Chapter IX: Appendix: I. Programme of Stories from the History of the United States 453 (6)

Among the Patriots of Mendoza was a begging Friar, named Luis Beltran. He had fought in Chile against the Spaniards. He had returned across the Andes to Mendoza with a kit of tools on his back.

He was a clever fellow, a mathematician, a chemist, an artilleryman, a maker of watches and fireworks, a carpenter, an architect, a blacksmith, a draughtsman, a cobbler, and a physician. He was strong and rugged. San Martin made him chaplain. But on learning of his extraordinary gifts, he appointed him to establish an arsenal.

Soon Friar Beltran had three hundred workmen under him, all of whom he taught. He cast cannon, shot, and shell, melting down church-bells when his metal gave out. He made limbers for the guns, saddles for the cavalry, knapsacks, shoes, and other equipment for the soldiers. He forged horseshoes and bayonets and repaired damaged muskets.

If he stopped to rest at all, he drew designs on the walls of his grimy workshop, for special caissons and wagons to transport army-supplies over the steep passes of the Andes.

Then, he took off his frock, put on the uniform of a lieutenant of the artillery, and became the fighting engineer of the Army of the Andes.

_Bartolome Mitre_ (_Retold_)

THE HANNIBAL OF THE ANDES

I

Everything was ready.

Friar Beltran’s forges, blazing night and day, had turned out thirty thousand horseshoes. His arsenal had produced bullets by the hundreds of thousands. Friar Beltran’s carriages for artillery, specially designed for mountain-passes, stood waiting. The guns themselves were to be carried on the backs of mules. Slings had been prepared to hoist the mules over dangerous places; also sleds of rawhide in which the guns might be hauled up inclines too steep for heavily laden mules to climb.

The women of Mendoza, led by Bernardo O’Higgins’s mother and sister who were exiles from Chile, had prepared a store of bandages and medicines, and had made uniforms for the soldiers.

All was ready--tents, provisions, herds of cattle, saddles, arms, clothes, water-bottles, cables and anchors for a portable bridge, muleteers and artisans. Nothing was overlooked by the vigilant San Martin.

Silent and reserved, he inspected everything. For he knew too well that the mountains over which he was about to lead his Army, were more lofty and dangerous than the famous Alps. He planned to send the Army through two passes, the highest of which was nearly 13,000 feet above sea-level. The troops would be long on the way, he knew, and the dangers would be terrific.

In January 1817--January is summertime in Argentina--the good folk of Mendoza gathered to say farewell to the Army that they had helped to mobilize, and to which so many of their own men belonged, some of whom they should never see again.

The Army broke up its cantonments, and began its march in three divisions, carrying the new flag of the Republic. The women of Mendoza had made it. It was white and sky-blue, like San Martin’s first uniform when he was a boy soldier, while on it was emblazoned the face of the Rising Sun.

So with provisions for many days, with armament, munitions, baggage, and great herds of cattle for food, the Army followed the trails that led through the barren foothills toward the high Andes.

The lofty central ranges of the gloomy mountains frowned down upon the soldiers, while the dark passes seemed yawning pitilessly to devour them. But nothing daunted, they courageously continued to climb the foothills toward the mountains.

Bernardo O’Higgins, the Chilean Patriot, led one of the divisions; for Chile had now joined forces with Argentina against Spain.

Higher and higher the Army climbed, scouts clearing the way before it, until it began to enter the passes of the Cordilleras. Then San Martin, who was still tarrying at Mendoza, wrote to a friend:--

“This afternoon I leave to join the Army. God grant me success in this great enterprise!”

Then saying good-bye to the folk of Mendoza, by whom he was so much beloved, he hastened to join one of the divisions.

Day after day, the troops followed the steep ascents and descents, walking close to roaring torrents, crossing craggy peaks and narrow chasms, skirting edges of precipices, wading through snow, and hauling heavy guns and supplies up steep inclines.

Great mountain-ridges, with cañons between, ran north and south, beside numerous lesser ridges; all these had to be crossed to reach Chile. The intense cold on the summits, killed many of the soldiers. While the rarefied air caused numbers to drop down and die from heart failure and exhaustion. Of the nine thousand two hundred and eighty-one mules and the sixteen hundred horses Friar Beltran had in charge, over half perished.

