The poor Indian suffered the fate of most of his countrymen who had to do with the Spanish invaders. Put on board ship and sent as a prize of valor to Spain, the unfortunate chief died on the voyage, perhaps from a broken heart, or as a result of the change from his free forest life to the narrow confines of a fifteenth-century ship.

The life of Ojeda after that date was one full of adventure, in which he distinguished himself as much by rashness as by valor. In 1499 he was put in command of an exploring expedition and sent out from Spain, one of his companions being Amerigo Vespucci, he whose first name gained the immemorial honor of being given to the great western continent. In this voyage Ojeda discovered part of the continent of South America, which he called Venezuela, or Little Venice, a name suggested by an Indian village built on piles in the water. Eight years later Ojeda sought to plant a colony in New Andalusia, but the natives there proved too bold and hostile for him, and he failed to subject them to his authority.

Many were his adventures, all of them characterized by a rash daring like that he had shown in the capture of Caonabo. When at length he died, he was buried, in response to his own request, in the doorway of the Franciscan monastery in the city of Santo Domingo, so that all who entered that place of worship should walk over his grave.

Velasquez, on seeing the gold which Cordova brought back, sent out a small fleet under his nephew, Juan de Grijalva, to visit and explore this new land. Grijalva found evidence that a great civilized nation dwelt inland, rich in gold and far superior in civilization to any Indians whom the Spaniards had yet met. He named the country New Spain, and sailed back to Cuba with an account of his important discoveries.

The news filled Velasquez with hope and joy. Here seemed to be the land of gold which the Spaniards had so long sought. Here he might win vast wealth and the glory of adding a new and splendid province to Spain. He at once began to fit out a much larger expedition, and looked around for a man fit to command it. Several of the hidalgos, or gentlemen of Cuba, offered themselves, but none pleased the governor, and at length he settled upon Cortez as the best man for his purpose. By chance, rather than by intention, he had made a splendid choice. Cortez was the one man in the New World, and perhaps the one man at that time in all Spain, fitted by nature for the difficult task which lay before him. Wild and frivolous as he had shown himself in youth, all he needed was a great occasion to prove himself a great man. He was to develop into one of the ablest military leaders in all history, a man who, on a small scale, was to display a genius and achieve a success worthy of CÆsar or Alexander or any of the famous soldiers of the world.

For the perilous expedition he could muster only one hundred and ninety men. But these were veterans, hardened to the climate of the isthmus, and ready to follow him whatever the peril. They had good reason to trust his courage and readiness in emergencies, for they had found him always brave and alert. A thousand Indians were taken with them, to carry their provisions, and they added to their force a number of the fierce bloodhounds which were dreaded by the natives as much as the fire-arms of the Spaniards.

Thus equipped, the expedition set out on the 1st of September, 1513, sailing along the coast to Coyba, where dwelt a friendly chief. Here half the men were left to guard their vessels and canoes. With the remainder the terrible journey across the rock-ribbed and forest-covered isthmus was begun.

No sooner had the Spaniards left the coast than troubles and perils thickened around them. The country was difficult to traverse, the people were bold and hostile. With their poisoned arrows they proved no feeble antagonists. As the adventurers left the plain and toiled up the mountains, a warlike cacique, with a large body of followers, met them in a narrow pass and boldly disputed the way. A fierce battle ensued, ending in favor of the Spaniards, who cut their way through the savages, leaving hundreds of them dead on the ground.

Thus, fighting nature and fighting men, they[pg 039] toiled onward and upward, until the six days fixed for their journey had stretched out to twenty-five. But now hope burned fresh in their hearts, for their guides assured them that from the top of the next mountain they could see the ocean they so ardently sought. Up the steep pass they toiled, until near the lofty summit, when Balboa bade them halt and went on alone, that he might be the first to gaze on the wonderful spectacle.

Soon he stood on the mountain-top, and there, to his infinite delight, sparkled and spread before his eyes the mightiest ocean of the earth, stretching away to the north, south, and west as far as human eye could see. Overwhelmed by the stupendous vision, he fell prostrate on the ground, like a worshipper before the object of his adoration. Then, rising to his knees, he thanked God for the great boon vouchsafed to him.

His men, gazing eagerly upward, saw him rise and beckon them, while with his other hand he pointed wildly westward. With springing steps they rushed to his side, and joined in his delight and his thanks to God as the marvellous spectacle met their eyes. Heaps of stones were piled up to show that they had taken possession of this spot for his sovereign, and as they went down the farther slope they carved on many trees the name of King Ferdinand of Castile, as the lord of this new land.

Let us repeat here the closing lines of Keats's famous sonnet to Homer, in which a great poet has[pg 040] admirably depicted the scene, though, by a strange error, giving the credit to Cortez instead of Balboa:

Twelve men were sent on in advance to seek the easiest and shortest path to the sea, one of them a man destined to become still more famous than Balboa,—Francisco Pizarro, the future conqueror of Peru. Reaching the shore, they found on it two stranded canoes, into which stepped two of the men, Blaze de Atienza and Alousa Martine, calling on their comrades to witness that they were the first to embark on that sea.

For three days the remaining men waited advices from their pioneers, and then followed the guides sent them to the shore, Balboa, armed with his sword and buckler, rushing into the water to his middle, and claiming possession of that vast sea and all its shores in the name of his king, for whom he pledged himself to defend it against all comers.

Such was the discovery of the great South Sea, as Balboa named it, the Pacific Ocean, as Magellan soon after called it. The people of the coast told the Spaniards of a rich and mighty kingdom that lay to the south, and whose people had tame[pg 041] animals to carry their burdens. The form of these they drew on the sand, their long necks convincing Balboa that they were camels, and that the land indicated must be Asia. They really represented the llama of Peru, an animal resembling the camel in form.

After remaining for some time on the coast, gathering all the information he could obtain, Balboa led his travel-worn men back to Darien, resolved to return with a stronger force next year and seek that distant land of gold. But this exploit was left for Pizarro, one of the ablest and bravest of the men who took part in this pioneer expedition.

It was the 18th of January, 1514, when the adventurers reached their starting-point at Santa Maria, when the people heard of his discovery with the utmost joy. Messengers were at once sent to Spain, with an account of the remarkable exploit, which was received with an enthusiasm little less than had been the news of the discovery of the New World. If Columbus had discovered a new land, Balboa had matched it with the discovery of a new ocean, added to which was the story of a land of gold, for whose conquest Balboa asked for a reinforcement of a thousand men.

Unfortunate as Columbus had been, the new discovery was destined to still greater ill-fortune, as we shall soon see. Before his messengers reached Spain a new governor, Pedrarias de Avila, had been appointed and had set sail, with fifteen vessels[pg 042] and fifteen hundred men. Balboa had nearly five hundred men under his command, but he at once submitted to the decision of his king and accepted Pedrarias as his superior. The fifteen hundred new men landed in that pestilential climate, in the unhealthy season, paid bitterly for their imprudence. A violent disease attacked them; scarcity of provisions made it worse; and within a month more than six hundred of them had died, while others hastened away from that noxious spot.

At length news came that the king fully appreciated the splendid discovery of Balboa; letters of high praise were received, and he was appointed Adelantado, or admiral of the South Sea, Pedrarias being ordered to support him in all his operations. The rivals now became reconciled, their union being made firmer by Pedrarias giving his daughter in marriage to Balboa.

The adventurer now began active preparations for an exploration of the South Sea, materials for ship-building being conveyed, with the greatest labor, across the isthmus, and two brigantines constructed. There was no lack of volunteers for the expedition, and the vessels were launched and sailed to the Pearl Islands, the inclement weather alone preventing them from going on to the coast of Peru.

Thus there seemed a great career opening before Balboa at the very moment when adverse fate was gathering darkly around him. Pedrarias had grown jealous of his daring exploits and the fame that seemed his coming meed, and, cherishing[pg 043] treacherous designs, by a crafty message induced him to return to Acla, his new capital.

On arriving there, Balboa was at once seized by order of the governor, thrown into prison, and put on trial on a charge of disloyalty to the king and an intention to revolt against his superior. The judge was forced to condemn him to death, and the fatal sentence was at once carried into effect, the great discoverer being beheaded on the public square of Acla. Thus, in blood and treachery, ended the career of one of the ablest of the bold adventurers of Spain.

THE FAMOUS RETREAT OF CORTEZ AND THE SPANIARDS.

There is no chapter in all history more crowded with interesting and romantic events than the story of the conquest of Mexico by the Spaniards under Cortez. And of all these records of desperate daring and wonderful success, the most extraordinary is the tale of the Noche Triste, the terrible night-retreat of the Spaniards from the Aztec capital. No one can read this story, and that of the remarkable victory of Otumba which followed it, without feeling that Cortez and his men were warriors worthy of the most warlike age. This oft-told story we shall here again relate.

In a preceding tale we described how Cortez set out from Cuba on his great expedition, with a few hundred soldiers and a small number of cannon, muskets, and horses. It may briefly be stated here that he sought to conquer a warlike and powerful nation with this insignificant force, less than a modern regiment. We might relate how he landed in Mexico; won, with the terror of his horses and guns and the valor of his men, victory in every battle; gained allies among the foes of the Aztecs; made his way into their capital; seized and held prisoner their emperor, Montezuma, and for a time seemed to be full master of the land. We might go on to[pg 059] tell how at length the Mexicans rose in fury, attacked the Spaniards with the courage of desperation, mortally wounded their own emperor, and at length brought the invaders into such terrible straits that they were forced to fight their way out of the city as their last hope of life.

To understand what followed, it must be stated that the city of Mexico lay, not in the open country, but on an island in the centre of a large lake, and that all the roads leading to it passed over narrow causeways of earth across this lake. Each of these causeways was broken at intervals by wide ditches, with bridges crossing them. But the Aztecs had removed these bridges, and thus added immensely to the difficulty of the night-march which the desperate Spaniards were obliged to make.

It was at midnight on the 1st of July, 1520, that Cortez and his men threw open the gates of the palace fortress in which they had long defended themselves against the furious assaults of thousands of daring foes. The night was dark and cloudy, and a drizzling rain was falling. Not an enemy was to be seen, and as they made their way with as little noise as possible along the great street of Tlacopan, all was hushed in silence, Hope rose in their hearts. The tramp of the horses and the rumble of the guns and baggage-wagons passed unheard, and they reached the head of the causeway without waking a sleeping Aztec warrior.

Here was the first break in the causeway, and they had brought with them a bridge to lay across[pg 060] it. But here also were some Indian sentinels, who fled in haste on seeing them, rousing the sleeping city with their cries. The priests on the summit of the great temple pyramid were also on the watch, and when the shouts of alarm reached their ears from below, they sounded their shells and beat their huge drum, which was only heard in times of peril or calamity. Instantly the city broke from its slumber, and as the leading Spaniards crossed the bridge a distant sound was heard, which rapidly approached. Soon from every street and lane poured enemies, flinging stones and arrows into the crowded ranks of the Spaniards as they came. On the lake was heard a splashing sound, as of many oars, and the war-cry of a host of combatants broke on the air. A brief interval had sufficed to change the silence into a frightful uproar of sound and the restful peace into the fast growing tumult of furious battle.

The Spaniards pushed steadily along the causeway, fighting only to drive back the assailants who landed from their canoes and rushed in fury upon the marching ranks. The horsemen spurred over them, riding them down; the men on foot cut them down with their swords, or hurled them backward with the butts of their guns; the Indian allies of the Spaniards attacked them fiercely, and the roar of war spread far through the gloom of the night.

Onward marched the Spaniards, horse and foot; onward creaked and rumbled the artillery and the wagons; and the second canal in the causeway was reached while the rear files were not yet across the[pg 061] first. The Spaniards had made a fatal mistake in bringing with them only one bridge. When the last of the retreating force was across this, a vigorous effort was made to raise it and carry it to the canal in front, but in vain. The weight of men, horses, and cannon had wedged it so firmly in the earth and stones that it could not be moved. Every nerve was strained to lift the heavy mass, until, many of the workmen being killed and all wounded by the torrent of Aztec missiles, they were forced to abandon it.

When the dread tidings that the bridge could not be raised spread through the crowded host, a cry of despair arose that almost drowned the sounds of conflict. All means of retreat were cut off. Before them lay a deep and yawning ditch. Behind them pressed an army of assailants. On each side hundreds of canoes dashed on the causeway, yielding foes who rushed in fury upon their crowded ranks. All hope seemed lost. All discipline was at an end. Every one thought only of saving his own life, without regard to the weak or wounded. The leading files, gathered on the brink of the gulf, were pressed forward by the rear. The horsemen in front dashed into the water and swam across, but some of the horses failed to climb the steep and slippery bank, and rolled back with their mail-clad riders headlong into the lake.

After them pell mell came the infantry, some seeking to swim, others forced into the water to sink to a muddy death; many of them slain by the[pg 062] arrows and war-clubs of the Aztecs; others, wounded or stunned, dragged into the canoes and carried away to be sacrificed to the terrible war-god of the pagan foe. Along the whole length of the causeway, from ditch to ditch, the contest raged fearfully. The Aztecs, satisfied that they had now got their detested foes in their power, fought like demons, grappling with the Christians and rolling with them down the sloping way together; seeking to take their enemies alive that they might be kept for the bloody sacrifice.

With the horrid shouts of the combatants, the cries of vengeance and groans of agony, the prayers to the saints and the blessed Virgin, mingled the screams of women, of whom there were several, both Spaniard and Indian, in the Christian ranks. One of these, Maria de Estrada, fought as valiantly as any of the warriors, battling staunchly with broadsword and target in the thickest of the fray, and proving herself as valiant a soldier as the best.

