BOLIVAR

THE PRECIOUS JEWEL

Two boys were playing a royal game of tennis in the royal tennis court at Madrid in Spain. The rich American boy, Simon de Bolivar, from Venezuela, was serving swift ball after swift ball to Ferdinand, Prince of the Asturias and heir to the Spanish throne. The Queen-mother was looking on.

The Prince saw that he was losing, and grew angry. Bolivar, small, alert, with dark eyes flashing, played on, still winning until the Prince refused to play any longer.

But the Queen-mother sternly bade her son finish the game.

So the Prince had to play on, and he lost.

“Some day,” exclaimed Bolivar in triumph, “I will deprive Prince Ferdinand of the most precious jewel in his Crown!”

. . . . . . . . . .

Years before this tennis-game, a great thing had happened in Venezuela.

On July 24, 1783, a baby boy was born to a rich, noble citizen of the city of Caracas—a baby destined to deprive Prince Ferdinand of the most precious jewel in his Crown.

He was christened Simon Jose Antonio de la Santisima Trinidad de Bolivar, and with his mother’s name added as they do in Spanish America, y Palacios.

A long name for a baby.

Little Bolivar had everything money could buy, and slaves to wait upon him whenever he called. Before he was ten years old, his father and mother died and he was left heir to several large fortunes. He owned many hundreds of slaves and a rich plantation called San Mateo.

He was a restless, adventurous, self-willed boy, small but very alert and bright. He did not like to study much; but he was always ready to sit and listen to his tutor Rodriguez, whom he adored. His black eyes sparkled as his tutor told him of lands where people governed themselves. Sometimes Rodriguez explained the meaning of Equality, Fraternity, and Liberty. And the little boy began to dream of Liberty and Independence for his own Venezuela.

But Bolivar did not spend all his time dreaming, he was far too passionately fond of outdoor sports for that. He fished, swam, and learned to shoot. He joined the White Militia of the Valleys of Aragua.

When he was sixteen, his guardian sent him to Spain. There he went to school and lived with his uncle, who was a favourite at Court.

And there, he beat the sulky Prince Ferdinand at tennis.

And there, he met and loved a noble, little Spanish maid, Maria del Toro, just fifteen years old. So Bolivar forgot for a while his threat to deprive Prince Ferdinand of his most precious jewel.

Bolivar and Maria were married, and went on their honeymoon to Venezuela. They reached the lovely plantation of San Mateo, where they lived and were very happy. But, alas! in a few months the girl-bride sickened and died of a fever.

Then the passionate heart of young Bolivar almost broke. He vowed in his grief never to marry again. Soon after Maria’s death, he went back to Europe to try to forget his sorrow in travel and study.

In France he endeavoured to drown his sad memories in gay living, but he could not forget Maria. Then he met Rodriguez, his old tutor, who had been banished from Venezuela.

This Rodriguez was a strange, rough fellow, with many wild ideas and some good ones too. From childhood, Bolivar had confided all his sorrows and joys to him. And, now, as a young man, he was led by his advice.

Rodriguez saw that Bolivar was wasted and consumptive. He persuaded him to go on a walking trip. Knapsack on shoulder, the two set off for their tramp. In Milan, they saw Napoleon crowned King of Italy. They visited many historical spots to which Rodriguez took Bolivar on purpose to arouse again his eager interest in Equality, Fraternity, and Liberty.

Together they climbed Mount Sacro in Rome. And there Bolivar remembered his threat to deprive Prince Ferdinand of the most precious jewel in his Crown. He seized Rodriguez’s hand and swore a solemn oath to wrest Venezuela from the Crown of Spain.[6]

For Venezuela—in fact all Spanish America—was the vast treasure-house of Spain, the most precious jewel in her Crown.

THE FIERY YOUNG PATRIOT

Young Bolivar returned to his estates in Venezuela. But he stayed there only for a little while. He soon gave up the easy indulgent life of wealth to serve the Patriot cause.

He was sent on a mission to England. In London he met Miranda, the Flaming Son of Liberty, whose burning, persuasive words blew into a flame, the sparks of Liberty which Rodriguez had kindled in Bolivar’s bosom.

Bolivar joined Miranda’s secret society. He urged Miranda to return at once to Venezuela and strengthen the Patriot cause.

And thus it came about that the Flaming Son of Liberty went back to his native land, and was made Commander-in-Chief of the Venezuelan forces. Then it was, that the struggle for Venezuela’s Independence began to make Spain tremble for the most precious jewel in her Crown.