The soldiers, surrounded by the mountain peaks that seemed to touch the sky with their snow-bound jagged tops, were depressed by the awful loneliness. Now and then, a condor wheeled above them. Strange noises, made by gusts of wind in the cañons, sounded like the wails of lost souls. Every step the soldiers took, convinced them that should they be attacked, it would be impossible to retreat. Such were some of the terrible hardships uncomplainingly suffered by the Army of the Andes.

But the soldiers laughed at despair; a spirit of union and comradeship upheld them. Each corps tried to outdo the others in cheerful endurance.

At last, after more than three weeks, the Army began to defile from the passes into Chile. Then San Martin and O’Higgins, in the great battle of Chacabuco and later at Maipu, won the victory and drove the Spanish Army from Chile.

_General Miller and Bartolome Mitre_ (_Retold_)

II

Thus was accomplished one of the most heroic military feats in history. “The passage of the Andes by the Army of San Martin,” says Lord Bryce, “has been pronounced by military historians of authority to have been one of the most remarkable operations ever accomplished in mountain warfare. The forces which he led were no doubt small compared ... to those which Hannibal and Napoleon carried across the Alps. But ... the passes to be crossed were much higher.”

Lord Bryce also says that San Martin comes nearer than any one else to being “the George Washington of Spanish America.”

And San Martin has been called, “the Hannibal of the Andes.”

NOT FOR HIMSELF

Honours were showered on San Martin after the battle of Chacabuco. News of his successful crossing of the Andes and of his victory, reached Buenos Aires. All day long shouts sounded through the streets. Cannon roared from the fort and from the squadron in the roadstead. San Martin’s portrait was hung where all could see it, draped in flags captured from the enemy.

The Argentine Government decreed a sword and badge for San Martin, and struck medals for his soldiers. They voted a pension of six hundred dollars a year for his little daughter, Maria Mercedes. They also sent him a commission as Brigadier-General, the highest rank in the Argentine service.

San Martin accepted the pension for his little daughter, and laid the money aside for her education. But he refused the commission, asking only for more arms, money, and men, to carry on the campaign.

Meanwhile, the grateful Chilean Government offered to make him ruler of all Chile. But this honour, too, he declined. So his friend and companion-at-arms, Bernardo O’Higgins, in his stead, was elected Supreme Ruler of the country.

COCHRANE, EL DIABLO

“On to Lima! On to Lima!” was now the cry of the Argentine and Chilean soldiers. “Let us drive out the Spaniards! Let us expel them from Spanish America for ever!”

“On to Lima by sea,” was San Martin’s decision. Meanwhile, O’Higgins was busy equipping a fleet to carry the troops to Peru.

There was, at that time, in England a dauntless, dashing naval-officer, Lord Thomas Cochrane, who was famous for his extraordinary courage and adventures. He gladly accepted the invitation of San Martin and O’Higgins, to become Admiral of the Chilean Navy. And because excitement and danger were as meat and drink to him, he hastened to Chile.

He was welcomed with great rejoicings. His beautiful young wife became one of the belles of Santiago. English, Irish, and American officers, drawn by the fame of Lord Cochrane’s daring exploits, arrived in numbers offering their swords to Chile to help win her Freedom.

Then, with the single-star Flag of Chile nailed to his mastheads, Admiral Cochrane swept the Pacific clean of Spanish war-vessels. And so fiery were his attacks, that the Spaniards nicknamed him, “_El Diablo_.” “For the very Devil himself, he is,” said they.

OUR BROTHERS, YE SHALL BE FREE!

“The Peruvians are our brothers,” proclaimed San Martin to his soldiers.

“Remember that you are come not to conquer but to liberate a People!” he proclaimed as soon as the Liberating Army was landed in Peru. For Lord Cochrane had brought them safely thither aboard the Chilean fleet.

Then to the Peruvians, San Martin sent broadcast a proclamation:--

_You shall be free and independent. You shall form your government and your laws according to the spontaneous wish of your own representatives. The soldiers of the Army of Liberation, your brothers, will exert no influences, military or civil, direct or indirect, in your social system. Whenever it suits you, dismiss the Army which marches to protect you. A military force should never occupy the territory of a Free People, unless invited by its legitimate magistrates._

This proclamation aroused the patriotism of many Peruvians, who brought quantities of food and supplies to the Army. While numbers of them joined the Army, including six hundred slaves, to whom San Martin promised their freedom.