During this terrible contest, Cortez was not at rest. He was everywhere, ordering, fighting, inspiring, seeking to restore the lost discipline to his ranks. Conscious that all was lost unless the fatal ditch could be crossed, and feeling that life must be considered before wealth, he hurried forward everything, heavy guns, ammunition-wagons, baggage-vans, and hurled them into the water along with the spoil of the Spaniards, bales of costly goods, chests of solid ingots, everything that would serve to fill the fatal gap. With these were mingled[pg 063] bodies of men and horses, drowned in that deadly ditch, the whole forming a terrible pathway across which the survivors stumbled and clambered until they reached the other side.

Cortez, riding forward, found a spot in the ditch that was fordable, and here, with the water up to his saddle-girths, he tried to bring order out of confusion, and called his followers to this path to safety. But his voice was lost in the turmoil, and with a few cavaliers who kept with him, he pressed forward to the van, doubly saddened by seeing his favorite page, Juan de Salazar, struck down in death by his side.

Here he found the valiant Gonzalo de Sandoval, who, with about twenty other cavaliers, had led the van, composed of two hundred Spanish foot-soldiers. They were halted before the third and final breach in the causeway, a ditch as wide and deep as those which had been passed. Fortunately it was not so closely beset by the enemy, who were still engaged with the centre and rear, and the gallant cavaliers plunged without hesitation into the water, followed by the foot, some swimming, some clinging desperately to the manes and tails of the horses, some carried to the bottom by the weight of the fatal gold with which they were heavily laden. On leaving the fortress in which they had so long defended themselves, much of the gold which they had gathered was necessarily abandoned. Cortez told the soldiers to take what they wished of it, but warned them not to overload themselves, saying,[pg 064] "He travels safest in the dark night who travels lightest." Many of those who failed to regard this wise counsel paid for their cupidity with their death.

Those who safely passed this final ditch were at the end of their immediate peril. Soon they were off the causeway and on solid ground, where the roar of the battle came more faintly to their ears. But word came to them that the rear-guard was in imminent danger and would be overwhelmed unless relieved. It seemed an act of desperation to return, but the valiant and warm-hearted cavaliers did not hesitate when this cry for aid was heard. Turning their horses, they galloped back, pushed through the pass, swam the canal again, and rode into the thick of the fight on the opposite section of the causeway.

The night was now passing, and the first gray light of day was visible in the east. By its dim illumination the frightful combat could be seen in all its horrid intensity. Everywhere lay dead bodies of Christian or pagan; the dark masses of the warriors could be seen locked in deadly struggle crowding the blood-stained causeway; while the lake, far and near, was crowded with canoes, filled with armed and ardent Aztec warriors, yelling their triumphant war-cry.

Cortez and his companions found Alvarado, who led the rear, unhorsed and wounded, yet fighting like a hero. His noble steed, which had borne him safely through many a hard fight, had fallen under[pg 065] him. With a handful of followers he was desperately striving to repel the overwhelming tide of the enemy which was pouring on him along the causeway, a dozen of the Indians falling for every Spaniard slain. The artillery had done good work in the early part of the contest, but the fury of the assault had carried the Aztecs up to and over the guns, and only a hand-to-hand conflict remained. The charge of the returning cavaliers created a temporary check, and a feeble rally was made, but the flood of foes soon came on again and drove them resistlessly back.

Cortez and the cavaliers with him were forced to plunge once more into the canal, not all of them this time escaping. Alvarado stood on the brink for a moment, uncertain what to do, death behind him and deadly peril before. He was a man of great strength and agility, and despair now gave him courage. Setting his long lance firmly on the wreck that strewed the bottom, he sprang vigorously forward and cleared the wide gap at a bound, a feat that filled all who saw it with amazement, the natives exclaiming, as they beheld the seemingly impossible leap, "This is truly the Tonatiuh,—the child of the Sun!" This name they had given Alvarado from his fair features and flaxen hair. How great the leap was no one has told us, though the name of "Alvarado's leap" still clings to the spot.

Thus ended the frightful noche triste, or "doleful night." Cortez led the remnant of his men off the causeway, a feeble, wounded, straggling few,[pg 066] faltering from weariness and loss of blood. Fortunately, the Aztecs, attracted by the rich spoil that strewed the ground, did not pursue, or it is doubtful if a man of the Spaniards, in their worn and wounded state, would have survived. How many perished in that night of dread no one knows. A probable estimate is about five hundred Spaniards and four thousand natives, nearly all the rear-guard having fallen. Of forty-six horses, half had been slain. The baggage, the guns, the ammunition, the muskets, and nearly all the treasure were gone. The only arms left the warriors were their swords and a few damaged cross-bows, while their mail was broken, their garments were tattered, their proud crests and banners gone, their bright arms soiled, and only a miserable and shattered fragment of their proud force was left, these dragging themselves along with pain and difficulty.

PIZARRO AND THE INCA'S GOLDEN RANSOM.

The great expedition to the land of gold, which Vasco NuÑez de Balboa had planned to make, was left by his death to be carried out by one of his companions in the discovery of the South Sea, the renowned Francisco Pizarro. It was an expedition full of romantic adventure, replete with peril and suffering, crowded with bold ventures and daring deeds. But we must pass over all the earlier of these and come at once to the climax of the whole striking enterprise, the story of the seizure of the Inca of Peru in the midst of his army and the tale of his incredible ransom.

Many and strange were the adventures of Pizarro, from the time when, with one small vessel and about one hundred desperate followers, he sailed from Panama in 1524, and ventured on the great unknown Pacific, to the time when, in 1531, he sailed again with one hundred and eighty men and about thirty horses and landed on the coast of Peru, which he designed to conquer as Cortez had conquered Mexico. A faithless and cruel wretch was this Francisco Pizarro, but he had the military merits of courage, enterprise, daring and persistency, and these qualities carried him through sufferings and adversities that would have discouraged[pg 072] almost any man and brought him to magical success in the end. It was the beacon of gold that lured him on through desperate enterprises and deadly perils and led him to the El Dorado of the Spanish adventurers.

Landing and capturing a point on the coast of Peru, he marched with his handful of bold followers, his horses and guns, eastward into the empire, crossed the vast and difficult mountain wall of the Andes, and reached the city of Caxamalca. Close by this city the Inca, Atahualpa, lay encamped with an army, for a civil war between him and his brother Huascar had just ended in the defeat and imprisonment of the latter.

Desperate was the situation of the small body of Spanish soldiers, when, in the late afternoon of the 15th of November, 1532, they marched into Caxamalca, which they found empty of inhabitants. About one hundred more men, with arms and horses, had joined them, but in a military sense they were but a handful still, and they had every reason to dread the consequences of their rash enterprise.

All seemed threatening,—the desertion of the city by its people, the presence of the Inca, with a powerful army, within a league's distance, the probable hostility of the Indian emperor. All the Spaniards had to rely on were their arms,—cannon, muskets and swords of steel,—new and terrible weapons in that land, and their war-horses, whose evolutions had elsewhere filled the soul of the Indian with dismay. Yet what were these in the hands of[pg 073] less than three hundred men, in the presence of a strong and victorious army? Filled with anxiety, Pizarro at once despatched a body of horsemen, led by his brother Hernando and the famous cavalier Hernando de Soto, to visit the Inca in his camp.

Great was the astonishment of the Indian soldiers as this strange cavalcade, with clang of arms and blast of trumpet, swept by, man and horse seeming like single beings to their unaccustomed eyes. De Soto, the best mounted of them all, showed his command of his steed in the Inca's presence, by riding furiously over the plain, wheeling in graceful curves, and displaying all the vigor and beauty of skilled horsemanship, finally checking the noble animal in full career when so near the Inca that some of the foam from its lips was thrown on the royal garments. Yet, while many of those near drew back in terror, Atahualpa maintained an unflinching dignity and composure, hiding every show of dread, if any such inspired him.

To the envoys he said, through an interpreter the Spaniards had brought, "Tell your captain that I am keeping a fast, which will end to-morrow morning. I will then visit him with my chieftains. Meanwhile, let him occupy the public buildings on the square, and no other."

Refreshments were now offered the Spaniards, but these they declined, as they did not wish to dismount. Yet they did not refuse to quaff the sparkling drink offered them in golden vases of great size brought by beautiful maidens. Then they[pg 074] rode slowly back, despondent at what they had seen,—the haughty dignity of the Inca and the strength and discipline of his army.

That night there were gloomy forebodings throughout the camp, which were increased as its occupants saw the watch-fires of the Peruvian army, glittering on the hill-sides, as one said, "as thick as the stars in heaven." Scarcely a man among them except Pizarro retained his courage; but he went round among his men, bidding them to keep up their spirits, and saying that Providence would not desert them if they trusted to their strength and their cause, as Christians against pagans. They were in Heaven's service and God would aid them.

He then called a council of his officers and unfolded to them a desperate plan he had conceived. This was no less than to lay an ambuscade for the Inca and seize him in the face of his army, holding him as a hostage for the safety of the Christians. Nothing less decisive than this would avail them, he said. It was too late to retreat. At the first sign of such a movement the army of the Inca would be upon them, and they would all be destroyed, either there or in the intricacies of the mountain-passes. Nor could they remain inactive where they were. The Inca was crafty and hostile, and would soon surround them with a net-work of peril, from which they could not escape. To fight him in the open field was hazardous, if not hopeless. The only thing to do was to take him by surprise on his visit the next day, drive back his followers[pg 075] with death and terror, seize the monarch, and hold him prisoner. With the Inca in their hands his followers would not dare attack them, and they would be practically masters of the empire.

No doubt Pizarro in this plan had in mind that which Cortez had pursued in Mexico. He would take care that Atahualpa should not be killed by his own people, as Montezuma had been, and while the monarch remained alive they would have the strongest guarantee of safety. This bold plan suited the daring character of Pizarro's officers. They agreed with him that in boldness lay their only hope of success or even of life, and they left the council with renewed confidence to prepare for the desperate enterprise.

It was noon the next day before the Inca appeared, his litter borne on the shoulders of his chief nobles and surrounded by others, so glittering with ornaments that, to quote from one of the Spaniards, "they blazed like the sun." A large number of workmen in front swept every particle of rubbish from the road. Behind, and through the fields that lined the road, marched a great body of armed men. But when within half a mile of the city the procession halted, and a messenger was sent to the Spaniards to say that the Inca would encamp there for that night and enter the city the following morning.

These tidings filled Pizarro with dismay. His men had been under arms since daybreak, the cavalry mounted, and the infantry and artillerymen[pg 076] at their posts. He feared the effect on their spirits of a long and trying suspense in such a critical situation, and sent word back to the Inca begging him to come on, as he had everything ready for his entertainment and expected to sup with him that night. This message turned the monarch from his purpose, and he resumed his march, though the bulk of his army was left behind, only a group of unarmed men accompanying him. He evidently had no fear or suspicion of the Spaniards. Little did he know them.

It was near the hour of sunset when the procession reached the city, several thousand Indians marching into the great square, borne high above whom was the Inca, seated in an open litter on a kind of throne made of massive gold, while a collar of emeralds of great size and beauty encircled his neck and his attire was rich and splendid. He looked around him with surprise, as there was not a Spaniard to be seen, and asked, in tones of annoyance, "Where are the strangers?"

At this moment Pizarro' s chaplain, a Dominican friar, came forward, with Bible and crucifix in hand, and began to expound to him the Christian doctrines, ending by asking him to acknowledge himself a vassal of the king of Spain. The Inca, when by aid of the interpreter he had gained a glimpse of the priest's meaning, answered him with high indignation, and when the friar handed him the Bible as the authority for his words, he flung it angrily to the earth, exclaiming,—

CORONADO AND THE SEVEN CITIES OF CIBOLA.

The remarkable success of Cortez and Pizarro in Mexico and Peru went far to convince the Spaniards that in America they had found a veritable land of magic, filled with wonders and supremely rich in gold and gems. Ponce de Leon sought in Florida for the fabled Fountain of Youth. Hernando de Soto, one of the companions of Pizarro, attempted to find a second Peru in the north, and became the discoverer of the Mississippi. From Mexico other adventurers set out, with equal hopes, in search of empire and treasure. Some went south to the conquest of Central America, others north to California and New Mexico. The latter region was the seat of the fancied Seven Cities of Cibola, the search for which it is here proposed to describe.

In 1538 Francisco Vasquez de Coronado was appointed governor of New Galicia, as the country lying north of Mexico was named, and sent out a certain Fray Marcos, a monk who had been with Pizarro in Peru, on a journey of exploration to the north. With him were some Indian guides and a negro named Estevanico, or Stephen, who had been one of the survivors of the Narvaez expedition to Florida and had travelled for years among the Indians of the north. He was expected to be of[pg 098] great assistance. As the worthy friar went on he was told of rich regions beyond, where the people wore ornaments of gold, and at length he sent the negro in advance to investigate and report. Stephen was to send back by the Indians a cross, the size of which would indicate the importance of what he had learned. Within four days messengers returned with a great cross the height of a man, significant of great and important discoveries.

One of the Indians told the friar that thirty days' journey from the point they had reached was a populous country called Cibola, in which were seven great cities under one lord, peopled by a civilized nation that dwelt in large houses well built of stone and lime, some of them several stories in height. The entrances to the principal houses were richly wrought with turquoise, which was there in great abundance. Farther on they had been told were other provinces, each of them much greater than that of the seven cities.

Two days after Easter, 1539, Fray Marcos set out on the track of his pioneer, eager to reach the land of wonders and riches of which he had been told. Doubtless there rose in his mind dreams of a second Mexico or Peru. The land through which lay his route was strange and picturesque. Here were fertile valleys, watered by streams and walled in by mountains; there were narrow caÑons through which ran rapid streams, with rock-walls hundreds of feet high and cut into strange forms of turrets and towers.

THE FAITHFUL MIRANDA AND THE LOVERS OF ARGENTINA.

The early history of America has few romantic tales of love and devotion, but there is one woven in with the history of the settlement of Buenos Ayres, the modern Argentina, which is told by all the historians of the time, and which exists as the one striking love romance of the Spanish conquest. It has been doubted, it is true, but it will not to do to dismiss all the chivalrous tales of the past on the plea that historical critics have questioned them.