How the fiery young Bolivar betrayed General Miranda, has already been told in The End of the Romance, on page 344. After which Bolivar fled into exile; and Spain confiscated his estates.

But Bolivar never gave up his determination to free Venezuela. And when opportunity offered, he returned and became the head of the Patriot Army.

It is not possible here to tell of all which he and his valiant troops accomplished. They fought against the Spanish forces, they suffered defeats, and they won victories. English, Irish, Scotch, and American men, were volunteers in Bolivar’s Army, and many of them fighting bravely, shed their blood for Venezuela’s Freedom.

It was a terrific war! Nowhere else in all Spanish America was there waged a more ferocious campaign. The wake of the Spanish Generals, Monteverde and Boves, was strewn with the corpses of innocent non-combatants and with the ruins of pillaged towns and burned villages.

“It is war to the death!” exclaimed Bolivar fiercely, in answer to these atrocities.

And war to the death it was, on both sides—a war of ruthless retaliation on prisoners and neutrals.

So the struggle went on. All the sufferings that accompany warfare were the portion of the miserable people, ruined homes, weeping wives and mothers, sick and dying children, crippled men, starvation, disease, and sorrow-stricken hearts.

SEEING BOLIVAR

High adventure and spicy dangers were awaiting the first corps of hot-headed young Englishmen who volunteered to fight for Venezuela.

They shipped from England. And after thrilling escapes on the coast of Spanish Florida and among the West Indies, after many feasts of venison, wild turkey, turtle, parrots, “tree-oysters,” and lizard, they reached Venezuela.

There, higher adventures and spicier dangers were waiting.

They were convoyed by brig and launches up the swift river Orinoco. They were marched through tropic forest and across llanos or plains, to join Bolivar.

As their boats were rowed through the deep water or poled through the shallows of the Orinoco, they saw most wonderful sights.

Lining the banks, the giant mangrove trees shooting their gnarled banyan-like roots into the water, were linked together by living chains of vines, festooned with brilliant flowers as big as saucers or teaplates. Herds of red monkeys with little ones clinging to their shoulders, chattered, howled, and leaped from tree to tree, following the boats along. Pink flamingoes, gigantic cranes, pelicans, and spoonbills were wading about fishing. Overhead, flocks of red, blue, green, and yellow parrots and macaws flashed to and fro filling the air with screams; while the metallic note of the bellbird, sounded now close to the ear and now far away.

From island to island in the river, glided evil-looking, light-green snakes, lifting their heads and part of their bodies out of the water. And under the roots of trees and in the stream, basked man-eating alligators watching for their prey, only their eyes and nostrils showing above the water.

And waiting to drop upon the young Englishmen if their boats came too near, were venomous snakes glittering like jewels, coiled on the mangrove limbs or hanging from the branches like shining tinsel ribbons.

Mosquitoes, too, were lively, piercing through the young men’s blankets and cloaks, so thirsty were the insects for a taste of fresh, red English blood.

And the young men were forced to keep a careful lookout at night for fear of a visit from a python, jaguar, alligator, or electric eel. When the sun set, night instantly fell like a black curtain, for there is no twilight in the tropics. Then the howling of wild beasts made the place hideous.

Finally, after passing Indian villages and towns pillaged and burned by the Spanish soldiers, after water-trip and march, the young Englishmen caught up with Bolivar on a plain near the Apure River.

The young men had long been eager to see that remarkable General whose extraordinary energy and perseverance had already liberated a large portion of Venezuela. And it was a picturesque scene that now burst on their sight—a band of tropic warriors in a tropic setting.

Bolivar was surrounded by his officers, many of them mounted. A magnificent wild-looking band they were in shirts of brilliant colours worn over white drawers which reached below the knee. Bright bandanas were tied about their heads to keep off the sun. Over these handkerchiefs were set wide sombreros or hats made of split palm-leaves, decorated with plumes of variegated feathers. One of the officers wore a silver helmet instead of a sombrero, and another had on a casque of beaten gold. Some had silver scabbards, and heavy silver ornaments on their bridles. Almost all wore huge silver or brass spurs fastened to their bare feet.

As soon as they saw the young Englishmen approaching, these wild-looking chiefs spurred their horses forward uttering shrill shouts of welcome. They embraced the young men, like long absent friends, and examined their weapons and uniforms.

