The darkest period in Peruvian history was the year 1880. Defeated on sea and on land, the nation had drawn its forces toward the centre and awaited a final struggle near historic Lima, the City of the Kings.

But the Chileans, triumphant, were in no haste to follow up the victories of TarapacÁ, Tacna, Arica, and Point Angamos; they realized the enervating influences that always are at work in an army that is inactive and on the defensive; and although as early as January nothing hindered the northward movement of their land forces, they refrained from striking the decisive blow, and passed the time perfecting the transport service, increasing the efficiency of the troops and laying by stores of munitions of war.

The blockade of Callao, established toward the close of 1879, was maintained without interruption, and the harbor, which only two years before had been second only to San Francisco in commercial importance on the west coast of the Americas, became a drear waste of water, for not a vessel, of sail or steam, was permitted to enter, unless it might be an occasional war-ship of a neutral power; nor could any craft depart after the expiration of the forty-eight hours which the Chilean admiral had given as notification.

During those two days and two nights, craft of all description and flying flags of all nations prominent in the maritime world put to sea and sailed north or south, some laden, but the majority in ballast; and when the last one had departed and the enemy’s cordon was close drawn in the offing, the Bay of Callao reflected only one story—the death of commerce.

Where two hundred ships had swung at anchor, a Peruvian sloop or an abandoned bark rose sluggishly with the ground swell; where once was seen the men-of-war of the Peruvian navy, awaiting the word from Lima to dash south, now appeared only the wooden corvette Union, the obsolete coast defence monitor Atahuallpa, and the school-ship Maria Theresa; once there was constant danger of collision in the harbor, because of the press of small boats—cutters, gigs, and barges, propelled by oars; steam launches darting here and there, whistles blowing lustily; lighters moving slowly as long sweeps were pushed, and sailboats gliding with white wings outstretched,—now the appearance of even a rowboat caused conjecture.

Before Harvey’s departure for the interior, the bay had been a never ending source of delight to the three boys; indeed, it had appealed to all foreign residents, as well as to the natives, but to none more than to the members of the Callao Rowing Club, for the placid waters permitted their going some distance from the shore, even in the racing shells, and the trade wind not reaching the water near the beach line, and the surface not being ruffled, it was possible to feather the spoon oars by sliding them, even as is done on pond and river. After the blockade was established, Carl, Louis, and Harvey occasionally went out for spins; but the wide waste of harbor had little attraction, and they soon abandoned visits to the boat-house at Los BaÑos, preferring to take their recreation in the fields, on horseback, or in some of the games that had been introduced from the United States and England.

Other members of the club felt the same about rowing in the bay; and a fortnight after the Chilean vessels appeared in the offing, the governing board decided to close the boat-house until peace should be declared and normal conditions be restored in Callao. So the shells, practice boats, canoes, and the sail-boat were carefully housed in the large covered barge that was anchored a short distance from shore; the doors were securely fastened, and Pedro, the keeper, was told he would have to seek other employment. The members removed their effects from the lockers in the apartments which had been rented from the owner of the BaÑos del Oroya, and the lease to these shore quarters was surrendered. But the Callao Rowing Club did not disband. The organization was maintained, and to-day it is a flourishing athletic association, famous up and down the West Coast.

In naval parlance ships are “darning the needle” when they steam back and forth before a harbor, out of the reach of shore batteries, yet near enough to prevent entrance and departure of vessels. This is what the Chileans did day after day, week after week, and month after month, and it became an accustomed sight to see their low, black hulls in the offing, steam rising lazily from the funnels.

The vessels first on blockade duty were the Blanco Encalada, which flew the admiral’s pennant, the Huascar, the Angamos, the Pilcomayo, and the Mathias Cousino. Others were added after a time, and there were frequent changes in the squadron; but the little Huascar was kept on the station as an aggravation to the Peruvians. The Angamos was a cruiser of a modern type and armed with one rifle gun, which, reports said, could throw a shell from Callao to Lima—eight miles.

The monotony of the blockade was broken after the first month by a short bombardment of Callao, which was brought about by the Chucuito forts opening upon a steam launch from the Blanco Encalada, that ran in close to La Punta, evidently to reconnoitre the shore battery there. The shots from the land guns were fired at six o’clock in the evening, and the Chilean squadron steamed into the harbor one hour later. The first broadside from out in the bay was followed by a panic in the seacoast city and a wild rush of the residents to escape into the environs. Among the thousands who fled from their homes were Mr. Dartmoor and the members of his family and Captain Saunders and Carl. After that exciting night, most of which was passed in the fields, they and many others moved to Lima and only visited Callao during the day.

Little damage was done by the bombardment; only a few houses were destroyed, and no loss of life was reported. But the brief engagement was signalled by as remarkable an incident as any ever related concerning war times, and the story thereof is told in Callao to this day. Immediately after dinner that evening the daughter of an American bookseller sat down before the piano in the parlor of her father’s home and commenced playing. After rendering one of Mozart’s compositions she swung around on the stool, in order that she might easily reach for more sheet music, and the motion brought her feet and lower limbs from beneath the instrument. At that instant the Blanco Encalada opened fire out in the bay, and a shot from one of her guns, flying shoreward, pierced the side of this residence, cut through the piano stool, as neatly as would a buzz-saw, crushed the lower part of the piano, and made its exit through another wall. The young woman fell upon the floor unharmed. Had she not swung partly around her legs would have been shot away. No other residence of any consequence was struck that night, the dwellings destroyed being ramshackle structures.

One week later an attempt was made at midnight to destroy the monitor Atahuallpa with a torpedo, but side-nets had been lowered around the war-ship, and the submarine engine was caught in the meshes, where it exploded, throwing water on board. The report caused alarm in the city, but investigation proved that no damage had been done. Attempts were made later in January to destroy the Union, and they also failed. Short bombardments became of more frequency, and those who remained in Callao grew accustomed to the gun-fire and the whistling of shot and shell.

Thus passed the late summer and early spring of 1880. With each succeeding week the value of food products increased, for no supplies came into port, and the irrigated lands were not of sufficient area to furnish all vegetable products that were required. Demand was made on the interior, but the means of transportation were so poor that articles thus brought commanded almost prohibitive prices. Eggs were sold for two and three dollars a dozen, and meat became worth almost that sum per pound; potatoes, even in the land of their birth, brought fancy prices, and milk and butter were soon not obtainable. But rice and corn were in plenty, so that, although the majority were compelled to deny themselves a variety of diet, there was no fear of starvation.