It may not be generally known to our readers that the man who explored and took possession of the great rivers of Buenos Ayres for Spain was Sebastian Cabot, he who, many years before, had with his father discovered North America in the service of England. It was in the year 1526 that he sailed up the noble river which he named the Rio de la Plata, a name suggested by the bars of silver which he obtained from the Indians on its banks. Sailing some hundred miles up the Paraguay River, he built at the mouth of the river Zarcaranna a stronghold which he named the Fort of the Holy Ghost. Some three years later Cabot set sail for Spain, leaving Nuno de Lara as commander of this fort, with a garrison of one hundred and twenty men.

LANTARO, THE BOY HERO OF THE ARAUCANIANS.

The river Biobio, in Southern Chili, was for centuries the boundary between liberty and oppression in South America. South of it lay the land of the Araucanians, that brave and warlike people who preserved their independence against the whites, the only Indian nation in America of which this can be said. Valorous and daring as were the American Indians, their arms and their arts were those of the savage, and the great multitude of them were unable to stand before the weapons and the discipline of their white invaders. But such was not the case with the valiant Araucanians. From the period of Almagro, the companion of Pizarro and the first invader of Chili, down to our own days these bold Americans fought for and retained their independence, holding the Biobio as their national frontier, and driving army after army from their soil. Not until 1882 did they consent to become citizens of Chili, and then of their own free will, and they still retain their native habits and their pride in their pure blood.

The most heroic and intrepid of the Indian races, they defied the armies of the Incas long before the Spaniards came, and the armies of the Spaniards for centuries afterwards, and though they have now[pg 117] consented to become a part of the Chilian nation, this has not been through conquest, and they are as independent in spirit to-day as in the warlike years of the past. Their hardy and daring character infects the whole of Chili, and has given that little republic, drawn out like a long string between the Andes and the sea, the reputation of being one of the most warlike and unyielding of countries, while to its people has been applied the suggestive title of "the Yankees of the South."

It would need a volume to tell the deeds of the heroes who arose in succession to defend the land of Araucania from the arms of those who so easily overturned the mighty empire of Peru. We shall, therefore, confine ourselves to the exploits of one of the earliest of these, a youthful warrior with a genius for war that might have raised him to the rank of a great commander had not death early cut short his career. The second Spaniard who attempted the conquest of this valiant people was Pedro de Valdivia, the quartermaster of Pizarro, an able soldier, but one of those who fancied that a handful of Spanish cavaliers were a match for the strongest of the Indian tribes. He little knew the spirit of the race with which he would have to deal.

Southward from Peru marched the bold Valdivia with two hundred Spaniards at his back. With them as aids to conquest was brought a considerable force of Peruvians; also priests and women, for he proposed to settle and hold the land as his own[pg 118] after he had conquered it. Six hundred miles southward he went, fighting the hostile natives at every step, and on the 14th of February, 1541, stopped and laid the foundations of a town which he named St. Jago. This still stands as the modern Santiago, a city of three hundred thousand souls.

We do not propose to tell the story of Valdivia's wars with the many tribes of Chili. He was in that land nine years before his conquests brought him to the Biobio and the land of the Araucanians, with whom alone we are concerned. On the coast near the mouth of this river he founded a new town, which he named Concepcion, and made this the basis of an invasion of the land of the Araucanians, whom he proposed to subdue.

As it happened, the Araucanian leader at this time was a man with the body of a giant and the soul of a dwarf. He timidly kept out of the way of the Spaniards until they had overrun most of the country, built towns and forts, and had reason to believe that the whole of Chili was theirs. Valdivia went on founding cities until he had seven in all, and gave himself the proud title of the Marquis of Arauco, fancying that he was lord and master of the Araucanians. He was too hasty; Arauco was not yet his.

A new state of affairs began when the Araucanians, disgusted with the timid policy of their leader, chose a bolder man, named Caupolican, as their toqui, or head chief. A daring and able man, the new toqui soon taught the Spaniards a lesson.[pg 119] He began with an attack on their forts. At one of these, named Arauco, the invaders had eighty Indians employed in bringing them forage for their horses. The wily Caupolican replaced these laborers by eighty of his own warriors, who hid their arms in the bundles of hay they carried. On reaching the fort they were to attack the guards and hold the gates till their ambushed comrades could come to their aid.

This device failed, the garrison attacking and driving back the forage-bearers before Caupolican could reach the place. Foiled in this, he made a fierce assault upon the fort, but the fire of eighty cannons proved too much for Indian means of defence, and the assailants were forced to draw back and convert their assault into a siege. This did not continue long before the Spaniards found themselves in peril of starvation. Vainly they sallied out on their assailants, who were not to be driven off; and finally, hopeless of holding the fort, the beleaguered garrison cut its way by a sudden night attack through the besieging lines and retired to the neighboring fort of Puren. A similar result took place at another fort called Tucapel, its garrison also seeking a refuge at Puren.

When news of these events reached Valdivia, he saw that his conquests were in peril, and at once set out for the seat of war with all his forces, amounting to about two hundred Spaniards and four or five thousand Indians. A small party of cavalry were despatched in advance to reconnoitre the[pg 120] enemy, but they were all killed by the Araucanians and their heads were hung on roadside trees as a warning to their approaching comrades. This gruesome spectacle had much of the effect intended. On seeing it many of the Spaniards were dismayed and clamored to return. But Valdivia insisted on advancing, and on the 3d of December, 1553, the two armies came in sight of each other at Tucapel.

Valdivia soon found that he had no ordinary Indians to deal with. These were not of the kind that could be dispersed by a squadron of cavalry. A fierce charge was made on his left wing, which was cut to pieces by the daring warriors of Caupolican. The right wing was also vigorously attacked. But the artillery and musketry of the Spaniards were mowing down the ranks of the Araucanians, whose rude war-clubs and spears were ill-fitted to cope with those death-dealing weapons. Driven back, and hundreds of them falling, they returned with heroic courage three times to the assault. But at length the slaughter became too great to bear and the warriors were ready to flee in dismay.

At this critical moment the first great hero of the Araucanians appeared. He was a boy of only sixteen years of age, a mere lad, who some time before had been captured by Valdivia, baptized, and made his page. But young as he was, he loved his country ardently and hated the invaders with a bitter hate, and it was this youthful hero who saved the day for his countrymen and snatched victory out of defeat.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH AND THE QUEST FOR EL DORADO.

Gold was the beacon that lured the Spaniards to America, and dazzling stories were told by them of the riches of the countries they explored, stories illustrated by the marvellous wealth of Peru. It was well known that Cortez had not obtained all the treasures of Montezuma, or Pizarro all those of Atahualpa, and many believed that these treasures had been carried far away by the servants of those unhappy monarchs. Guiana, the northeastern section of South America, was looked upon by the Spanish adventurers as the hiding-place of this fabulous wealth. Others fancied that Guiana was the true El Dorado in itself, a land marvellously rich in gold, silver, and precious stones. Gonzalo Pizarro, in his expedition in 1540, had heard much from the Indians of this land of wealth, and Orellana brought back from his famous descent of the Amazon marvellous stories of the riches in gold, silver, and precious stones of the land of the north.

These stories, once set afloat, grew in wonder and magnitude through pure love of the marvellous or wild expansion of the fanciful tales of the Indians. Far inland, built on a lofty hill, so the fable ran, was a mighty city, whose very street watering-troughs were made of solid gold and silver, while[pg 140] "billets of gold lay about in heaps, as if they were logs of wood marked out to burn."

In this imperial city dwelt in marvellous magnificence a mighty king. The legend went that it was a habit of his to cover his body with turpentine and then roll in gold-dust till he gleamed like a veritable golden image. Then, entering his barge of state, with a retinue of nobles whose dresses glittered with gems, they would sail around a beautiful lake, ending their tour by a bath in the cooling waters.

Where was this city? Who had seen its gold-emblazoned king? Certainly none of those who went in search of it or its monarch. Of the Spanish adventurers who sought for that land of treasure, the most persistent was a bold explorer named Berreo, who landed in New Granada, and set out thence with a large body of followers—seven hundred horsemen, the story goes. His route lay along the river Negro, and then down the broad Orinoco. Boats were built for the descent of this great stream. But the route was difficult and exhausting and the natives usually hostile, and as they went on many of the men and horses died or were slain.

For more than a year these sturdy explorers pushed on, reaching a point from which, if they could believe the natives, the city they sought was not far away, and Guiana and its riches were near at hand. As evidence, the Indians had treasure of their own to show, and gave Berreo "ten images of fine gold, which were so curiously wrought, as he had not seen the like in Italy, Spain, or the Low[pg 141] Countries." But as they went on the gallant seven hundred became reduced to a weary fraction, and these so eager to return home that their leader was forced to give up the quest. He sought the island of Trinidad, near the coast of South America, and there, as governor, he dwelt for years, keeping alive in his soul the dream of some day going again in search of El Dorado.

While Berreo was thus engaged, there dwelt in England a man of romantic and adventurous nature named Walter Raleigh. He became afterwards famous as Sir Walter Raleigh, and for many years devoted himself to the attempt to plant an English colony on the coast of North America. On this project he spent much time and money, but ill-fortune haunted him and all his colonies failed. Then he concluded to cross the ocean himself and restore his wasted wealth by preying on the Spanish treasure-ships, after the fashion of the bold Sir Francis Drake. But Queen Elizabeth put an end to this project by clapping him in prison, on a matter of royal jealousy. While one of the queen's lovers, he had dared to marry another woman.

While Raleigh lay in prison, some of the ships of the fleet he had fitted out came back with a Spanish galleon they had taken, so richly laden with costly goods that the whole court was filled with delight. Part of the spoils went to the queen and another part to Raleigh, and when at length he was released from his prison-cell his mind was set on winning more of the American gold. The stories of El[pg 142] Dorado and its marvellous city were then in great vogue, for Berreo had but lately returned from his expedition—with no gold, indeed, but with new tales of marvel he had gathered from the Indians.

It was now the year 1594. Raleigh was but forty-two years of age, in the prime of life and full of activity and energy. His romantic turn of mind led him to a full belief in the stories that floated about, and he grew eager to attempt the brilliant and alluring adventure which Berreo had failed to accomplish. Though the Spaniard had failed, he had opened up what might prove the track to success. Raleigh had sent various expeditions to the New World, but had never crossed the ocean himself. He now decided to seek Guiana and its fairyland of gold.

A small vessel was sent in advance, under command of Raleigh's friend, Jacob Whiddon, to feel the way and explore the mouth of the Orinoco, which was deemed to be the gateway to the golden realm. Whiddon stopped at Trinidad, and found Berreo, then its governor, very kindly and cordial. But, on one pretext or another, the treacherous Spaniard had the English sailors arrested and put in prison, until Whiddon found his crew so small that he was obliged to go back to England without seeing the Orinoco.

Whiddon's report made Raleigh more eager than ever. He believed that Berreo was getting ready to go back to Guiana himself, and was seeking to rid himself of rivals. He hastened his preparations[pg 143] accordingly, and in February, 1595, set sail from Plymouth with a fleet of five well-supplied vessels, taking with him about one hundred gentlemen adventurers in addition to the crews. A number of small and light boats were also taken for use on the rivers of Guiana. Many of their friends came to see the voyagers off, flags floated on all the vessels in the harbor, and Raleigh and his companions, dressed in their best array, stood on the decks, as, with set sails and flying pennons, the stout ships moved slowly away on their voyage of chance and hope.

Raleigh followed the example of the sea-rovers of his day, committing what would now be called piracy on the high seas. Not long had the fleet left the Canary Islands before a Spanish ship was seen and captured. It was quickly emptied of its cargo,—a welcome one, as it consisted of fire-arms. Very soon after a second ship was captured. This was a Flemish vessel, laden with wines. These were taken also, twenty hogsheads of them. About two months out from Plymouth the hills of Trinidad were sighted, and Raleigh's eyes rested for the first time on the shores of that New World in which he had so long taken a warm interest.

Governor Berreo tried to treat Raleigh as he had done his agent, forbidding any of the Indians to go on his ships on peril of death. But they went on board, for all that, and were delighted with the kind treatment they received. They told Raleigh that several of their chiefs had been seized and[pg 144] imprisoned in the town of St. Joseph, and begged him to rescue them. No Englishman of that day hesitated when the chance came to deal the Spaniards a blow, and a vigorous attack was soon made on the town, it being captured, the chiefs set free, and the governor himself made a prisoner.

After four hard and weary days of this kind they reached a smoother channel and could proceed more easily. But their work was still far from easy, for the inflowing tidal waters had left them and they had the swift current of the river to breast, while the tropic heat grew more oppressive day by day. It was hard work for the gentlemen rovers in that tropical climate, where the dense forest growth cut off every breath of air and their diminishing bread forced them to be put on short allowance. They began to complain bitterly, and Raleigh had to use all his powers of persuasion to induce them to go on.

Yet the country was in many ways beautiful. Here and there the woods ceased and broad plains spread out, covered with luxuriant herbage, amid which rose at intervals groves of beautiful trees. Graceful deer would come down to the water's edge and gaze fearlessly on the travellers with their big, soft eyes. "On the banks of these rivers," says Raleigh, "were divers sorts of fruits good to eat; flowers, too, and trees of such variety as were sufficient to make two volumes of travels. We refreshed ourselves many times with the fruits of the country, and sometimes with fowls and fish. We saw birds of all colors: some carnation, some crimson, orange, tawny, purple, and so on; and it was unto us a great good passing time to behold them, besides the relief we found by killing some store of them with our fowling-pieces."