Then San Martin prepared to invest Lima, with the help of Lord Cochrane’s fleet.

THE FALL OF THE CITY OF THE KINGS

Lima, “the City of the Kings,” stands not far from the sea on a plain near the foot of the Cordilleras.

When San Martin landed in Peru, Lima the proud, the rich, was the seat of the Spanish Viceroy’s Court with all its pomp and vices. She was shut in by walls above which rose her turrets and domes. Many of her people were slaves, Indians, or freedmen; the rest were haughty Spanish grandees and rich royalists. Lima was the civil, and military, despot of all Spanish America.

San Martin had now but one thought and aim--to drive the Spaniards from Lima, and make the city independent. He besieged her by sea and land. Through proclamations sent far and wide, he urged the Peruvians to rise up and help gain their own Freedom. Peruvian Colonists, Indians, and slaves flocked to his standard.

The siege began to tell on Lima. Her pride was humbled to the dust. Her food was exhausted. Fresh supplies were cut off by the blockade. The poor suffered dreadful want. The rich were deprived of their luxuries. Rich and poor alike lived in terror of their lives. To add to the miseries of the unhappy city, her officials, who should have protected her, fell to quarrelling among themselves.

On the Fifth of July, universal terror reigned. The Spanish Viceroy had announced that he was about to abandon the city to her fate. Every one believed that San Martin’s troops would fall upon her to pillage and burn. At dawn the Viceroy marched out with his troops.

There was one mad rush to escape to Callao, the port of Lima, several miles away. All the people who could, hastened to leave. Crowds of fugitives hurried along the highways, people on foot, in carts, on horseback; men, women, and children, with bundles and household goods, with horses and mules, and with slaves bending under heavy burdens of baggage and treasure.

Inside the city, there was pandemonium. Women were seen fleeing toward the convents. The narrow streets were choked with loaded wagons and mounted horsemen.

By midday, scarcely a person was to be seen. Those who had been forced to remain, had barred their doors and closed their shutters, and were waiting with fear and trembling for San Martin’s troops to fall upon the city.

In the midst of this confusion, the few officials who had not fled, gathered together to consult as to what should be done. They feared an uprising of the slaves or an attack by a mob. But greater still was their fear of the multitude of San Martin’s armed Indians, savage and undisciplined, who were surrounding the city. For though the Indians were under the command of San Martin’s officers, they seemed likely at any moment, to break loose from restraint and massacre the helpless people of Lima. The Indians were so near that they could plainly be seen, perched on the heights that overhung the city.

The officials, in great terror of mind, wrote a letter to San Martin, entreating him to enter Lima and protect her. The letter was despatched by a messenger.

All night long, a profound silence brooded over the city.

The next morning San Martin’s answer came.

It was brief. He would enter the city, he said, only if it was the real wish of the People of Lima to declare their Independence. He had no desire to enter as a conqueror, he declared, but would come only if invited by the People.

And added he, that the People, in the meanwhile, might give whatever orders they desired to his troops surrounding the city; and the orders should be obeyed.

His answer stunned the officials. They could not believe that a conquering general could be so humane to a helpless foe. They thought that San Martin was mocking them. But to put the matter to the test, they sent an order to a commanding officer of a regiment stationed near the city gate, asking him to withdraw his men to a spot a league away. The officer immediately withdrew them.

The good news flew through the city. People went almost mad with joy. Confidence was restored; and parties of picked soldiers were invited in to guard the city.

In a day or two everything was as before. The shops were opened again. Women were seen stealing from the convents. Men ventured into the square to smoke their cigars. The streets were lined with refugees returning to their homes, bringing back bundles, trunks, and treasures. The street criers were bawling their wares; and the city was restored to its usual noise and bustle.

Then a deputation of citizens waited upon San Martin to invite him to enter Lima and proclaim her Independence.