Bolivar, reigning in his horse, stood looking on in silence. He was a small man, with a thin and careworn face, which had upon it an expression of patient endurance. He appeared refined and elegant although simply dressed. He wore a dragoon’s helmet. His uniform was a blue jacket with red cuffs and gilt sugar-loaf buttons; coarse blue trousers; and sandals of split aloe-fibre. As the young men came up, he returned their salute with a peculiar melancholy smile, and then rode on.

He carried in his hand a lance from which fluttered a small black banner, embroidered with a white skull and cross-bones, and the motto:—

Death or Liberty

When they halted for the night, the young men were presented to Bolivar as he sat in his hammock under the trees. He expressed great joy at seeing Englishmen in his army, who might train and discipline his troops. After asking questions about the condition of affairs in Europe, he dismissed them in the charge of his officers. These gave the young men lances and fine horses.

Thus the English lads became a part of Bolivar’s Army. They and their countrymen, forming the English Legion, performed such brave deeds and made such gallant charges on the battle-fields, that without them Bolivar could not so soon have won Venezuela’s Independence. Retold from the account by one of the young Englishmen.

UNCLE PAEZ—THE LION OF THE APURE

Paez was one of Bolivar’s most daring and picturesque generals. It would take a whole book to tell of his romantic adventures and how he was exiled and came to live in New York. There is a painting of him and his dashing cowboys in the Municipal Building of the City of New York.

At first he was a llanero or cowboy of the plains. He was of mighty strength, and was a magnificent horseman. He knew well how to use the llanero’s lance with all its cunning tricks. His men were cowboys, horsemen, and fighters by instinct. They followed him into battle with wild llanero shouts. Uncle Paez, they called him, When Bolivar with his troops reached the Apure River, he could not cross for there were no boats. A few canoes were drawn up on the opposite bank, guarded by six enemy gunboats.

As Bolivar paced up and down impatiently, he exclaimed:—

“Have I no brave man near me, who can take those gunboats?”

“They shall be yours in an hour,” said Paez coolly, who was standing by.

“Impossible!” said Bolivar.

“Leave that to me,” said Paez, and off he galloped. He soon returned with a body of cowboys picked for their bravery.

“To the water, lads!” he cried, which was what he always said when they went swimming.

The men immediately unsaddled their horses, stripped themselves to their drawers, hung their swords about their necks, and stood ready.

“Let those follow Uncle, who please,” cried Paez, and urged his horse into the river.

The men rode in after him straight toward the gunboats.

When the Spanish saw the dreaded cowboys approaching, who never gave quarter, they fired hurriedly and missed. Then seized with panic, some cast themselves into the water, and others escaped in canoes.

Only one prisoner was taken, a woman who fired the last gun at the cowboys, but who could not stop them from boarding the gunboats.

Thus Bolivar gained possession of the region on both sides of the Apure.

Paez is sometimes called the “Lion of the Apure.”

ANGOSTURA
February 15, 1819

Down the upper Orinoco River, Bolivar’s canoe was slipping quietly past wide savannahs, palm-tufted isles, and overhanging trees.

While reclining in the boat, he dictated to his secretary. During the heat of the day they both landed, and Bolivar, lolling in a hammock under the shadow of the giant trees, one hand playing with the lapel of his coat and a forefinger on his upper lip, kept on dictating as the mood seized him.

He was composing a new Constitution for the Republic of Venezuela, which was to be presented at the Congress meeting in the city of Angostura on the Orinoco.

And it was the adoption of this Constitution, that made Angostura famous.

To-day the town is called the City of Bolivar.

And while the Congress was meeting, Bolivar and his chief officers held a council of war, sitting on bleached skulls of cattle slaughtered for army food. They discussed the dangerous plan of crossing the Andes into New Granada, and of helping the Patriots there to drive out the Spanish Army.

They decided to attempt the crossing. And what that terrible march was like, one of the young Englishmen who went with Bolivar, will tell in our next story.

THE CROSSING

This crossing of the Andes was terrible. The hardships which Bolivar’s troops endured are indescribable.

At that time of year, the plains were flooded. The infantry were obliged to march for hours together up to their middle in water. Sometimes the men fell into holes, or stuck fast in the marshes.

Many of the soldiers were bitten in their legs and thighs by little goldfish, brilliant orange in colour and exceedingly voracious. Whole swarms of these little fish came rushing through the water, with their mouths open, showing their broad, sharp teeth like sharks’ teeth. Wherever they bit, they tore away a piece of flesh. They attacked the poor men most savagely.