The adventurers at length reached an Indian[pg 147] village of which their old guide had told them, and here, after the natives had got over their fright and learned that the strangers meant them no harm, they were very hospitably entertained. Thence they went onward, day after day, seeing many canoes on the river and landing at various villages. One of the canoes contained three Spaniards, who escaped from the effort to capture them, and Raleigh soon learned that the Spaniards had told the natives that the English were robbers and cannibals. To overcome the effect of this story, the greatest care was taken to treat the Indians with kindness and gentleness, and to punish in their presence any of the men who maltreated them. This quickly had its effect, for the news spread that the new-comers were the friends of the red men, and they were rewarded by every attention the natives could bestow on them. Provisions were brought them in profusion,—fish, fowl, and fruit, great roasted haunches of venison, and other viands. Among these were sweet and delicious pineapples of enormous size, "the prince of fruits," as Raleigh called them.

Finally, after they had gone about one hundred and fifty miles up the Orinoco, they reached the point where another great river, the Caroni, empties into it. The country here was more beautiful than they had yet seen, and prosperous Indian villages were numerous on the bordering plains. The natives had heard of the amicable character of the new-comers, and greeted them with great friendliness, doing all[pg 148] they could to show how they trusted and admired them. With one old chief, named Topiawara, Raleigh held many interesting talks and learned from him much about the country and the people. In return he told him about his own country and its great queen, and one day showed him a portrait of Queen Elizabeth, before which the simple natives bowed themselves as if it were the figure of a goddess they saw.

Many days were spent with these people, in hunting, fishing, and exploring, but, ask as they would, they could learn nothing about the land of gold and the marvellous city they had come so far to seek. The old chief told him that Guiana had many fertile plains and valleys and had mines of silver and gold, but the gold-dust king he knew nothing about. Finally, Raleigh decided to go up the Caroni, three parties being sent to explore its vicinity, while he with a fourth rowed up the stream. He had been told of a mighty cataract, which he was very anxious to see, and this was at length reached, after a long struggle with the strong current of the river.

The cataract proved to be a series of giant cascades, ten or twelve in number, in the words of Raleigh, "every one as high above the other as a church tower, which fell with that fury that the rebound of waters made it seem as if it had been all covered over with a great shower of rain. And in some places we took it at first for a smoke that had risen over some great town.

MORGAN, THE FREEBOOTER, AND THE RAID ON PANAMA.

During the seventeenth century the Spanish Main was beset with a horde of freebooters or buccaneers, as they called themselves, to whose fierce attacks the treasure-ships bound for Spain were constantly exposed, and who did not hesitate to assail the strongholds of the Spaniards in quest of plunder. They differed from pirates only in the fact that their operations were confined to Spain and her colonies, no war giving warrant to their atrocities. Most ferocious and most successful among these worthies was Henry Morgan, a man of Welsh birth, who made his name dreaded by his daring and cruelty throughout the New-World realms of Spain. The most famous among the deeds of this rover of the seas was his capture of the city of Panama, which we shall here describe.

On the 24th of October, 1670, there set sail from the island haunts of the freebooters the greatest fleet which these lawless wretches had ever got together. It consisted of thirty-seven ships, small and large, Morgan's flag-ship, of thirty-two guns, being the largest, and flying the English standard. The men had gathered from all the abiding-places of their fraternity, eager to serve under so famous a leader as Morgan, and looking for rich spoil under[pg 152] a man whose rule of conduct was, "Where the Spaniards obstinately defend themselves there is something to take, and their best fortified places are those which contain the most treasure."

As the remainder of the fleet drew near, the freebooters, seeing the English flag flying on the fort, manifested their joy by the depths of their potations, getting so drunk, in fact, that they managed to run four of the ships on the rocks at the mouth of the Chagres, among them the admiral's ship. The crews and cargoes were saved, but the vessels were total wrecks, much to Morgan's chagrin.

At length, on the 18th of January, 1671, the march on Panama actually began, with a force of thirteen hundred picked men, five hundred being left to garrison the fort and one hundred and fifty to seize some Spanish vessels that were in the river. The means of conveyance being limited, and the need of marching light important, a very small supply of provisions was taken, it being expected to find an abundance on the route. But in this the raiders were seriously at fault, the Spaniards fleeing with all their cattle and cutting all the growing grain, so that the buccaneers soon found themselves almost destitute of supplies.

The journey was made in boats up the river as far as practicable, five small vessels carrying the artillery. At the end of the second day most of the men were forced to abandon the boats and prosecute their journey on foot. On the third day they found themselves in a marshy forest, which they traversed with difficulty and reached the town of Cedro Bueno. Here they had hoped to find food, but the place was deserted and not a scrap of provisions left.

THE WONDERFUL MARCH OF THE FREEBOOTERS

The March of the Ten Thousand, from Babylon to the Black Sea, is one of the famous events of history. The march of the three hundred, from the Pacific to the Atlantic, which we have here to tell, is scarcely known to history at all, yet it was marked by a courage and command of resources as great as those of the ancient Greeks. We think our readers will agree with us when they read this story, taken from the records of the freebooters on the Spanish Main.

After ravaging the settlements of Spain on the Atlantic coasts, various fleets of these piratical adventurers sought the Pacific waters in 1685, and there for several years made life scarce worth living to the inhabitants of the Spanish coast cities. Time and again these were plundered of their wealth, numbers of their ships were taken, and a veritable reign of terror prevailed. As time went on, however, most of these freebooters withdrew, satisfied with their abundant gains, so that, by the end of 1687, only a few of them remained, and these were eager to return with their ill-gotten wealth to their native land.

This remnant of the piratical fraternity, less than three hundred in number, had their head-quarters[pg 174] on an island in the Bay of Mapalla, on the Central American coast. What vessels they had left were in a wretched condition, utterly unfit to attempt the vast sea voyage by way of the Straits of Magellan, and nothing seemed to remain for them but an attempt to cross the continent by way of Nicaragua and Honduras, fighting their way through a multitude of enemies. To the pen of Ravenneau de Lussan, one of the adventurers, we are indebted for the narrative of the singular and interesting adventure which follows.

The daring band of French and English freebooters were very ill provided for the dangerous enterprise they had in view. They proposed to cross an unknown country without guides and with a meagre supply of provisions, fighting as they went and conveying their sick and wounded as best they could. They had also a number of prisoners whom they felt it necessary to take with them, since to set them free would be to divulge their weakness to their enemies. Nature and circumstance seemed to combine against them, yet if they ever wished to see their native lands again they must face every danger, trusting that some of them, at least, might escape to enjoy their spoils.

After questioning their prisoners, they decided to take a route by way of the city of New Segovia, which lies north of the lake of Nicaragua, about one hundred and twenty miles from the Pacific and seventy-five miles from the waters of a river that flows, after a long course, into the Atlantic opposite[pg 175] Cape Gracias-a-Dios. In order to gain further information about the route, sixty men were sent to explore the neighboring country. These advanced till they were near the small city of Chiloteca. Here, worn out by their journey and learning that they were in a thickly settled country, most of the pioneers decided to return. But eighteen of the bolder spirits had the audacity to advance on Chiloteca, a place of perhaps a thousand inhabitants.

Into it they rushed with such ferocious yells and so terrific a fusillade of shots that the frightened inhabitants, taken utterly by surprise, fled in mortal terror, leaving the place to its captors. These quickly seized a number of horses, and made haste to retreat on their backs, hotly pursued by the Spaniards, who soon discovered to what a handful of men they had surrendered their city.

On receiving the report of their scouts, the freebooters determined on the desperate venture. They had little to convey except their spoil, which, the result of numerous raids, was valued at about one million dollars. It chiefly consisted of gold and jewels, all heavier valuables, even silver, being left in great part behind, as too heavy to carry. The spoil was very unequally owned, since the gambling which had gone on actively among them had greatly varied the distribution of their wealth. To overcome the anger and jealousy which this created among the poorer, those with much to carry shared their portions among their companions, with the[pg 176] understanding that, if they reached the Antilles in safety, half of it should be returned. As for the prisoners, it was decided to take them along, and make use of them for carrying the utensils, provisions, and sick.

On the 1st of January, 1688, these freebooters, two hundred and eighty-five in number, with sixty-eight horses, crossed in boats from their island refuge to the main-land and began their march. Their ships had been first destroyed, their cannon cast into the sea, and their bulkier effects burned. Divided into four companies, with forty men in front as an advance guard, they moved forward into a land of adventure and peril.

It was soon found that the people expected and had prepared for their coming. Trees had been felled across the roads and efforts made to obstruct all the foot-paths. Provisions had been carried away, and the dry herbage of the fields was set on fire as they advanced, almost suffocating them with the heat and smoke. This was done to hinder their march until the Spaniards had completed a strong intrenchment which was being built at a suitable place on the route.

Ambuscades were also laid for them. On the eighth day of their march they fell into one of these at Tusignala, where three hundred Spaniards lay concealed on the ground and fired into their ranks. Though these were dispersed by a fierce charge, they followed the freebooters closely, annoying them from the shelter of woods and thickets.[pg 177] The next day a still larger ambuscade was laid, which, fortunately for the freebooters, was discovered and dispersed in time, the fleeing Spaniards leaving their horses behind.

Two days later New Segovia was reached. Here the buccaneers expected a severe engagement, and hoped to gain a supply of provisions. In both they were mistaken; the inhabitants had decamped, carrying all food with them. Their prisoners, who had served them as guides to this point, knew nothing of the country beyond, but they succeeded in taking a new prisoner who was familiar with the further route.

The country they were passing through was mountainous and very difficult. Steep acclivities had constantly to be climbed, narrow paths on the borders of deep chasms to be traversed, and rapid slopes to be descended. The nights were bitterly cold, the mornings were darkened by thick fogs, and their whole route was attended with danger, discomfort, and fatigue.

New Segovia lay in a valley surrounded on all sides by mountains, one of which had to be ascended immediately on leaving the town. The next day's dawn found them on its summit, with a valley far below them, in which, to their joy, they beheld a large number of animals which they took to be oxen. Their joy was dissipated, however, when the scouts they sent out came back with the information that these animals were horses, saddled and bridled, and that a series of formidable[pg 178] intrenchments had been built in the valley, rising like terraces, one above another, and carried to the mountains on each side, so as completely to close the route.

There seemed no way to avoid these defences. On one side of the mountain flowed a river. A small eminence, surrounded by breastworks, commanded the only passage which the freebooters could follow. The whole country round was thick forest, through whose rock-guarded demesnes not the slightest indication of a path could be seen. Yet to attack those works in front promised quick and utter defeat, and if they wished to avoid destruction they must find some way to outwit their foes. It was decided that the forest presented less dangers and difficulties than the fortified road, and that the only hope of safety lay in a flank movement which would lead them to the rear of the enemy.

During that day active preparations were made for the proposed movement. The three hundred Spaniards who had ambushed them some days before still hung upon their rear. Their horses, sick, and prisoners were therefore left in an enclosed camp, barricaded by their baggage-vehicles and guarded by eighty of their number. As a means of impressing the enemy with their numbers and alertness they kept up camp-fires all night, repeated at intervals the rolls upon the drum, relieved the sentinels with a great noise, and varied these signs of activity with cries and occasional discharges of musketry.

THE CRUELTY OF THE SPANIARDS TO THE INDIANS.

Never were a people more terribly treated than the natives of America under the Spanish adventurers. The often told story that the Indians of Hispaniola were annihilated in one generation after the settlement of that island is sufficient evidence of the frightfully inhuman treatment to which they were subjected. The laws of Spain provided for justice and humanity in the dealings with the Indians, but the settlers, thousands of miles away, paid no attention to these laws, and the red men were almost everywhere reduced to slavery, or where free and given political rights, were looked upon as far inferior to the whites. In every district Spain placed an official called the "Protector of the Indians," but it does not appear that they were much the better off for their "Protectors." It is our purpose here to say something about the cruel treatment of the natives in South America.

The legs and arms of the victim were sent to the rebellious towns, his body was burned to ashes, his house was razed, his property confiscated, and his family declared infamous forever. One of his brothers was sent to Spain and condemned to the galleys, in which he remained for thirty years. Such were the means taken by the Spaniards to overcome the love of liberty in the natives of Peru.

As for the natives themselves, what few privileges they had retained were taken from them, their meetings and festivals were forbidden, and for any one to assume the name of Inca was declared criminal. These severe measures were thought sufficient to intimidate the Indians, but they only exasperated them, and they took a terrible revenge. Andres, a cousin of Amaru, who had escaped capture, and another chief named Catari, led them in a campaign of revenge in which they fought with the fury of despair. The lives of five hundred Spaniards, it is said, paid the penalty for each of the victims of that dread execution in Cuzco.

Andres besieged the city of Sorata, in which all the white families of the vicinity had taken refuge with their treasures. The artillery of the fortifications seemed an invulnerable defence against the poorly armed besiegers, but Andres succeeded in making a breach by turning the mountain streams against the walls. Once within, the exasperated Indians took a terrible revenge, a single priest being, as we are told, the sole survivor of the twenty thousand inhabitants. In the end the Spaniards[pg 194] put down the insurrection by treachery and cunning, seized the chiefs, and sent Andres to Ceuta, in Spain, where he remained in prison till 1820.

We shall only say in addition that the Portuguese of Brazil treated the natives of that land with a cruelty little less than that shown by the Spaniards, sending out hunting expeditions to bring in Indians to serve as slaves. Those who opposed them were shot down without mercy, and it is said that, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, peasants infected with the virus of smallpox were sent to the Botocudos, as a convenient means of getting rid of that hostile tribe. As a result of all this, the greater part of the tribes of Brazil completely disappeared. The natives of South America obtained justice and honorable treatment only after the people of that country had won their liberty.

TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE AND THE REVOLUTION IN HAYTI.

The people of Europe have not stood alone in settling and ruling America, for the blacks of Africa, brought to the New World as slaves, have made themselves masters of one of the largest and most fertile islands of the West Indies, that attractive gem of the tropics which, under the name of Hispaniola, was the pioneer among Spanish dominions on American soil.