_Captain Basil Hall_ (_Retold_)

SAN MARTIN THE CONQUEROR

_A Retreat_

The people watched eagerly to see San Martin enter in state as a conquering general should. The day passed, and he did not come. When it began to grow dark, he rode in through the gate attended by a single aide-de-camp.

And he would not have come then, if he could have helped it. It was his plan to slip unobserved into the city early in the morning before people were up.

But the reason why he had to enter at evening, was this:--

He was tired, and he had just settled down for the night in the corner of a little cottage outside the walls. He was blessing his stars that he was well out of the reach of business, when in came two Friars, who had discovered his hiding place.

Each one made him a long tedious speech; one likened him to Cæsar and the other to Lucullus.

“Good heavens!” exclaimed San Martin, when the Friars had left. “What are we to do? This will never answer!”

“O sir,” replied the aide-de-camp, “there are two more of the same stamp close at hand.”

“Indeed! Then saddle the horses again, and let us be off!” exclaimed San Martin.

So it happened that the conquering General was forced to retreat, and enter Lima before people were asleep.

_The Mother and her Three Sons_

When he entered the city, instead of going directly to the palace where he was to lodge, he stopped to call on the Governor.

In a moment, the news of his arrival sped through the city. People came thronging into the Governor’s house, and even filled the court and street.

San Martin was forced to stand in the audience-chamber and receive the crowds. Old people and young people pressed fast upon him. But though he was so modest and heartily disliked any show or pretension, he received their praises patiently and kindly.

A handsome middle-aged woman approached him, and as he leaned forward to greet her, she threw herself at his feet. There, clinging to his knees, she looked up into his face, and exclaimed that she had three sons at his service, who, she hoped, would become useful citizens.

San Martin listened to her with respect. As he gently raised her from the floor, she flung her arms around his neck and finished her speech. He replied to her with great earnestness; and the poor woman’s heart seemed bursting with gratitude for his attention and kindness.

_The Little Girl Who Was Bashful_

San Martin then seeing a little girl about ten or twelve years old, who was too bashful to come forward, lifted the astonished child and kissed her cheek. When he set her down again, the little thing was in such ecstasy that she scarcely knew what to do.

_Another Little Girl_

San Martin established his headquarters a little beyond the city-wall. There he was completely surrounded by business. But every man coming out of San Martin’s presence, seemed pleased whether he had succeeded in his petition or not.

Among others, an old man came into headquarters holding a little girl in his arms. He had just one request, would the great General please kiss his child? San Martin good-naturedly kissed her, and the father went away radiantly happy.

_The Best Cigar_

San Martin lived on the friendliest terms with his officers.

One day, at his own table, he opened his pouch and took out a cigar, rounder and firmer than the rest. He gave it a look of unconscious satisfaction. Just then a voice called:--

“My General!”

San Martin started from his revery, and raised his head.

“Who spoke?” he said.

“It was I,” said an officer who had been watching him. “I merely wished to beg the favour of one cigar from you.”

“Ah ha!” said San Martin smiling good-naturedly with an assumed look of reproach. And at once he tossed his chosen cigar to the officer.

_Duty Before the General_

At another time, San Martin was entertaining a visitor on board a schooner. While they were walking up and down, the sailors began to swab the deck.

“What a plague it is,” said San Martin, “that these fellows will insist on washing their decks at this rate.” Then turning to one of the men, he said, “I wish, my friend, you would not wet us here, but go to the other side.”

The sailor, who had his duty to perform and who was too well accustomed to the General’s gentle manner, went on with his work, and soundly splashed him and his guest.

“I am afraid,” cried San Martin, “we must go below, although our cabin is but a miserable hole! For really there is no persuading these fellows to go out of their usual way.”

_Captain Basil Hall and Other Sources_ (_Retold_)

LIMA’S GREATEST DAY

_July 28, 1821, Peru’s Independence Day_

It was Lima’s greatest day. It was the 28th of July. It was her Independence Day.

Flowers and perfumes were being showered down from palace-windows and balconies. They fell on the heads of San Martin and many officers, clergy, and officials who were marching through cheering crowds.

They marched to the great square, and mounted a platform. The troops were drawn up in the square.

The Declaration of Independence of Peru was read aloud.

