Chapter 3

We were accompanied by an officer and six men. I asked the officer what the removal was for, and he said our trial was to be held and it was necessary for us to be present. I asked permission to speak with the engineer, which was given. I told him I dreaded being taken into the interior, as we would be away from our friends, and begged him when we came to a certain grade along the line to increase the speed and I would jump off. I was familiar with that part of the country, knew I could secure a horse and go to Mollendo or Arequipa. I knew also that the officer and his men had never been on a train, and it would be impossible for them to give chase.

But we were again doomed to disappointment. The engineer feared to carry out the plan and instead of increasing speed, went slower than usual.

On our arrival at Moquequa we were marched through the streets, to my great humiliation, as I knew many people in the town. Numbers of them came and offered their sympathy. To our great indignation we were thrown into a cell with six other prisoners convicted of murder, and a more ugly, villainous and desperate-looking lot of characters would have been hard to find anywhere. No attention had been paid to my remonstrance, when an hour later a gentleman, whom I had favored, presented himself. After I told him the circumstances of our detention he said he would send a lawyer to defend us. In the meantime he arranged with a hotel keeper to send us regular meals, also mattresses and blankets.

The day following I had many visitors, some drawn by curiosity and others by sympathy and good will. The latter were profuse in their attentions. When a lawyer appeared, I related to him the details of our arrest. I did the talking, as Thompson could not speak the language, while I was becoming quite proficient in it. Upon leaving, the lawyer promised to have us free in eight days at most.

I passed away the dreary time pacing that prison cell. It was about twenty feet long and twelve feet wide, and contained nothing but stone walls and floor, with a heavy iron-grated window which looked out on the plaza. A bottle of wine came with each meal, instead of coffee, and I shared it with the criminals in our cell. In this way I soon won their good will, and as they had all been convicted of murder, they did not hesitate to tell me of their horrible crimes.

There is no capital punishment in Peru. Sentence for life, in that country, means about fifteen years, and seldom do they serve that length of time. Usually a revolution releases them. At such times insurgents invariably break open the prisons and liberate the convicts, which happened to these prisoners a few months later. We were visited daily by my lawyer and finally were told that four hundred dollars would be required for our liberation.

"Liberate us and I will give you the money," was my answer.

Next day I bid adieu to my undesirable residence and companions; Thompson had no money and I paid all. After purchasing new clothes and receiving the congratulations of friends, we boarded the train for Ilo. Mr. Hill returned from Lima that day and after learning of the indignities inflicted upon me, told his officials that they should have notified the British consul and compelled the Peruvian authorities to pay, instead of taking my money.

I returned to work in the shops, and three weeks afterward one of the office clerks came in breathless and told me I was to be arrested again along with Thompson. The papers would be down from Moquequa that night and tomorrow morning they would come for us.

I was furious when I realized that we were again facing punishment for a crime of which we were innocent and I determined to resist arrest, and leave Ilo.

I went to the office of the secretary of the railroad, and after a long consultation, it was agreed to have three of Mr. Hill's best horses in readiness at midnight. One of the hostlers was to accompany us and when we reached Tambo, Thompson and I would take the train for Arequipa.

I went to my room, packed my clothes, carefully loaded two revolvers and placed my trunk and other articles of value in the hands of my friends, with orders to send them to Arequipa after the sensation of my escape was over. After supper, to allay any suspicion the authorities might have, I strolled along the wharf, went into a billiard hall and actually played a game of billiards with the captain of the guard, who I have no doubt had the order to arrest me in his pocket. Thompson had gone to his room. I followed thirty minutes later, and at precisely twelve o'clock, I sallied out of the house by the rear, and met Thompson at the agreed place on the beach.

The night was dark, and everything being in readiness, we mounted and rode through the town dressed like natives. We soon gained the highway leading to Tambo and after being well clear of Ilo, we put our horses to their best. We rode the fifty-five miles to Tambo, over a rugged and mountainous country and caught the train for Arequipa, arriving that night after an absence for me of two years.

VII.

IN THE THROES OF REVOLUTION.

The railroad had now been extended from Arequipa to Puno. A revolution had broken out and insurgents were cutting the telegraph wires.

I was engineer on a combination locomotive and coach and as this locomotive will be in the scene of more than one tragedy, I will describe it. It was specially designed for the president and officers of the road, weighing only eight tons. On the same frame with the engine, in fact, a part of it, was built a beautiful black walnut coach, with a seating capacity of from twelve to eighteen persons. It had two side doors and one in front, which, when opened, communicated with the engineer. There were windows hung with beautiful damask curtains, the carpets were of rich velvet, and a center table and several cupboards under the seats completed the furnishings. It was in reality a palace on wheels, named The Arequipena, meaning a native of Arequipa. I mention the design of the combination engine-car for the reason that, on a duplicate of The Arequipena, later occurred one of the most perilous and tragic events of my life.