Hispaniola has had a strange and cruel history. The Spaniards enslaved its original inhabitants and treated them so ruthlessly that they were soon annihilated. Then the island was filled with negro slaves. About 1630 the buccaneers, or hunters of wild bulls, made it their haunt, and as these were mostly French, the western part of the island was ceded to France in 1697. During the century that followed Africans were brought over in multitudes, until there were nearly half a million blacks in Hayti,—the Indian name of the island,—while there were less than forty thousand whites and thirty thousand mulattoes, the latter being neither citizens nor slaves. These facts are given as a necessary introduction to the story we are about to tell.

It was the white revolution in France that brought[pg 206] about the black revolution in Hayti. In 1789 the States-General met in France and overturned the ancient system of oppression in that land. Liberty for all was the tocsin of its members, and it was proclaimed that not only the whites of France and her colonies, but the blacks also, were entitled to freedom and a voice in the government. The news of this decree created a ferment of passion in Hayti. The white planters of the island, who had long controlled everything, burst into fury, for-swore all allegiance to France, and trampled the national flag under foot in their rage.

But they had others than the French Assembly to deal with. The mulattoes, or free people of color, rose in arms for the rights of which they had been deprived. They were soon put down, but in the following year (1791) a much more terrible outbreak took place, that of the slaves. There followed a reign of terror as sanguinary in type as that of France. The revolt began on the night of August 21, on the plantation of NoÉ, near Cape Haytien. The long-oppressed and savage blacks mercilessly killed all the whites who fell into their hands. Down from the mountains they poured on every side, their routes marked by blood and devastation. Hills and plains were swept with fire and sword, atrocities of the most horrible kinds were committed, and nearly all the residents on the plantations, more than two thousand in number, were brutally slaughtered, while a thousand sugar and coffee estates were swept by fire.

But though the French became masters of the ports, the army of the blacks maintained itself in the mountain fastnesses, in which Toussaint defied all the efforts of his foes. After Leclerc had lost heavily, and began to despair of subduing his able opponent by force of arms, he had recourse to strategy. He had brought with him Toussaint's two sons. Napoleon had interviewed these boys before their departure from France, saying to them, "Your father is a great man, and has rendered good service to France. Tell him I say so, and bid him not to believe I have any hostile intention against the island. The troops I send are not designed to fight the natives, but to increase their strength, and the man I have appointed to command is my own brother-in-law."

Leclerc sent these boys to Toussaint, with the demand that he should submit or send his children back as hostages. An affecting interview took place between the boys and their father, and when they repeated to him Napoleon's words, he was at first inclined to yield, but fuller consideration induced him to refuse.

"I cannot accept your terms," he said. "The First Consul offers me peace, but his general no sooner arrives than he begins a fierce war. No; my country demands my first consideration. Take back my sons."

In the continuation of the war a French force of twenty thousand men under Rochambeau marched against Toussaint, who was strongly intrenched at[pg 214] CrÊte À Pierrot. In the contest that followed Toussaint at first outgeneralled Rochambeau and defeated him with severe loss. But the assistance he looked for from his subordinates failed to reach him, and at length he was forced to retreat.

The French, however, despite their superior numbers and the military experience of their leaders, found that they had no mean antagonist in the negro general, and Leclerc again resorted to negotiation, offering the blacks their freedom if they would submit. Toussaint, seeing that he was unable to hold his own against his powerful foe, and convinced that the terms offered would be advantageous to his country, now decided to accept them, saying, "I accept everything which is favorable for the people and for the army; as for myself, I wish to live in retirement."

The negro liberator trusted his enemies too much. The pride of Napoleon had not yet digested the affront of Toussaint's message, "From the First of the Blacks to the First of the Whites," and he sent orders to Leclerc to arrest and send him to France. In June, 1802, a force was sent secretly at night to Toussaint's home, where he was dwelling in peace and quiet. The house was surrounded, two blacks that sought to defend him were killed on the spot, and he was dragged from his bed and taken to the coast. Here he was placed on board a man-of-war, which at once set sail for France.

Napoleon's treatment of Toussaint was one of the dark deeds in his career. Reaching France,[pg 215] the captive was separated from his wife and children and confined in the dungeon of a dreary frontier castle. Here, one morning in April, 1803, Toussaint L'Ouverture, the negro liberator, was found dead. He had been starved to death, if we may accept the belief of some authors.

The Haytien patriot died in poverty, though he might easily have accumulated vast wealth. In his official position he had maintained a degree of magnificence, and Napoleon believed that he had concealed great riches somewhere in the island. He sent spies to question him, but Toussaint's only reply was, "No, the treasures you seek are not those I have lost." The lost ones were his wife, his children, and his liberty.

Treachery is often an error, and Napoleon was soon to find that he had made a fatal mistake in his treatment of the leader of the blacks. Alarmed at his seizure, and having no one to control them, the negroes flew to arms, and soon the revolt spread over the whole island. Yellow fever came to the aid of the blacks, raging in Leclerc's army until thousands of soldiers and fifteen hundred officers found graves in the land they had invaded. In the end Leclerc himself died, and Pauline was taken back to France. When Napoleon heard the story of the fate of his expedition, he exclaimed in dismay,—

"Here, then, is all that remains of my fine army; the body of a brother-in-law, of a general, my right arm, a handful of dust! All has perished,[pg 216] all will perish! Fatal conquest! Cursed land! Perfidious colonists! A wretched slave in revolt. These are the causes of so many evils." He might more truly have said, "My own perfidy is the cause of all those evils."

A few words must conclude this tale. General Rochambeau was sent large reinforcements, and with an army of twenty thousand men attempted the reconquest of the island. After a campaign of ferocity on both sides, he found himself blockaded at Cape Haytien, and was saved from surrender to the revengeful blacks only by the British, to whom he yielded the eight thousand men he had left. As he sailed from the island he saw the mountain-tops blazing with the beacon-fires of joy kindled by the blacks. From that day to this the island of Hayti has remained in the hands of the negro race.

BOLIVAR THE LIBERATOR, AND THE CONQUEST OF NEW GRANADA.

One dark night in the year 1813 a negro murderer crept stealthily into a house in Jamaica, where slept a man in a swinging hammock. Stealing silently to the side of the sleeper, the assassin plunged his knife into his breast, then turned and fled. Fortunately for American independence he had slain the wrong man. The one whom he had been hired to kill was Simon Bolivar, the great leader of the patriots of Spanish America. But on that night Bolivar's secretary occupied his hammock, and the "Liberator" escaped.

Bolivar was then a refugee in the English island, after the failure of his early attempt to win freedom for his native land of Venezuela. He was soon back there again, however, with recruited forces, and for years afterwards the war went on, with variations of failure and success, the Spanish general Morillo treating the people who fell into his hands with revolting cruelty.

It was not until 1819 that Bolivar perceived the true road to success. This was by leaving Venezuela, from which he had sought in vain to dislodge the Spaniards, and carrying the war into the more promising field of New Granada. So confident of[pg 218] victory did he feel in this new plan that he issued the following proclamation to the people of New Granada: "The day of America has come; no human power can stay the course of Nature guided by Providence. Before the sun has again run his annual course altars to Liberty will arise throughout your land."

Bolivar had recently been strengthened by a British legion, recruited in London among the disbanded soldiers of the Napoleonic wars. He had also sent General Santander to the frontier of New Granada, and General Barreiro, the Spanish general, had been driven back. Encouraged by this success, he joined Santander at the foot of the Andes in June, 1819, bringing with him a force of twenty-five hundred men, including his British auxiliaries.

Bolivar in this expedition had as bitter a foe to conquer in nature as in the human enemy. In order to join Santander he was obliged to cross an enormous plain which at that season of the year was covered with water, and to swim some deep rivers, his war materials needing to be transported over these streams. But this was child's play compared with what lay before him. To reach his goal the Andes had to be crossed at some of their most forbidding points, a region over which it seemed next to impossible for men to go, even without military supplies.

When the invading army left the plains for the mountains the soldiers quickly found themselves amid discouraging scenes. In the distance rose the[pg 219] snowy peaks of the eastern range of the Cordillera, and the waters of the plain through which they had waded were here replaced by the rapids and cataracts of mountain streams. The roads in many places followed the edge of steep precipices, and were bordered by gigantic trees, while the clouds above them poured down incessant rains.

Four days of this march used up most of the horses, which were foundered by the difficulties of the way. As a consequence, an entire squadron of Llaneros, men who lived in the saddle, and were at home only on the plain, deserted on finding themselves on foot. To cross the frequent torrents there were only narrow, trembling bridges formed of tree-trunks, or the aËrial taravitas. These consisted of stout ropes made by twisting several thongs of well-greased hides. The ropes were tied to trees on the two banks of the ravine, while from them was suspended a cradle or hammock of capacity for two persons, which was drawn backward and forward by long lines. Horses and mules were similarly drawn across, suspended by long girths around their bodies.

Where the streams were fordable the current was usually so strong that the infantry had to pass two by two with their arms thrown round each other's shoulders. To lose their footing was to lose their lives. Bolivar frequently passed these torrents back and forward on horseback, carrying the sick and weakly, or the women who accompanied the expedition.

PAEZ, THE LLANERO CHIEF, AND THE WAR FOR FREEDOM.

On the 3d of June, 1819, General Morillo, the commander of the Spanish forces in Venezuela, found himself threatened in his camp by a party of one hundred and fifty daring horsemen, who had swum the Orinoco and galloped like centaurs upon his line. Eight hundred of the Spanish cavalry, with two small field-pieces, sallied out to meet their assailants, who slowly retired before their superior numbers. In this way the royalists were drawn on to a place called Las Queseras del Medio, where a battalion of infantry had been placed in ambush near the river. Here, suddenly ceasing their retreat, and dividing up into groups of twenty, the patriot horsemen turned on the Spaniards and assailed them on all sides, driving them back under the fire of the infantry, by whom they were fearfully cut down. Then they recrossed the river with two killed and a few wounded, while the plain was strewn with the bodies of their foes.

This anecdote may serve to introduce to our readers Joseph Antonio Paez, the leader of the band of patriot horsemen, and one of the most daring and striking figures among the liberators of South America. Born of Indian parents of low extraction, and quite illiterate, Paez proved himself[pg 237] so daring as a soldier that he became in time general-in-chief of the armies of Venezuela and the neighboring republics, and was Bolivar's most trusted lieutenant during the war for independence.

Brought up amid the herds of half-wild cattle belonging to his father, who was a landholder in the Venezuelan plains, he became thoroughly skilled in the care of cattle and horses, and an adept at curing their disorders. He was accustomed to mount and subdue the wildest horses, and was noted for strength and agility and for power of enduring fatigue.

A llanero, or native of the elevated plains of Venezuela, he rose naturally to great influence among his fellow-herdsmen, and when the revolution began, in 1810, and he declared in favor of the cause of freedom, his reputation for courage was so great that they were very ready to enlist under him. He chose from among them one hundred and fifty picked horsemen, and this band, under the title of "Guides of the Apure," soon made itself the terror of the Spaniards.

The following story well shows his intrepid character. After the death of his mother young Paez inherited her property in Barinas, and divided it with his sisters who were living in that town. The Spanish forces, which had been driven out of it, occupied it again in 1811, and proclaimed a general amnesty for the inhabitants, inviting all property-holders to return and promising to reinstate them in their fortunes. Paez, hearing of[pg 238] this, rode boldly into Barinas and presented himself before the Spanish commandant, saying that he had come to avail himself of the amnesty and take possession of his property.

He was soon recognized by the inhabitants, who gathered in hundreds to welcome and shake hands with him, and the news quickly spread among the Spanish soldiers that this was the famous Captain Paez, who had done them so much mischief. Seizing their arms, they called loudly on their commander to arrest and shoot the insolent newcomer as a rebel and traitor. But this officer, who was well aware of the valor of Paez, and perceived his great influence over the people of Barinas, deemed it very imprudent to take a step that might lead to a general outbreak, and concluded to let his perilous visitor alone. He therefore appeased his soldiers, and Paez was left unmolested in the house of his sisters.

The governor, however, only bided his time. Spies were set to watch the daring llanero, and after some days they informed their leaders that Paez had gone out unarmed, and that there was a good opportunity to seize his weapons as a preliminary to his arrest. When Paez returned home after his outing, he was told that armed men had visited the house and taken away his sword and pistols.

Incensed by this act of ill-faith, he boldly sought the governor's house and angrily charged him with breaking his word. He had come to Barinas, he[pg 239] said, trusting in the offer of amnesty, and vigorously demanded that his arms should be restored—not for use against the Spaniards, but for his personal security. His tone was so firm and indignant, and his request so reasonable under the circumstances, that the governor repented of his questionable act, and gave orders that the arms should be returned.

On hearing this, the whole garrison of Barinas assailed the governor with reproaches, impetuously demanding that the guerilla chief should be arrested and confined in irons. The versatile governor again gave way, and that night the Paez mansion was entered and he taken from his bed, put in irons, and locked up in prison. It was no more than he might have expected, if he had known as much of the Spanish character then as he was afterwards to learn.

But Paez was not an easy captive to hold. In the prison he found about one hundred and fifty of his fellow rebels, among them his friend Garcia, an officer noted for strength and courage. On Garcia complaining to him of the weight of his irons and the miserable condition of the prisoners, Paez accused him of cowardice, and offered to exchange fetters with him. To keep his word he broke his own chains by main strength and handed them to his astonished friend.

Paez now spoke to the other prisoners and won their consent to a concerted break for liberty. Freed from his own fetters, he was able to give efficient service to the others, and before morning[pg 240] nearly the whole of them were free. When the jailor opened the door in the morning he was promptly knocked down by Paez and threatened with instant death if he made a sound. Breaking into the guard-room, they seized the arms of the guard, set free those whose irons were not yet broken, and marched from the prison, with Paez at their head, upon the Spanish garrison, two hundred in number. Many of these were killed and the rest put to rout, and Barinas was once more in patriot hands.

