained the poor gunn'ry of Padillo.

"Up in the air! Up in the air! Come down out of the balloon! Say, he's like a landsman at a 13-inch gun with a misfire—don't know what to do with it himself and can't give it away. Take him out of the hood! Give him an air gun! Let him blow soap bubbles! Don't fire until the gun's loaded, sonny! There, the operating lever caught him in the mush! Yer better keep out of the line of fire next time!"

The last bull was killed by Lagartijillo. It was the same story, except that just as the matador gave the deathblow the bull hooked him along his right side and tore his clothes. He had a narrow escape. His wounds were only bruises. As the bull sank down dying fully 200 bluejackets jumped into the ring to follow the example of two who earlier in the fight had leaped in and secured the darts in an animal's neck for momentoes. They swarmed at Yankee Doodle. He saw them coming and as they seized the darts rose to his feet and tried to lunge at some of them. It was too much and he fell as the men began to scatter and died at once. Bill said: "Fine work! He tried to repel boarders, and he done it, too! If yer ship's sinkin' and it's yer last gasp don't never fergit to repel boarders. Ye kin go to glory satisfied then. They ought ter named that bull Cumberland."

Bill explained the day's events:

"Ye see, the bull ain't got no chance after his ammunition is gone. He was firin' his last 3-inch guns when he got that Padillo feller. It's a case o' destroyers and gunboats fightin' an unarmored cruiser with a short supply o' ammunition. When that gives out the cruiser is bound to go. Some o' the destroyers gets put out, as Bonarillo and Padillo did, but there's no use in goin' t' sea unless ye got full magazines and ain't cut off from your supplies. Oh, yes, there's lots o' things to learn from these bullfights!"

Then Bill shifted his quid and joined the crowd going out. The bluejackets didn't care much for the sport. Some of them left after the third fight and there was a steady stream from the ring afterward. Those who remained had this one comment:

"One feller got it in the neck—got the hook, all right!"

The writer holds no brief for the defence of bull fighting, but he wishes to say that the exhibition, with the goring of horses left out, was no more disgusting than a prize fight between two bruisers. Any contest that has the letting of blood as its chief feature may be called sport if its devotees so choose. This fight was no more brutal than shooting at bears from a safe distance and was not half so cruel as wounding a deer and allowing it to drag itself away and die in suffering. The bulls were in pain from the darts and showed it from time to time, but in their rage forgot the pain after an instant or two. Giving them a thrust in the heart was no more cruel in the way of killing than it is to hang up a turkey or a chicken, cut its throat and let it bleed to death.

Death came almost in an instant to the bulls. The fighters risked their lives dozens of times. The bull had a fair show at them. Their quick movements, hairbreadth escapes, showed that nerve and rare skill were required. Compared with prize fighting where two sluggers cover themselves with blood, and when one is staggering about from exhaustion the other gives him a blow that makes him unconscious—well, the writer says unhesitatingly that he prefers the Peruvian bull fight. It all depends, you see, upon the point of view.

Only a limited party could be the guests of the Government on the Oroya Railroad trip. It was known as the official party. An unofficial party with an engine and a passenger car followed. This Oroya Railroad was started by Henry Meiggs, the defaulting partner of Ralston in California who fled to Chile, got rich and paid up his debts. In 1869 he went to Peru and started this railroad.

Peru had money to spend then. Meiggs finished the road up the mountains as far as Chicla in 1876, and then the money gave out. More than $26,000,000 had been spent going eighty-eight miles. Later the Peruvian Corporation finished the road to Oroya, on the other side of the Andes, and connections have been made with the road to the famous Cerro de Pasco mines, owned by Mr. Haggin and other American millionaires. Two other branches have been built and ultimately it is planned to extend the road to the headwaters of the Amazon in Peru, so as to give the country on the east of the Andes an outlet to the Atlantic Ocean for its products.

The highest place on the line is Galera tunnel, under Mount Meiggs. It is 15,665 feet high. The distance is 106 miles from Callao. There is not an inch of down grade in the climb. There are no less than fifty-seven tunnels. Bridges over chasms and foaming cascades and the River Rimac, whose course the road follows, are numbered by the score. For forty-seven miles it is a steady climb beside the Rimac torrent in a desolate country, with the mountains red and bare. There is no rainfall in that district.