Then San Martin, standing on the platform, unfurled the new flag of the Republic of Peru. As he shook out its scarlet and white folds on which was the face of the Sun rising over the Andes with a tranquil river at their base, he called in a loud voice:--

“From this moment Peru is free and independent by the common wish of the People, and by the justice of her cause, which God defend!”

Then waving the flag on high, he shouted:--

“Long live the Fatherland! Long live Liberty! Long live Independence!”

“Long live the Fatherland!” shouted the crowds, as they caught up his words and passed them along from the square to the streets beyond.

The bells of the city rang out a joyous peal. Cannon were fired. And such a roar of voices went up as was never heard before in Lima.

Then from the platform silver medals were rained down on the crowds. On each was inscribed:--

_Lima, being liberated, swore its Independence on the 28th of July,
1821, under the protection of the Liberating Army of Peru,
commanded by San Martin._

San Martin adopted the title of “Protector of Peru.” He took upon himself the temporary government of the country until its Independence should be assured.

“I do not want military renown,” said San Martin, “I have no ambition to be the conqueror of Peru. I want solely to liberate the country from oppression.”

HAIL! NEIGHBOUR REPUBLICS!

San Martin continued to wage his successful campaign against the Spaniards. Now, let us leave him and Peru for a moment.

Let us turn to the United States and see what we were doing about all this.

We recognized our sister Republics for the first time on March 8, 1822.

On that day President Monroe sent a special message to Congress saying, “the Provinces belonging to this hemisphere are our neighbours.” He recommended that Congress should recognize as independent Nations, Colombia, Chile, Peru, Mexico, and Argentina, then called La Plata.

Brazil had already acknowledged them; so the United States was the second Power to hold out the hand of fellowship to our neighbours. England followed soon after.

This acknowledgment of a brave People’s struggle for freedom, came after more than twenty years of terrible warfare.

Our neighbour Republics--recognized in 1822,--have the honour of having won their own Liberty without the aid of foreign Allies. For though they had the sympathy of all free Peoples, and the moral support of both the English and the United States Governments, and though hundreds of foreign young men--whole legions of them--volunteered in the Patriot Armies and shed their blood for Spanish-American Independence, yet the Patriots of the Southern Republics had to stand up alone and unaided by any Government.

They won their Independence by patient endurance of every conceivable suffering, by rising above momentary defeats, and by courageously persisting to the end under the command of their devoted Liberators.

In the language of San Martin, “God granted them success.”

AMERICA FOR THE AMERICANS

So at last, the Spanish-American Republics were recognized. Their Freedom was practically won.

But the Kings of Continental Europe felt their thrones tottering and their crowns loosened.

After the wars of Napoleon, the whole of Europe was in political ferment. So it always happens after long wars.

The Peoples of Continental Europe, who for generations had been down-trodden by Kings and Emperors, had learned from the United States and France, of such things as Liberty, Constitutions, and the right of Peoples to a voice in their own government. Everywhere the Peoples of Europe were preparing to demand constitutional governments. Then, too, a wave of infidelity was sweeping through the world, the result of the terrible French Revolution.

Then, in 1815, the three Kings of Russia, Prussia, and Austria, formed a league called the Holy Alliance.

Its original purpose was lofty. It was at first, a very pious affair.

The Holy Allies agreed to take under their Christian protection the Kingdoms of Europe, and to govern their three Peoples as one People by the dictates of the Holy Religion of Christ. They pledged themselves to bring about a reign of charity, justice, and peace for Europe. The Holy Allies claimed to be divinely appointed to do all this. Spain, France, Naples, and Sardinia joined them. England did not become a member for though she has a monarch, she has a Constitutional Government.

It was not long before this Holy Alliance became a hotbed of European intrigue, and developed into a subtle political league to destroy the awakening liberties of the World.

The Holy Allies conspired to put down all democratic principles, and stamp out all representative government from Europe. They also conspired to prevent the formation of any new Republics in other parts of the World, and to chain the liberty of the Press, which is the Voice of the People. Thus these Holy Allies joined forces to uphold the divine right of Kings and the tyranny of absolute monarchies.

Their next move was to promise Spain to help destroy the Spanish-American Republics, and thus restore to her her lost Colonies.

This was after we had acknowledged the Independence of those Republics.

The Holy Allies planned to _invade America_ with their Army.