This anecdote will serve to show, better than pages of description, the kind of man that Paez was. When the act became known to the llaneros they proclaimed Paez their general, and were ready to follow him to the death. These cowboys of the Orinoco, if we may give them this title, were, like their leader, of Indian blood. Neither they nor their general knew anything about military art, and felt lost when taken from their native plains, a fact which was shown when they were called upon to follow Bolivar in his mountain expedition against New Granada. Neither persuasion nor force could induce them to leave the plains for the mountains. Bolivar and Paez entreated them in vain, and they declared that rather than go to the hill-country they would desert and return to their native plains, where alone they were willing to fight. This was their only act of insubordination under their favorite leader, who usually had complete control over them. He made himself one with his men, would[pg 241] divide his last cent with them, and was called by them uncle and father. His staff-officers were all llaneros and formed his regular society, they being alike destitute of education and ignorant of tactics, but bold and dashing and ready to follow their leader to the cannon's mouth.

The British Legion, about six hundred strong, was in the last year of the war attached to the llaneros corps, its members being highly esteemed by Paez, who called them "my friends, the English." The soldiers of the legion, however, were bitterly opposed to their commander, Colonel Bossuet, whom they held responsible for the miserable state of their rations and clothes and their want of pay. At the end of one day, which was so scorchingly hot that the soldiers were excused from their usual five o'clock parade, the legion rushed from their quarters at this hour and placed themselves in order of battle, crying that they would rather have a creole to lead them than their colonel.

Their officers attempted to pacify them, but in vain, and the lieutenant-colonel, against whom they had taken offence, was attacked and mortally wounded with bayonet thrusts. When Colonel Bossuet appeared and sought to speak to them they rushed upon him with their bayonets, and it needed the active efforts of the other officers to save him from their revengeful hands. Tidings of the mutiny were brought to General Paez in his quarters and threw him into a paroxysm of rage. Seizing his sword, he rushed upon the mutineers, killed[pg 242] three of them instantly, and would have continued this bloody work but that his sword broke on the body of a fourth. Flinging down the useless weapon, he seized some of the most rebellious, dragged them from the ranks by main strength, and ordered them to be taken to prison. The others, dismayed by his spirited conduct, hastily dispersed and sought their quarters. The next day three of the most seditious of the soldiers, and a young lieutenant who was accused of aiding in the mutiny,—though probably innocent of it,—were arrested and shot without trial.

Paroxysms of fury were not uncommon with Paez. After the battle of Ortiz, in which his daring charges alone saved the infantry from destruction, he was seized with a fit, and lay on the ground, foaming at the mouth. Colonel English went to his aid, but his men warned him to let their general alone, saying, "He is often so, and will soon be all right. None of us dare touch him when he is in one of these spells."

But Colonel English persisted, sprinkling his face with water and forcing some down his throat. The general soon recovered and thanked him for his aid, saying that he was a little overcome with fatigue, as he had killed thirty-nine of the enemy with his own hand. As he was running the fortieth through the body he felt his illness coming on. By way of reward he presented Colonel English with the lance which had done this bloody work and gave him three fine horses from his own stud.

THE HANNIBAL OF THE ANDES AND THE FREEDOM OF CHILI.

At the end of 1816 the cause of liberty in Chili was at its lowest ebb. After four years of struggle the patriots had met with a crushing defeat in 1814, and had been scattered to the four winds. Since then the viceroy of Spain had ruled the land with an iron hand, many of the leading citizens being banished to the desolate island of Juan Fernandez, the imaginary scene of Robinson Crusoe's career, while many others were severely punished and all the people were oppressed.

In this depressed state of Chilian affairs a hero came across the mountains to strike a new blow for liberty. Don JosÉ de San Martin had fought valiantly for the independence of Buenos Ayres at the battle of San Lorenzo. Now the Argentine patriots sent him to the aid of their fellow-patriots in Chili and Peru. Such was the state of the conflict in the latter part of 1816, when San Martin, collecting the scattered bands of Chilian troops and adding them to men of his own command, got together a formidable array five thousand strong. The "Liberating Army of the Andes" these were called.

An able organizer was San Martin, and he put his men through a thorough course of discipline. Those he most depended on were the cavalry, a[pg 248] force made up of the Gauchos, or cattlemen of the Pampas, whose life was passed in the saddle, and who were genuine centaurs of the plains.

San Martin had the Andes to cross with his army, and this was a task like that which Hannibal and Bonaparte had accomplished in the Alps. He set out himself at the head of his cavalry on the 17th of January, 1817, the infantry and artillery advancing by a different route. The men of the army carried their own food, consisting of dried meat and parched corn, and depots of food were established at intervals along the route, the difficulty of transporting provision-trains being thus avoided. The field-pieces were slung between mules or dragged on sledges made of tough hide, and were hoisted or lowered by derricks, when steep places were reached. Some two thousand cattle were driven along to add to their food supply.

Thus equipped, San Martin's army set out on its difficult passage of the snow-topped Andes. He had previously sent over guerilla bands whose active movements thoroughly deceived the royalist generals as to his intended place of crossing. Onward went the cavalry, spurred to extraordinary exertion by the fact that provisions began to run short. The passes to be traversed, thirteen thousand feet high and white with perpetual snow, formed a frightful route for the horsemen of the plains, yet they pushed on over the rugged mountains, with their yawning precipices, so rapidly as to cover three hundred miles in thirteen days. The[pg 249] infantry advanced with equal fortitude and energy, and early in February the combined forces descended the mountains and struck the royalist army at the foot with such energy that it was soon fleeing in a total rout. So utterly defeated and demoralized were the royalists that Santiago, the capital, was abandoned and was entered by San Martin at the head of his wild gauchos and host of refugees on the 15th of February. His funds at this time consisted of the two doubloons remaining in his pocket, while he had no military chest, no surgeons nor medicines for his wounded, and a very small supply of the indispensable requisites of an army. About all he had to depend on was the patriotism of his men and their enthusiasm over their brilliant crossing of the Andes and their easy victory over their foes.

For the time being Chili was free. The royalists had vanished and the patriots were in full possession. Thirty or more years before, a bold Irishman, bearing the name of O'Higgins, had come to Chili, where he quickly rose in position until he was given the title of Don Ambrosio, and attained successively the ranks of field-marshal of the royal army, baron, marquis, and finally viceroy of Peru. His son, Don Bernardo, was a man of his own type, able in peace and brilliant in war, and he was now made supreme dictator of Chili, an office which San Martin had refused. The banished patriots were brought home from their desert island, the royalists severely punished, and a new army was organized to dislodge[pg 250] the fragment of the Spanish army which still held out in the south.

On the 15th of February, 1818, the anniversary of the decisive victory of the "Liberating Army of the Andes," O'Higgins declared the absolute independence of Chili. A vote of the people was taken in a peculiar manner. Two blank books were opened for signatures in every city, the first for independence, the second for those who preferred the rule of Spain. For fifteen days these remained, and then it was found that the first books were filled with names, while the second had not a single name. This vote O'Higgins declared settled the question of Chilian freedom.

The Spaniards did not think so, for Abascal, the energetic viceroy of Peru, was taking vigorous steps to win Chili back for the crown. Three months before he had received a reinforcement of three thousand five hundred veterans from Spain, and these he sent to southern Chili to join the forces still in arms. United, they formed an army of about six thousand, under General Osorio, the able commander who had subdued Chili in 1814. It was evident that the newly declared independence of Chili was to be severely tried.

In fact, on the first meeting of the armies it seemed overthrown. On the 19th of March San Martin's army, while in camp near Talca, was unexpectedly and violently attacked by the royalist troops, the onslaught being so sudden and furious, and the storm of cannon and musket shot so rapid[pg 251] and heavy, that the patriot troops were stricken with panic, their divisions firing at each other as well as at the enemy. Within fifteen minutes the whole army was in full flight. The leaders bravely sought to stop the demoralized troops, but in vain, O'Higgins, though severely wounded, throwing himself before them without effect. Nothing could check them, and the defeat became in large measure a total rout.

When news of this disaster reached Santiago utter consternation prevailed. Patriots hastily gathered their valuables for flight; carriages of those seeking to leave the country thronged the streets; women wrung their hands in wild despair; the funds of the treasury were got ready to load on mules; the whole city was in a state of terrible anxiety.

Several days passed before it was known what had become of San Martin. Then news arrived that he was at San Fernando at the head of the right wing, three thousand strong. These had escaped the panic on account of two divisions of Osorio's army mistaking each other for the enemy and firing into their own ranks. In the confusion that ensued the right wing was led unbroken from the field. Also a dashing young cavalry officer named Rodriguez had done good work in checking the flight of the fugitives, and in a brief time had organized a regiment which he named the "Hussars of Death."

Six days after the defeat General O'Higgins made his appearance in Santiago. He was badly[pg 252] wounded, but was at once named dictator of the republic. The next day San Martin, with a few of his officers, entered the city. Wearied and dusty with travel as he was, his cheery cry of "La patria triunfa" gave new heart to the people. For several days fragments of the routed army came pouring in, and ten days after the battle Colonel Las Heras arrived with the three thousand of the right wing. The patriot cause seemed far less hopeless than had been the case a week before.

Yet it was evident that liberty could come only from strenuous exertion, and the people of wealth freely subscribed of their money, plate, and jewels for the cause. It was not long before a new army five thousand five hundred strong, freshly clothed and in fair fighting condition, was gathered in a camp near the city. The artillery lost in the flight could not be replaced, but a few field-pieces were secured. San Martin and O'Higgins, with other able officers, were in command, and hope once more began to dawn upon despair.

The enemy was known to be approaching, and the army was moved to a point about nine miles from the capital, occupying a location known as the farm of Espejo, where the coming enemy was awaited. On the afternoon of April 3, Osorio crossed the Maypo, the patriot cavalry harassing his flank and rear as he advanced. On the 5th his army took up a position on the brow of a hill opposite that occupied by the patriot forces.

Passing out from Santiago there is a succession[pg 253] of white hills, known as the Lorna Blanca, on one crest of which, commanding the roads to the fords of the Maypo and to Santiago, the patriot army was encamped. The royalists occupied the crest and slope of an opposite ridge. Below them ran the Maypo with its forests and hills.

As the sun rose on the morning of the 5th San Martin saw with satisfaction the royalist force beginning to occupy the high ground in his front. With hopeful tone, he said, "I take the sun to witness that the day is ours." As he spoke, the golden rays spread like a banner of light from crest to crest. At ten o'clock when the movement of the armies began, he said, with assurance, "A half-hour will decide the fate of Chili."

A few words will serve to describe the positions of the armies. Each was more than five thousand strong, the patriot army somewhat the smaller. It had been greatly reduced by its recent defeat, the memory of which also hung about it like a cloud, while the royalists were filled with enthusiasm from their late victory. The royalist lines were about a mile in length, four squadrons of dragoons flanking their right wing and a body of lancers their left, while a battery occupied a hill on the extreme left. Confronting them were the patriots, the left commanded by General Alverado, the centre by Balcarce, the right by Las Heras, while Quintana headed the reserves.

The battle opened with a brisk fire from the patriot artillery, and in about an hour the infantry[pg 254] forces joined in full action. As the royalists moved down the hill they were swept with the fire of the patriot battery, while shortly afterwards the royal battery on the left was captured by a dashing cavalry charge and the guns were turned against their own line.

The centre of the battle was a farm-house on the Espejo estate, which was charged furiously by both sides, being taken and retaken several times during the day. Yet as the day went on the advantage seemed to be on the side of Osorio, who held the field with the centre and one wing of his army. Defeat seemed the approaching fate of the patriots. It came nearer when the regiment of negroes which had for some time withstood the Burgos regiment—the flower of Osorio's force—gave way and retreated, leaving four hundred of its number stretched upon the field.

The critical moment of the battle was now at hand. The Burgos regiment attempted to follow up its success by forming itself into a square for a decisive charge. In doing so the Spanish lines were broken and thrown into temporary disorder. Colonel O'Brien, a gallant cavalry officer of Irish blood, took quick advantage of this. Joining his troops with Quintana's reserves, he broke in a fierce charge upon the Burgos regiment while in the act of reforming and drove it back in complete confusion.

This defeat of the choice corps of Osorio's army changed the whole aspect of affairs. The patriots,[pg 255] inspired with hope, boldly advanced and pressed their foes at all points. The Burgos troops sought refuge in the farm-house, and were followed by the left, which was similarly broken and dispersed. The centre kept up the action for a time, but with both wings in retreat it also was soon forced back, and the whole royalist army was demoralized.

The patriots did not fail to press their advantage to the utmost. On all sides the royalists were cut down or captured, until nearly half their force were killed and wounded and most of the remainder taken prisoners. A stand was made by those at the farm house, but they were soon driven out, and about five hundred of them killed and wounded in the court and vineyard adjoining. Of the total army less than three hundred escaped, General Osorio and some other officers among them. These fled to Concepcion, and embarked from there to Peru. Of the patriots more than a thousand had fallen in the hot engagement.

This brilliant and decisive victory, known as the battle of the Maypo, gave San Martin immense renown, and justly so, for it established the independence of Chili. Nor was that all, for it broke the power which Abascal had long sustained in Peru, and opened the way for the freeing of that land from the rule of Spain.

This feat also was the work of San Martin, who soon after invaded Peru, and, aided by a Chilian fleet, conquered that land from Spain, proclaiming its independence to the people of Cuzco on the 28th[pg 256] of July, 1821. Later on, indeed, its freedom was seriously threatened, and it was not until 1824 that General Bolivar finally won independence for Peru, in the victory of Ayacucho. Yet, famous as Bolivar became as the Liberator of South America, some generous portion of fame should rightly be accorded to San Martin, the Liberator of Chili.

FRANCIA THE DICTATOR, THE LOUIS XI. OF PARAGUAY.