As the troops approached the mountains, the cold winds began to be felt blowing down from the snowy ridges of the Cordilleras. Soon, violent mountain torrents swept across the Army’s path; and the men on horseback were forced to carry across stream all the arms and baggage of the foot-soldiers. Even Bolivar himself rode again and again through the rushing current, carrying over sick and weak soldiers and even women who had followed their husbands. As the trail began to ascend, the horses used to the level plain, could scarcely keep their footing on the rocky way, and began to flag and fall lame.

The snowy peaks of the Andes were now seen to stretch like an impassable barrier between Venezuela and New Granada. The narrow paths wound their way up among wild crags, and through ancient forests that clothed the mountain-sides with trees so vast and thick that the light of day was almost excluded. At that high altitude, the trees caught and held the passing clouds in their branches. From the clouds distilled an almost incessant rain, making the steep trails slippery and dangerous. The few tired mules that had not perished on the line of march, patiently clambered on. Now and then, one would slip and go plunging over a precipice; its fall could be traced by the crashing of shrubs and trees until its mangled body rolled into a foaming stream far below.

Although the Army was drenched by rain night and day, it did not experience severe cold until it emerged from the forests into the bleak unsheltered passes between the mountain peaks. Then the piercing cold bit through the soldiers’ thin garments. Many who had worn shoes when they left the plains, were now barefooted. Even some of the officers were in rags, so that they were glad to wrap themselves in blankets.

The view of the Andes at this great height was wildly magnificent. Incessant gusts of wind swept the passes, and whirled the snow in drifts from the summits of the ridges. The whole range appeared to be encrusted with ice, cracked in many places, from which cascades of water were constantly rushing. Huge pinnacles of granite overhung the passes, apparently tottering and about to fall. There was no longer any beaten path; the ground was rocky and broken. Terrific chasms yawned on every hand, appalling to the sight.

A sense of great loneliness seized the men. Dead silence prevailed except for the scream of the condor or the noise of distant waterfalls. The air was so rarefied that many of the soldiers, overcome by drowsiness, lay down and died.

But at last the crest of the Andes was passed, and the Army began to descend on the other side into the valleys of New Granada. The descent was not so difficult because the mountain-side was less rugged than the side they had ascended.

As soon as the Army reached the lowlands, Bolivar lost no time in preparing for battle. With his men, he took his stand at the Bridge of Boyaca.

Never was there a more complete victory. The whole of the Spanish Army with baggage, powder, and military stores, fell into the hands of Bolivar.

The Battle of Boyaca liberated New Granada from Spain, for ever.

Then Venezuela and New Granada united, and became the Republic of Colombia—or Great Colombia.

Retold from the account of a
soldier who accompanied Bolivar

PERU NEXT

Now was Bolivar at the height of his power.

He had liberated Venezuela and New Granada. He had founded the Great Republic of Colombia, and had given it a Constitution. He was practically Dictator of the Republic.

He had sent his favourite General, the heroic Antonio de Sucre, to liberate Quito.

Bolivar now turned his eyes toward Peru. In his ambition he dreamed of a Greater Colombia which should include that country.

But there was an obstacle in his way.

Peru had already declared her Independence. The foundations of her Liberty had been laid by another General and another Army. For Jose de San Martin of Argentina, was Peru’s acknowledged Protector.

Then came the Amazing Meeting, as told on page 272.

After that meeting, Bolivar with his Army entered Peru. He combined his forces with those of the Liberating Army of Peru, and with the aid of the valiant Sucre, completed what San Martin had so well begun, and swept away the last vestiges of Spanish power from South America.

So the great struggle for Independence, which had lasted over twenty years, was finished.

But Bolivar was not allowed to enjoy long the fruits of his victories.

We shall see why.

THE BREAK

Exiled from Venezuela, consumptive, wellnigh penniless, insulted by his own people, was Bolivar only a few years later.

The creation of his genius, the Great Colombia, was rent with revolutions. His own General Paez had abandoned him. His friend Antonio Sucre had been assassinated.

Bitterness filled Bolivar’s soul, his pride was broken, but he still loved Colombia.

His dying words to her people, were:—

Colombians! My last wishes are for the happiness of my native Land. If my death helps to check the growth of factions and to consolidate the Union, I shall rest tranquilly in the tomb.