Then you come to where the river is hemmed in by mountain gorges, and you have to climb by means of switchbacks. Up you go, tilting this way and that, beyond two layers of clouds. The sides of the mountains become green. You are now in the land of the ancient Incas. Abandoned terraces that lose themselves in the clouds flank scores of mountain sides. The Incas raised their products there by some system of irrigation.

Fine specimens of trees appear, fruit orchards with chirimoyas, palta, nispero and pacay, and willow and pepper trees in abundance. The flowers begin to greet you, the heliotrope, solanaceas, spurge and cacti all around. Back and forth you seesaw with massive, towering mountains above you and several lines of tracks far below you. Now and then you come upon a little town thousands of feet in the air.

Then you reach a place where a smelter sends its blasts up in the skies, and you begin to see what supports this road. A footpath or trail climbs the ravines, and you see scores of llamas bearing their burdens and driven by the native Indians. A hundred cascades, some of them with the beauty of Yosemite's Bridal Veil leap with their spray down the sheer cliffs. The lights and shadows paint the bare rocks delicate hues, such as you cannot see even in a sunset glow.

You come to the famous Verrugas bridge, 575 feet long and 225 feet high, in its day the greatest feat of railroad engineering ever known. You are now in a belt twelve miles long where no tourist can live, for there the Verrugas fever rages. It is one of those strange local diseases found occasionally in the world peculiar to a small zone and baffling to medical science.

You see crucifixes all along the route. Still you climb and climb and you see ragged edges of mountains above you which you know you will surmount. You come to a dead stop against the face of a mountain thousands of feet high. You back away up its side, and little by little, twisting and turning you lift yourself above another cloud layer.

The air gets cold, a dash of rain comes as you pass through the clouds. At 10,000 feet high a sharp pain runs through your ears. You take several long gasps of breath and it passes away. A slight headache comes at 12,000 feet. It passes away and finally you reach the tunnel and emerge on the other side of the Andes with the snow all about you and you throw a few snowballs and start back. Your head begins to feel strange. At 13,000 feet it aches violently. The ache is as near like the morning-after headache as can be. In the official party not one person escaped it. Half a dozen strong men became sick at the stomach and had violent attacks of vomiting. The mountain sickness was on. Other men were laid out in the cars prostrate.

At this stage came a complication. Heavy rains had been falling below and word was telegraphed that there were four washouts and the party would have to stay in the mountains all night. The faces of the railroad officials became grave. To keep that party at the height of 13,000 feet all night might prove almost fatal to some. It was this trip which brought on the illness that ultimately killed the late Dr. Nicholas Senn.

Word was sent that by care the train might descend as far as 10,000 feet. A handcar was sent on as a pilot and in the darkness and snow that train was piloted down those mountain declivities, where the least slip of the earth would have sent it hurtling down cliffs thousands of feet. The pace was only five miles an hour.

The sickness did not diminish until at 11 o'clock at night Tamboraque was reached, where the unofficial party of officers which had not gone up the full height was stalled. There was one inn with four beds and ninety men to occupy them. The unofficial party was in full possession. They had organized the Society of the Llama, Landslide Chapter. They had a merry night. The official party, sick, worn out, turned in to sleep in car seats. The next morning by walking around landslides and meeting trains in the gaps the party was got down to Callao. Several did not get over the mountain illness for three days. It was a magnificent trip in the grandest scenery in the world, but mountain sickness, all concurred, was worse than seasickness.

By way of return entertainment by the fleet a dinner was given to President Pardo on the Connecticut, and then a fleet reception was held on the same ship the day before sailing. This morning President Pardo boarded the Peruvian cruiser Almirante Grau and the fleet thundered out twenty-one guns on each ship in unison. The Grau passed out to sea and orders were signalled from the flagship to get under way. Then the fleet passed by President Pardo in the best of style, each ship firing a salute as it went by. It made a fine spectacle. The honors were the same as paid to President Roosevelt in Hampton Roads, President Penna at Rio and President Montt at Valparaiso.

President Pardo sent his thanks by wireless and got a fine reply of appreciation from Admiral Evans, and it was good-by to Peru, with the sounds of cheers coming over the water and the sight of fluttering handkerchiefs from thousands; the last salute.

True it was Peru had remembered, and those who had called on Dr. Polo, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, began to realize the significance of the fact that in his office there hangs just one picture. It is the portrait of an American statesman—James G. Blaine.