Among the varied countries of South America the little republic of Paraguay, clipped closely in between Bolivia, Argentina, and Brazil, presents the most singular history, this being due to the remarkable career of the dictator Francia, who ruled over it for a quarter of a century, and to the warlike energy of his successor Lopez. The tyranny of Francia was one of the strangest which history records, no man ever ruling with more absolute authority and more capricious cruelty. For many years Paraguay was completely cut off by him from the rest of the world, much as Japan was until opened to civilization by Commodore Perry. Unlucky was the stranger who then dared set foot on Paraguayan soil. Many years might pass before he could see the outer world again. Such was the fate of Bonpland, the celebrated botanist and companion of Humboldt, who rashly entered this forbidden land and was forced to spend ten years within its locked confines. Such is the country, and such was the singular policy of its dictator, whose strange story we have here to tell.

In May, 1811, Paraguay joined the other countries of South America in the general revolt against Spain. There was here no invasion and no blood-shed;[pg 270] the armies of Spain were kept too busy elsewhere, and the revolution was accomplished in peace. A governing committee was formed, with Fulgincio Yegros for its chairman and JosÉ Gaspar Rodriguez de Francia for its secretary. The first was a man of little ability; the latter was a man whose powers will soon be seen.

The committee decreed the independence of Paraguay. Two years later a new convention was held, which dissolved the committee and elected two consuls, Yegros and Francia, to govern the country. Two chairs were made for them, resembling the curule chairs of Rome, and called CÆsar's and Pompey's chairs. On entering office Francia coolly seated himself in CÆsar's chair, leaving that of Pompey for his associate. This action showed the difference in force of character between the two men.

In fact, Francia quickly took possession of all the powers of government. He was a true CÆsar. He appointed a secretary of state, undertook to reorganize the army and the finances, and deprived the Spaniards in the country of all civil rights. This was done to gain the support of the Indian population, who hated the Spaniards bitterly. He soon went farther. Yegros was in his way and he got rid of him, making the simple-minded and ignorant members of the congress believe that only a sovereign magistrate could save the country, which was then threatened by its neighbors. In consequence, on the 8th of October, 1814, Francia was[pg 271] made dictator for three years. This was not enough to satisfy the ambitious ruler, and he played his cards so shrewdly that, on the 1st of May, 1816, a new congress proclaimed him supreme and perpetual dictator.

It was no common man who could thus induce the congress of a republic to raise him to absolute power over its members and the people. Francia at that time was fifty-nine years of age, a lean and vigorous man, of medium stature, with piercing black eyes, but a countenance not otherwise marked. The son of a Frenchman who had been a tobacco manufacturer in Paraguay, he was at first intended for the church, but subsequently studied the law. In this profession he had showed himself clever, eloquent, and honorable, and always ready to defend the poor and weak against the rich. It was the reputation thus gained which first made him prominent in political affairs.

Once raised to absolute power for life, Francia quickly began to show his innate qualities. Love of money was not one of his faults, and while strictly economical with the public funds, he was free-handed and generous with his own. Thus, of the nine thousand pesos of annual salary assigned him, he would accept only three thousand, and made it a strict rule to receive no present, either returning or paying for any sent him. At first he went regularly every day to mass, but he soon gave up this show of religious faith and dismissed his private chaplain. In fact, he grew to[pg 272] despise religious forms, and took pleasure in ridiculing the priests, saying that they talked about things and represented mysteries of which they knew nothing. "The priests and religion," he said, "serve more to make men believe in the devil than in God."

Of the leading principle of Francia's political system we have already spoken. It had been the policy of the old Jesuit missions to isolate the people and keep them in strict obedience to the priesthood, and Francia adopted a similar policy. Anarchy prevailed without, he said, and might penetrate into Paraguay. Brazil, he declared, was seeking to absorb the country. With these excuses he forbade, under the severest penalties, intercourse of any character between the people of Paraguay and those of neighboring countries and the entry of any foreigner to the country under his rule.

In 1826 he decreed that any one who, calling himself an envoy from Spain, should dare to enter Paraguay without authority from himself should be put to death and his body denied a burial. The same severe penalty was decreed against any native who received a letter speaking of political affairs and did not at once present it to the public tribunals. These rigid orders were probably caused by some mysterious movements of that period, which made him fear that Spain was laying plans to get possession of the country.

In the same year the dictator made a new move[pg 273] in the game of politics. He called into being a kind of national assembly, professed to submit to its authority, and ratified a declaration of independence. Just why this was done is not very clear. Certain negotiations were going on with the Spanish government, and these may have had something to do with it. At any rate, a timely military conspiracy was just then discovered or manufactured, a colonel was condemned to death, and Francia was pressed by the assembly to resume his power. He consented with a show of reluctance, and only, as he said, till the Marquis de Guarini, his envoy to Spain, should return, when he would yield up his rule to the marquis. All this, however, was probably a mere dramatic move, and Francia had no idea of yielding his power to any one.

The dictator had a policy of his own—in fact, a double policy, one devoted to dealing with the land and its people; one to dealing with his enemies or those who questioned his authority. The one was as arbitrary, the other as cruel, as that of the tyrants of Rome.

The crops of Paraguay, whose wonderful soil yields two harvests annually, were seized by the dictator and stored on account of the government. The latter claimed ownership of two-thirds of the land, and a communal system was adopted under which Francia disposed at will of the country and its people. He fixed a system for the cultivation of the fields, and when hands were needed for the[pg 274] harvest he enlisted them forcibly. Yet agriculture made little progress under the primitive methods employed, a broad board serving for a plough, while the wheat was ground in mortars, and a piece of wood moved by oxen formed the sugar-mill. The cotton, as soon as picked from the pods, was spun on the spinning-wheel, and then woven by a travelling weaver, whose rude apparatus was carried on the back of an ox or a mule, and, when in use, was hung from the branch of a tree.

Commerce was dealt with in the same way as agriculture. The market was under Francia's control, and all exchange of goods was managed under rules laid down by him. He found that he must open the country in a measure to foreign goods, if he wanted to develop the resources of the country, and a channel of commerce was opened on the frontier of Brazil. But soldiers vigilantly watched all transactions, and no one could act as a merchant without a license from him. He fixed a tariff on imports, kept them in a bazaar under military guard, and sold them to the people, limiting the amount of goods which any of his subjects could purchase.

As a result of all this Francia brought about a complete cessation of all private action, the state being all, and he being the state. All dealing for profit was paralyzed, and agriculture and commerce alike made no progress. On the other hand, everything relating to war was developed. It was his purpose to cut off Paraguay completely from foreign[pg 275] countries, and to be fully prepared to defend it against warlike invasion.

TACON THE GOVERNOR AND MARTI THE SMUGGLER.

In 1834 Don Miguel Tacon, one of the most vigorous and tyrannical of the governor-generals of Cuba, took control of the island, which he ruled with a stern will and an iron hand. One of the purposes in which he was most earnest was that of suppressing the active smuggling on the coast, all the naval vessels under his command being ordered to patrol the coast night and day, and to have no mercy on these lawless worthies. As it proved, all his efforts were of no avail, the smugglers continuing to ply their trade in spite of Tacon and his agents.

The despoilers of the revenue were too daring and adroit, and too familiar with the shoals and rocks of the coast waters, to be readily caught, and the lack of pilots familiar with this difficult navigation prevented any close approach to their haunts. In this dilemma Tacon tried the expedient of offering a large and tempting reward to any one who would desert the fraternity and agree to pilot the government vessels through the perilous channels which they frequented. Double this reward, an almost princely prize, was offered for the person of one Marti, dead or alive.

Tacon had good reason to offer a special reward[pg 281] for the arrest of Marti, who was looked upon as the leader and chief offender of the smugglers. A daring and reckless man, notorious as a smuggler and half pirate, his name was as well known in Cuba as that of the governor-general himself. The admirers of his daring exploits grew to know him as the King of the Isle of Pines, this island being his principal rendezvous, from which he sent his fleet of small, swift vessels to ply their trade on the neighboring coast. As for Tacon's rewards, they were long as ineffective as his revenue cutters and gunboats, and the government officials fell at length into a state of despair as to how they should deal with the nefarious and defiant band.

One dark, dull night, several months after the placards offering these rewards had been posted in conspicuous places in Havana and elsewhere, two sentinels were pacing as usual before the governor's palace, which stood opposite the grand plaza of the capital city. Shortly before midnight a cloaked individual stealthily approached and slipped behind the statue of the Spanish king near the fountain in the plaza. From this lurking-place he watched the movements of the sentinels, as they walked until they met face to face, and then turned back to back for their brief walk in the opposite direction.

It was a delicate movement to slip between the soldiers during the short interval when their eyes were turned from the entrance, but the stranger at length adroitly effected it, darting lightly and silently across the short space and hiding himself[pg 282] behind one of the pillars of the palace before they turned again. During their next turn he entered the palace, now safe from their espionage, and sought the broad flight of stairs which led to the governor's rooms with the confidence of one thoroughly familiar with the place.

Tacon hesitated a moment, looking closely at the stalwart stranger, while considering the purport of his words.

"Yes," he said, at length. "If you will lead our ships to the haunts of Marti and his followers, you can fully depend on the reward and the pardon."

"Excellency, I know you well enough to trust your word, or I should never have put myself in your power."

"You can trust my word," said Tacon, impatiently. "Now come to the point; I have no time to waste."

"Your Excellency, the man for whom you have offered the largest reward, dead or alive, stands before you."

"Ha! you are

"Captain Marti."

The governor started in surprise, and laid his hand hastily on a pistol that lay before him. But he regained his self-possession in a moment, and solemnly said,—

"I shall keep my promise, if you keep yours. You have offended deeply, but my word is my law. But to insure your faithfulness, I must put you for the present under guard."

"As you will, your Excellency," said Marti.

Tacon rang a bell by his side, an attendant entered, and soon after Marti was safely locked up, orders being given to make him comfortable until he was sent for. And so this strange interview ended.

THE SECOND CONQUEST OF THE CAPITAL OF MEXICO.

The ancient city of Mexico, the capital of the Aztecs and their Spanish successors, has been the scene of two great military events, its siege and capture by Cortez the conqueror in 1521, and its capture by the American army under General Scott in 1847, three and a quarter centuries later. Of the remarkable career of Cortez we have given the most striking incident, the story of the thrilling Noche triste and the victory of Otumba. A series of interesting tales might have been told of the siege that followed, but we prefer to leave that period of mediÆval cruelty and injustice and come down to the events of a more civilized age.

One of the most striking scenes in the campaign of 1847 was the taking of the fortified hill of Chapultepec, but before describing this we may briefly outline the events of which it formed the dramatic culmination. Vera Cruz, "the city of the True Cross," founded by Cortez in 1520, was the scene of the American landing, and was captured by the army under General Scott in March, 1847. Then, marching inland as Cortez had done more than three centuries before, the American army, about twelve thousand strong, soon began to ascend the[pg 300] mountain-slope leading from the torrid sea-level plain to the high table-land of the old Aztec realm.

Sixty miles from Vera Cruz the American forces came to the mountain-pass of Cerro Gordo, where Santa Anna, the president of Mexico, awaited the invaders with an army of thirteen thousand men. The heights overhanging the road bristled with guns, and the lofty hill of Cerro Gordo was strongly fortified, rendering the place almost impregnable to an attack from the direction of Vera Cruz. Scott was too able a soldier to waste the lives of his men in such a perilous assault, and took the wiser plan of cutting a new road along the mountain-slopes and through ravines out of sight of the enemy, to the Jalapa road in the Mexican rear. An uphill charge from this point gave the Americans command of all the minor hills, leaving to the Mexicans only the height of Cerro Gordo, with its intrenchments and the strong fortress on its summit.

On the 18th of April this hill, several hundred feet in rugged height, was assailed in front and rear, the Americans gallantly climbing the steep rocks in the face of a deadly fire, carrying one barricade after another, and at length sweeping over the ramparts of the summit fortress and driving the defenders from their stronghold down the mountain-side. Santa Anna took with him only eight thousand men in his hasty retreat, leaving three thousand as prisoners in the American hands, with forty-three pieces of bronze artillery[pg 301] and a large quantity of ammunition. Within a month afterwards Scott's army marched into the city of Puebla, on the table-land, sixty-eight miles from the capital. Here they rested for several months, awaiting reinforcements.

On August 7 the army resumed its march, now less than eleven thousand strong, the term of several regiments having expired and their places been partly filled by untried men, none of whom had ever fired a gun in war. On they went, up-hill still, passing the remains of the old city of Cholula with its ruined Aztec pyramid, and toiling through a mountain region till Rio Frio was reached, fifty miles from Puebla and more than ten thousand feet above the level of the sea.

A few miles farther and the beautiful valley of Mexico lay suddenly revealed before them like a vision of enchantment. It was a scene of verdant charm, the bright green of the fields and groves diversified with the white walls of villages and farm-houses, the silvery flow of streams, and the gleaming surface of winding lakes, while beyond and around a wall of wooded mountains ascended to snowy peaks. It was a scene of summer charm that had not been gazed upon by an invading army since the days when Cortez and his men looked down upon it with warm delight.

The principal lakes visible were Lake Chalco, with the long, narrow lake of Xochimilco near it, and seven miles to the north Lake Tezcuco, near the western shore of which the city of Mexico was[pg 302] visible. Between Chalco and Tezcuco ran the national road, for much of its length a narrow causeway between borders of marsh-land. Near Lake Xochimilco was visible the Acapulco road. Strong works of defence commanded both these highways.

During the centuries that succeeded this lake had disappeared, low, marshy lands occupying its site. The city, however, was still reached by causeways, eight in number, raised about six feet above the marsh level. In these ended the five main roads leading to the city. A large canal surrounded the capital, and within its circle were smaller ones, all now filled with water, as this was the rainy season. The problem of bridging these under fire was one of the difficulties that confronted the Americans.

General Scott decided to approach the city by the causeways of San CosmÉ, Belen, and Tacubaya, which were defended by formidable works, the outermost of which was Molino del Rey, a fortified position at the foot of a slope beyond which a grove of cypresses led to the hill of Chapultepec. It consisted of a number of stone buildings, some of which had been used as a foundry, but which were now converted into fortresses. This place was carried by storm in the early morning of September 8, and the stronger position of Casa de Mata, a quarter of a mile from Chapultepec, was captured by a fierce assault the same day. Only Chapultepec now lay between the Americans and the Mexican capital.