The stretch of road from Julica to Cabanillas was level and straight, except about two miles from Cabanillas station, where a heavy side cut and sharp curve was the only obstruction to the view for miles. I was going at the rate of forty miles an hour, when, on nearing this curve, I beheld a large Rogers locomotive with a train of coaches coming toward me. I cannot describe the thoughts that went through my brain--there was a terrific crash--flying debris--a hissing of steam--mingled with the groans of the wounded and dying.

I was thrown out of the way of the wreck and near the edge of a river, and when I regained my senses a priest was bending over me, bathing my forehead. I gradually realized what had happened and went to my engine. There was scarcely a vestige left of The Little Arequipena, only a piece of the boiler and two pairs of driving wheels. The shock was so great that the little coach was hurled over the other engine, which was not damaged much.

I saw several persons bending over some one, and, on going closer, found William Cuthbert, our traveling engineer, stretched on the ground dying. Five soldiers were dead beneath the ruins. One officer, with his legs broken in two places, begged that others be cared for first. The road-master was in agony, his lower limbs frightfully burned by escaping steam; all the others were more or less seriously injured, except myself. When relief came our dead and wounded were taken to Arequipa.

We had been sent out to repair the wires, and orders had come to me that we should be given the right of way. The engineer who collided with me told me that the commander of the government forces had ordered our superintendent to furnish transportation for his troops to Puno at once, and when informed that it would be impossible to send a train until we were heard from, he threatened to place the superintendent in jail unless his orders were complied with. No one on the other train was hurt. They had six coaches full of soldiers, the priest who assisted me being among them.

The day after our arrival at Arequipa the funeral of William Cuthbert took place. The procession was the largest that I had ever witnessed at any funeral in Arequipa, natives as well as foreigners taking part.

It was a long time before I recovered from the shock, not alone of the collision, but the death of William Cuthbert who always had been ready to befriend me and who had given me much valuable information. He lies buried in the cemetery at Arequipa, in a vault. A marble slab was erected to his memory.

The general manager sent for me one day to come to his office in Arequipa, and after talking over the cause of the collision, I told him that I considered him to blame for allowing any engine and train to go out without knowing first where we were, and that it would have been better to have gone to prison, that if he had been sent there the American government would have demanded his freedom, and he would have been honored. As it stood, he was to a certain extent responsible for that dreadful affair. After some more words I left the office, realizing that I had incurred the displeasure of the head officer. I concluded to leave, which I was sorry to do, as I looked upon Arequipa as my only home.

I visited Valparaiso and again met Cockney Spider. He was still at his old business, conducting a runaway sailors' boarding house. A few weeks later found me in Panama, an engineer on the Panama and Aspinwall railroad. The climate, I believe, is the most wretched in the world, and tropical vegetation grows the rankest. In a few months I was stricken with the yellow fever, but thanks to my robust constitution I soon recovered. About this time I met an official of the government railway at Ilo, who desired me to return and accept a position as engineer on the road. I told him of my troubles in that town with the officials. He met me soon afterwards, with a contract duly drawn up for eighteen months' service and a guarantee that I should not be molested by any petty official.

When I arrived at Ilo, imagine my surprise to find that the man who rowed me ashore was the Italian who caused my arrest. He offered to shake hands but I refused. When I went to the hotel many of my old native friends came to see me, and informed me that after I had left they discovered the person who did the shooting. It was done by one of their own number, who managed to get away.

It was very gratifying to thus have my innocence established, but it did not recompense for the time I had spent in jail and the loss of money.

I had been running a train out of Ilo about a month, when one night I was invited to a "wake." Having never attended one, I accepted the invitation. At one end of the room stood a large table, and upon it the body of a child two years old. On its head was a wreath of flowers. The child was dressed in white; in its tiny hands was a bouquet of flowers; the feet were encased in small white slippers; lighted candles surrounded the body. At either end of the table were several old women, who were employed by the family as mourners, and they kept up a continual low moaning sound. Occasionally they would stop to partake of wine, and start again, more dismal than ever. The room was large and on each side were seated ladies and gentlemen talking and laughing and seemingly enjoying themselves. The parents of the dead child appeared to have surpassed the expectations of their friends and made a great success of the "wake."