When this news reached the United States, there was a furore. And, when added to this news, it was announced that Russia was laying plans to colonize the Pacific coast of North America, there was great indignation in this country.

It was then, that President Monroe, on December 2, 1823, gave to the World the famous MONROE DOCTRINE, which is this:--

_To the defense of our own [Government], which has been achieved by
the loss of so much blood and treasure ... and under which we have
enjoyed unexampled felicity, this whole Nation is devoted._

_That the American continents, by the free and independent
conditions which they have assumed and maintained, are henceforth
not to be considered as subjects for future colonization by any
European Powers...._

_We should consider any attempt on their part to extend their
system to any portion of this hemisphere, as dangerous to our peace
and safety._ ...

_But with the Governments (the Spanish American Republics) who have
declared their Independence and maintained it, and whose
Independence we have ... acknowledged, we could not view any
interposition for the purpose of oppressing them, or controlling in
any other manner their destiny by any European Power, in any other
light than as the manifestation of an unfriendly disposition toward
the United States._ ...

This is the MONROE DOCTRINE.

AMERICA FOR THE AMERICANS, American Independence, is what it means.

WHAT ONE AMERICAN DID

_October 9, 1820_

Now, to return to South America and its struggle:

“That was bravely and cleverly done!” exclaimed Joseph Villamil.

Villamil was an American, a citizen of the United States, who had cast in his lot with the Spanish-American Patriots. At his house in Guayaquil (a city now a part of Ecuador) the local Patriots met to discuss plans.

The Province and city of Guayaquil lay on the northern border of Peru. They were still under Spanish rule. They were garrisoned by 1500 Spanish soldiers.

The Patriots decided to capture the garrison. So while San Martin was preparing to besiege Lima, they set out from Villamil’s house, led by a Venezuelan officer. Villamil accompanied them with a band of Englishmen and North Americans, who were eager to help in the attack.

They took the garrison in double-quick time, and with very little bloodshed at that, for scarcely eight men were killed.

“That was bravely and cleverly done!” said Villamil.

And that he himself had fought bravely and cleverly during the attack, was soon proven, for the Provisional Government of Guayaquil despatched him aboard a schooner to carry the good news to Lord Cochrane and San Martin.

Some time after, there took place at Guayaquil one of the most amazing meetings the world has ever seen.

THE AMAZING MEETING

This amazing meeting at Guayaquil, was like the dramatic climax of an exciting story.

There was a mystery in it.

It happened a few months after the freeing of Guayaquil. The people of the city, dressed in their gayest clothes, were crowding along the streets, and craning their necks to watch for a procession.

Triumphal arches spanned the streets. On each arch was inscribed:--

BOLIVAR!

And while the people watched eagerly, lo, the new white and blue flag of independent Guayaquil was hauled down from the gunboats on the river, and in its place were run up the red, yellow, and blue colours of the great new Republic of Colombia, which had just been formed to the North of Guayaquil.

Then there was a sudden burst of military music, and under the triumphal arches marched a procession of officers in brilliant uniforms and soldiers with bayonets. And astride his war-horse, cocked hat in hand, rode Simon Bolivar, the Venezuelan Liberator, small, erect, and elegant.

He had been leading his conquering Army down from the North, driving out the Spaniards; while at the same time, San Martin had been freeing the Republics of Argentina and Chile and convoying his Army up from the South to the liberation of Peru.

It was General Bolivar who had founded the new and great Republic of Colombia, and had given it a constitutional government. He was now come to Guayaquil on his way to liberate Peru.

He rode thus proudly under the arches that bore his name. His alert, bright, black eyes turned to the right and left as he took in every detail around him.

Soon after this, the Amazing Meeting took place.

San Martin the Protector arrived at Guayaquil to confer with Bolivar.

Strong Spanish forces were gathering in Peru, concentrating for a terrible, and final struggle. San Martin’s Army had been weakened by disease and losses. He was now come to ask Bolivar to join his forces with the Patriot Army in Peru and so help bring the war to a quick, decisive end.

Thus the two great Patriots met in the gayly decked tropic city. One had liberated all the northern part of Spanish America, the other had brought Independence to two southern Republics: Bolivar small, alert, sagacious, of vivid personality and iron will impatient of restraint, elegantly clad in full dress uniform; San Martin, stalwart, earnest, simple, yet strong, dressed in plain garments.