The stronghold of Chapultepec, of which the places just taken were in the nature of outworks, remained to be captured before the city could be reached from that quarter. Chapultepec is an isolated rocky hill, about one hundred and fifty feet in height, and was surmounted by a large stone building[pg 305] which had been used as the bishop's palace, but was now converted into a strong fortress. It was well prepared for defence in guns and garrison, and was the most difficult to win of the fortifications of the capital. The western side was the most accessible, but the face of this, above the grove of cypresses which covered its base, presented a steep, rocky, and difficult ascent.

To deceive the enemy, a feigned advance upon another section of the city was made on the 12th of September. The two divisions engaged in this returned that night to Tacubaya, near Chapultepec, though a force still threatened the southern causeways. Four batteries had been posted within easy range of the castle of Chapultepec during the night of the 11th, and all next day they kept up a steady fire upon it, driving its defenders back and partly wrecking the walls. On the morning of the 13th the batteries resumed their fire, while the forces chosen for the assault approached the hill from different directions through the fire of the enemy.

Two assaulting columns of two hundred and fifty picked men each, from Worth's and Twigg's divisions, advanced with scaling ladders, while the batteries threw shot and shell over their heads to drive the defenders from the walls. Major-General Pillow led his division through the grove on the east side, but he quickly fell with a dangerous wound, and General Cadwalader succeeded him. Before him was a broken and rocky ascent, with a redoubt midway in its height. Up the steep rocks[pg 306] climbed the gallant stormers, broke into the redoubt with a wild cheer, and put its defenders to flight. On up the steep they then clambered, passing without injury the mines which the Mexicans had planted, but which they could not fire without killing their own men. In a few minutes more the storming party reached the summit and climbed over the castle wall with shouts of victory, driving back its defenders. Soon the United States flag was seen floating over the ramparts, a roar of cheers greeting the inspiring spectacle.

On the southeast Quitman's column of assault was making like progress, while Smith's brigade captured two batteries at the foot of the hill on the right, and Shield's brigade crossed the meadows under a hot fire of musketry and artillery and swept up the hill to the support of the stormers.

Thus the castle of Chapultepec, the last and strongest citadel of the Mexicans, had fallen before an impetuous charge up a hill deemed inaccessible, in the face of a hot fire, and the city itself lay at the mercy of the invaders. The causeway which it defended formed a double roadway on each side of a great aqueduct, with stone arches and pillars. Shields charged impetuously along this causeway, towards the city, two miles distant, while Quitman pursued the fleeing enemy along the neighboring causeway of Belen.

An aide sent by Scott came riding up to Shields to bid him halt till Worth, who was following the San CosmÉ causeway, could force its defences. The[pg 307] aide politely saluted the eagerly advancing general and began, "General Scott presents his compliments

"I have no time for compliments just now," roared out Shields, and spurred briskly onward to escape the unwelcome orders which he felt were coming. Soon he had led his men into the suburbs of the city, while Worth and Quitman charged inward over the neighboring causeways with equal impetuosity.

A strong force was quickly within the streets of the city, assailed by skirmishers firing from houses and gardens, who could be reached only by forcing a way in with pickaxes and bars. Two guns were brought in by Worth's column and planted in position to batter down the San CosmÉ gate, the barrier to the great square in the city's centre, and which fronted the cathedral and palace. Quitman and Shields had to fight their way through as hot a fire, and as they charged inward found themselves before the citadel, mounting fifteen guns. At this point a severe loss was sustained, but the assailants held their own, mounting guns to attack the citadel the next morning.

These guns were not used. Before daylight a deputation of the city council waited on General Scott and announced that the army had evacuated the city, and the government officials had fled. It was not long afterwards before the Stars and Stripes were floating over the National Palace and in the great plaza.

WALKER THE FILIBUSTER, AND THE INVASION OF NICARAGUA.

On the 15th of October, 1853, a small and daring band of reckless adventurers sailed from San Francisco, on an enterprise seemingly madder and wilder than that which Cortez had undertaken more than three centuries before. The purpose of this handful of men—filibusters they were called, as lawless in their way as the buccaneers of old—was the conquest of Northwest Mexico; possibly in the end of all Mexico and Central America. No one knows what wild vagaries filled the mind of William Walker, their leader, "the gray-eyed man of destiny," as his admirers called him.

Landing at La Paz, in the southwestern corner of the Gulf of California, with his few companions, he captured a number of hamlets and then grandiloquently proclaimed Lower California an independent state and himself its president. His next proclamation "annexed" to his territory the large Mexican state of Sonora, on the mainland opposite the California Gulf, and for a brief period he posed among the sparse inhabitants as a ruler. Some reinforcements reached him by water, but another party that started overland was dispersed by starvation, their food giving out.

MAXIMILIAN OF AUSTRIA AND HIS EMPIRE IN MEXICO.

It is interesting, in view of the total conquest and submission of the Indians in Mexico, that the final blow for freedom in that country should have been made by an Indian of pure native blood. His name was Benito Juarez, and his struggle for liberty was against the French invaders and Maximilian, the puppet emperor, put by Louis Napoleon on the Mexican throne. In the words of Shakespeare, "Thereby hangs a tale."

For many years after the Spanish colonies had won their independence the nations of Europe looked upon them with a covetous eye. They would dearly have liked to snap up some of these weak countries, which Spain had been unable to hold, but the great republic of the United States stood as their protector, and none of them felt it quite safe to step over that threatening bar to ambition, the "Monroe Doctrine." "Hands off," said Uncle Sam, and they obeyed, though much against their will.

In 1861 began a war in the United States which gave the people of that country all they wanted to do. Here was the chance for Europe, and Napoleon III., the usurper of France, took advantage of it to send an army to Mexico and attempt the conquest of that country. It was the overweening ambition[pg 317] of Louis Napoleon which led him on. It was his scheme to found an empire in Mexico which, while having the name of being independent, would be under the control of France and would shed glory on his reign.

At that time the President of Mexico, the Indian we have named, was Benito Juarez, a descendant of the Aztec race, and, as some said, with the blood of the Montezumas in his veins. Yet his family was of the lowest class of the Indians, and when he was twelve years old he did not know how to read or write. After that he obtained a chance for education, and in time became a lawyer, was made governor of his native state, and kept on climbing upward till he became secretary of state, president of the Supreme Court, and finally president of Mexico.

He was the man who had the invaders of his country to fight, and he fought them well and long. But the poor and undisciplined Mexicans were no match for the trained troops of France, and they were driven back step by step until the invaders were masters of nearly the whole country. Yet Juarez still had a capital and a government at San Luis Potosi, and all loyal Mexicans still looked on him as their president.

When Napoleon III. found himself master of Mexico, he looked around for a man who would serve him as a tool to hold the country. Such a man he found in Ferdinand Joseph Maximilian, the brother of the emperor of Austria, a dreamer rather than a[pg 318] man of action, and a fervent believer in the "divine right of kings." This was the kind of man that the French usurper was in want of, and he offered him the position of emperor of Mexico. Maximilian was taken by surprise. The proposition was a startling one. But in the end ambition overcame judgment, and he accepted the lofty but perilous position on the condition that France should sustain him on the throne.

Tried they were, though the trial was little more than a farce, with the verdict fixed in advance. This verdict was death. The condemned, in addition to Maximilian, were his chiefs in command, Miramon and Medjia. The late emperor rose early on the fatal morning and heard mass. He embraced his fellow victims, and as he reached the street said, "What a beautiful day! On such a one I have always wished to die."

He was greeted with respect by the people in the street, the women weeping. He responded with a brief address, closing with the words, "May my blood be the last spilt for the welfare of the country, and if more should be shed, may it flow for its good, and not by treason. Viva Independencia! Viva Mexico!"

In a few minutes more the fatal shots were fired, and the empire of Maximilian was at an end.

LIEUTENANT HOBSON AND THE SINKING OF THE "MERRIMAC."

About three o'clock of a dark morning, whose deep gloom shrouded alike the shores and waters of Cuba's tropic isle, a large craft left the side of the "New York," the flag-ship of Admiral Sampson's fleet off Santiago, and glided towards the throat of the narrow channel leading to its land-locked harbor. This mysterious craft was an old coal-carrier named the "Merrimac." On board were Richmond P. Hobson, Assistant Naval Constructor, and seven volunteer seamen. Their purpose was to sink the old hulk in the channel and thus to seal up the Spanish ships in Santiago harbor. The fact that there were ten chances to one that they would go to the bottom with their craft, or be riddled with Spanish bullets, did not trouble their daring souls. Their country called, and they obeyed.

Ranged along the sides of the ship, below decks, was a series of torpedoes, prepared to blow the vessel into a hopeless wreck when the proper moment came. A heavy weight in coal had been left on board, to carry her rapidly to the bottom, and there was strong hope that she could be dropped in the channel, "like a cork in the neck of a bottle," and "bottle" up Admiral Cervera and his cruisers. That it was an errand of imminent risk did not[pg 337] trouble the bold American tars. There were volunteers enough eager to undertake the perilous task to form a ship's crew, and to the six seamen chosen Coxswain Clausen added himself as a stowaway. The love of adventure was stronger than fear of death or captivity.

It was the morning of June 3, 1898. During the night before an attempt to go in had been made, but the hour was so late that the admiral called the vessel back. Now an earlier start was made, and there was no hinderance to the adventurous voyage. Heavy clouds hid the moon as the "Merrimac" glided in towards the dark line of coast. Not a light was shown, and great skill was needed to strike the narrow channel squarely in the gloom. From the "New York" eager eyes watched the collier until its outlines were lost beneath the shadow of the hills. Eyes continued to peer into the darkness and ears to listen intently, while a tense anxiety strained the nerves of the watching crew. Then came a booming roar from Morro Castle and the flash of a cannon lit up for an instant the gloom. Other flashes and booming sounds followed, and for twenty minutes there seemed a battle going on in the darkness. The "Merrimac" was under fire. She was meeting her doom. What was the fate of Hobson and his men?

Cadet J. W. Powell had followed the collier with a steam launch and four men, prepared to pick up any fugitives from the doomed ship. He went daringly under the batteries and hung about until daylight revealed his small craft, but not a man was[pg 338] seen in the ruffled waters, and he returned disappointed at 6.15 A.M., pestered by spiteful shots from the Spanish guns. He had followed the "Merrimac" until the low-lying smoke from the roaring guns hid her from view. Then came the explosion of the torpedoes. Hobson had done his work. Powell kept under the shelter of the cliffs until full day had dawned, and before leaving he saw a spar of the "Merrimac" rising out of the water of the channel. The sinking had been accomplished, but no one could say with what result to Hobson and his men.

Let us now leave the distant spectators and go on board the "Merrimac," seeking the company of her devoted crew. It was Hobson's purpose to sink her in the narrowest part of the channel, dropping the anchor and handling the rudder so as to turn her across the stream. Her length was sufficient to close up completely the deeper channel. He would stop the engines, let fall the anchor, open the traps made for the sea-water to flow in, and explode the torpedoes. Ten of these lay on the port side of the ship, each containing eighty-two pounds of powder, and they were connected so that they could be fired in train. There were two men below, one to reverse the engines, the other to break open the sea-traps with a sledge hammer. Those on deck were to let fall the anchor and set the helm. Then Hobson would touch the electric button and fire the torpedoes, and all would leap overboard and swim to the dingy towing astern, in which they hoped to[pg 339] escape. Such were their plans; but chance, as it so often does, set them sadly astray.

On through the darkness they went, hitting the channel squarely, and steaming in under the frowning walls of the Morro through gloom and death-like silence. But the Spaniards were not asleep. A small picket-boat came gliding out under the collier's stern and fired several shots at the suspicious craft. One of these carried away the rudder and spoiled one important item of the plans. The dingy, which was trusted to for escape, disappeared, perhaps hit by one of these shots. The picket-boat, having done this serious mischief, then hurried ashore and gave the alarm, and quickly the shore batteries were firing on the dark hull. The ships in the harbor echoed the shots with their guns. The Spaniards were alert. They thought that an American battle-ship was trying to force its way in, perhaps with the whole fleet in its wake, and were ready to give it a hard fight.

Through the rain of balls the "Merrimac" drove on, unhurt by the bombardment, and even by a submarine mine which exploded near her stern. The darkness and her rapid motion rendered her hard to hit, and she reached the desired spot, in the narrowest spot of the channel, none the worse for the shower of iron hail.

So far all had gone well. Now the critical moment had arrived. Hobson gave the signal fixed upon, and the men below reversed the engine and opened the sea connections. They then dashed for[pg 340] the deck. Those above dropped the anchor and set the helm. Only then did Hobson, to his bitter disappointment, discover that the rudder had been lost. The ship refused to answer her helm, and the plan of setting her lengthwise across the channel failed. The final task remained. Touching the electric button, the torpedoes went off with a sullen roar and the ship lurched heavily beneath their feet. The sharp roll threw some of the men over the rail. The others leaped into the sea. Down went the "Merrimac" with a surge at the bow, cheers from the forts and the ships greeting her as she sank. The gunners thought they had sent to the depths one of the hostile men-of-war.

At the last moment of leaving the "New York" an old catamaran had been thrown on the "Merrimac's" deck, as a possible aid to the crew in extremity. This float lay on the roof of the midship house, a rope fastening it to the taffrail, with enough slack to let it float loose after the ship had sunk. It was a fortunate thought for the crew, as it afforded them a temporary refuge in place of the lost dingy.

We may let Lieutenant Hobson speak for himself at this point in our narrative. He says, "I swam away from the ship as soon as I struck the water, but I could feel the eddies drawing me backward in spite of all I could do. This did not last very long, however, and as soon as I felt the tugging cease I turned and struck out for the float, which I could see dimly bobbing up and down over the sunken hull.