There is a custom in Peru that when several persons are gathered together there is constant drinking. A large bottle of wine or whiskey is placed on the table with one glass. A lady or gentleman will fill the glass and drink to the health of some one present. It is bad form to leave any liquor in the glass, so it is always drained, refilled and presented to the one whose health has been drunk. It is an insult to refuse to drink, after one has drank to your health and the person accepting the glass drinks to the health of some one else. In this manner the glass is constantly on the move. On this occasion, the wine was on the table with the corpse.

About one o'clock in the morning not seeing any disposition on the part of the guests to retire, I bade our friends good night.

I had barely reached the street when I heard firing and saw people running. Suddenly there came a volley of musketry, and a woman dropped dead a few feet in front of me. Almost immediately the streets were deserted, but I could hear the cries of "Vivia Pierola," and I knew another revolution had broken out.

VIII.

VIVA GENERALISSIMO PIEROLA.

I did not do anything for the woman. Shot through the heart, she was past all aid. I made a dash into a by-street, intending to reach the station, get my engine ready and go to Ilo to prevent the insurgents from using the road to transport their troops. But I ran into an officer's arms before I had gone a block. He had been looking for me all night, and told me I was his prisoner. I was to be taken before Senor Pierola. Meantime I was to be treated with every consideration, the officer paying for breakfast and cigars, and insisting on my drinking some ale which he had taken as a contraband of war.

It was some time before we could get near the great leader of the revolution, the approaches to his house being crowded with people. Ladies were prominent among the crowd, carrying flowers and declaring their deliverer had come to make Peru the greatest nation on the Pacific.

After the officer presented me Pierola asked me if I spoke Spanish. Upon being answered in the affirmative, he asked my name, nationality and how long I had been employed by the Peruvian government; all of which being answered to his satisfaction, he asked me if I would work for him, and if I would, in the event of his being victorious, I should be appointed to take charge of the Ilo and Moquequa railways. He only wanted me to convey troops down the valley, take up some of the rails to prevent the government troops from using the line, and then before he retreated to another position which he would fortify, to dismantle the engine and hide the parts, so that in case the government troops should come to Moquequa the engine would be of no service to them.

I replied that I was a British subject, and that if I were to do what he requested of me, and should be taken prisoner by the government, and the fact became known that I had taken part, I would be unable to claim the protection of my government. He agreed that that was true, but he would insure against that by sending a few troops with me, and it would look as if force was compelling me to do what, which without force, I would not have done.

I finally agreed, and after giving my word that I would not attempt to escape, received orders to take the engine, as a squad of soldiers would accompany me, and at a certain place along the line which they would designate, the rails would be torn up. We started that afternoon.

We carried two flat cars to load the rails on. About forty miles from Moquequa we discovered another train coming toward us, but upon our nearer approach they backed off rapidly. It was a party of government troops sent out to ascertain whether the road was clear in order to bring up their main body. Our company then took up rails and made the road dangerous in ten different places. We blew up a small wooden bridge with giant powder.

The officer in charge made frequent stops in the valley and levied a tribute of money on all the wine merchants he could find. They usually gave, as they knew too well the consequence of refusing. Those who hid away found, on their return, their wine presses and vaults in ruins.

On our return to Moquequa, I was ordered to disable the engine, which I did by taking off both valve stems and driving rods. The officer hid them and that was the last I ever saw of them. We attended a dance which lasted all night, and drank much wine in anticipation of the success of the revolution. It was a gala night. There was dancing and music in nearly all the houses.

In the early morning bugles, drums and other instruments began making a hideous noise, officers were commanding men to form ranks, horses, mules and donkeys were running hither and thither, and dogs were barking. Here and there were groups of men learning to load their rifles, others endeavoring to parry and thrust with cutlasses and making fierce swings at an imaginary government soldier. Louder and hoarser came the call of the officers, but their commands were lost on the motley crowd. After several hours the officers succeeded in getting the men into some kind of marching order.

I turned to a store to buy some cigars, when I heard someone calling, and turning I beheld three of my fellow prisoners that a few months before were in jail convicted of murder. One straightened out his hand to me, but I did not take it. I asked them how they escaped; it was the old story. The insurgents needed recruits and they were liberated on condition that they fight for Pierola.

Such was Peru, and such it is today. Instead of the people supporting the government, the government supports the people, and when all its favors become exhausted, then some one arises and proclaims himself president, organizes a band of thieves and murderers, and endeavors to gain control.

There have been exceptions, when an indignant people, who have been trodden to such an extent that it seems a revolution is the only means of righting their wrongs; but nine out of ten are the work of an ambitious man who wants to become ruler.

I asked the ex-convicts where the other three were who had been confined with them. Two had died and the other was with the troops. They begged for money and I gave them a dollar each, and after profusely thanking me they left to follow the rear guard of Pierola's scoundrels.

After purchasing my cigars, I followed the main body of troops with my escort of twenty soldiers, to keep guard over me, as arranged with General Pierola. Our destination was Torato, thirty miles from Moquequa. The road led over passes and wound around mountain sides, and from several points of vantage I could see the army on the march, with General Pierola and a priest by his side in the lead. The priest was there to inspire courage in those who might waver. The army numbered six hundred infantry and two hundred cavalry, many of whom did not know the duties of a soldier.

On arriving at Torato, I secured quarters for myself and escort at the expense of the insurgent general. A month passed in wine drinking and dancing. There were gay festivities every night, lasting sometimes until late the next morning, the officers seldom seeing their men. Instead of drilling them, they spent their time telling how they were going to annihilate the government troops. Some little fortifying had been done, but the natural surroundings were sufficient to prevent a prudent attack. One day the news came that the government troops were advancing and then some little work was done to prepare for battle.

The day before the battle, I told General Pierola I had no objections to following him to the battlefield, but in consideration of being a non-combatant, I asked the privilege of selecting my own course, giving him my word of honor that I would not make any attempt to escape. He was satisfied and gave me a pass allowing the freedom I desired. The next day the cry arose that the government troops were only six miles away. There was hurrying to and fro with no discipline. The priest accomplished more by his cross than all the officers. There was a babel of voices. All were trying to give commands. Suddenly heavy firing was heard, the outpost had become engaged at last.

IX.

AMID THE DIN OF BATTLE.

The main body of the insurgent troops began to move to the front, headed by General Pierola and the priest marching to the most unearthly music I ever heard. Women were conspicuous and cheered as the men marched past. "Viva Pierola!" was heard on all sides.

Then came an order to double quick. The outposts were driven in a short distance, and the enemy was in a valley, surrounded on both sides by a chain of hills with a huge mountain in the background. When I saw the position of the government troops, I was satisfied they would be defeated and the battle become a rout. There were two regiments of infantry and one of cavalry in the valley. Pierola stationed his troops on each side of the pass and in front, reserving his cavalry. In a short time the engagement became general. The priest encouraged the insurgents by displaying the cross. He was a courageous fellow, always to be found in places of danger. I mounted a huge boulder and could easily see all that was going on. The government troops would waver and fall back, and again they would renew the attempt to scale the hillsides, which was impossible as long as the insurgents held their position.

There was a strange happening just when success seemed assured. The insurgent cavalry had taken no part up to this time, as both sides of the valley had been actively engaged. The insurgents along the pass were running short of ammunition. An order was sent to the captain of the cavalry to send a company back to Torato and assist in hurrying up supplies. There was a brief cessation of hostilities. I could plainly see the government troops carrying their dead and wounded to the rear, but still holding their position. When another charge was made to take the heights, the firing again became general. Suddenly arose the cry, "They come! They come!" Firing along the sides of the pass ceased, and I looked in amazement. Evidently, something was wrong. The insurgents were throwing away their arms and running. There was a cloud of dust in the direction of Torato, and I could easily distinguish a company of cavalry, which I knew was the company sent to hurry up the ammunition. The insurgents saw them and imagined that the government cavalry had succeeded in getting to their rear. The panic became a rout. In vain did Pierola plead, as he threw himself in front of his demoralized men, in vain did the priest hold his crucifix on high, threatening and pleading, but no persuasion could stop those runaway cowards. The government troops realized something was wrong, and began to scale the heights. Still, if the cavalry which had done no fighting, could have been led to the side of the pass, the day would still have been with Pierola, and probably the stampede would have been checked. But unfortunately for the would-be president, there was no one in command capable of meeting the emergency.

I became excited, and snatching a cutlass from the hand of a retreating soldier, threw myself in front of a column in a vain endeavor to stop them, but they ran over me like so many sheep. Terror had lent them wings of flight and deprived them of reason. By this time the government infantry had reached the plateau and was forming into companies. Their cavalry had seized the heights and the day was lost.

I saw General Pierola shake hands with the priest and leave the field. The priest mounted and he, too, was gone. The ground was strewn with arms; even the discordant musical instruments were discarded.

Thus an army of revolutionists, who, a few hours before paraded through the streets of Torato, cheered by fair women, and shouting "Viva Pierola," had won a battle by natural surroundings and lost it by their cowardice. I, too, thought it was time to retreat, as my escort of twenty soldiers had long since disappeared. I rode to Torato.