On the result of their conference, hung the completed Freedom of all Spanish America.

They were left alone.

They conferred for more than an hour.

No one knew what they discussed. But those who caught glimpses of them, said that Bolivar seemed agitated, while San Martin was grave and calm.

After the conference, San Martin sent his baggage back to the ship.

The next day, they conferred again.

Again, nobody knew what they discussed.

That night, San Martin went aboard his ship, and sailed for Peru.

WHAT HAPPENED AFTERWARD

Then came the results of that Amazing Meeting.

San Martin returned to Peru, and announced that Bolivar was coming with his Army to aid the Country. He then resigned his command, refusing all the honours heaped upon him by the grateful Peruvian Government. But, he said, that if the Republic of Peru were ever in danger, he would glory in joining as a citizen in her defense.

Then, to the sorrowing Peruvian People, he issued a farewell address, assuring them, that since their Independence was secured, he was now about to fulfil his sacred promise and leave them to govern themselves, adding:--

“_God grant that success may preside over your destinies, and that
you may reach the summit of felicity and peace._”

That same night, San Martin mounted his horse and rode away into the darkness. He had left Peru forever.

He passed through Chile and laid down his command; then he crossed the Andes to rest for a while on his little farm at Mendoza.

There the terrible news reached him that his wife had died in Buenos Aires. All that she had meant to him, he himself expressed in the simple words:--

“The wife and friend of General San Martin.”

His trials were not yet over. For on his reaching Buenos Aires, its officials met him coldly and scornfully. Then San Martin, ill, sorrowful, and forsaken, took his little daughter in his arms, and going aboard a ship sailed for Europe. Thus he left Argentina, and went into voluntary exile.

He never saw Buenos Aires again. Five years later, longing to retire quietly on his farm at Mendoza, he returned to Argentina. He never left the ship. He learned that if he did so, old political factions would rise up again, and civil war might threaten Argentina. So he sailed back to Europe.

There he looked after his daughter’s education. And in his old age, he lived comfortably in a small country house on the bank of the Seine. He cared for his garden, tended his flowers, and read his books, until his sight began to fail.

At the age of seventy-two, still a voluntary exile for the good of his Country, he died in his dear daughter’s arms.

“I desire,” said he, “that my heart should rest in Buenos Aires.”

THE MYSTERY SOLVED

What was the mystery, that had made San Martin at the height of his success, bow his head in silence and go into voluntary exile?

His enemies reviled him. Even some of his friends accused him of deserting his post in time of need. But he neither complained nor explained.

A great act of self-abnegation may not be hidden forever. Years passed by, then San Martin’s noble purpose came to light.

At that Amazing Meeting, after he and Bolivar had exchanged opposing views as to the best form of government for Spanish America, they began to discuss the liberation of Peru.

Bolivar refused to enter Peru or to allow his Army to do so without the consent of the Congress of Colombia. He politely offered to lend San Martin a few troops, altogether too few to aid in the subjection of the large Spanish forces gathering in Peru for the final decisive struggle.

San Martin, at a glance, read the Liberator’s purpose. He saw before him a brilliant General “of a constancy to which difficulties only added strength,” who by joining his Army to that of Peru, Argentina, and Chile, could make sure for all time to come, the liberation of the whole of Spanish America. But it was also plain to San Martin that Bolivar would never consent to share his command with any other man.

Therefore, San Martin offered to lay down the sword of supreme command of his forces in Peru, and serve as an ordinary officer under Bolivar.

This Bolivar refused.

San Martin was pushed to the wall. There was left only one of two things for him to do--either to return to Peru and wage an unequal and possibly losing warfare against the Spaniards without the help of Bolivar,--or to withdraw.

He withdrew in silence.

But why in silence? Why did he not explain so that people might understand and not misjudge him?

In a letter that he wrote from Peru to Bolivar, giving his reasons for retiring, he told why he was silent:--

“_The sentiments which this letter contains will remain buried in
the most profound silence. If they were to become public, our
enemies might profit by them and injure the cause of Liberty; while
ambitious and intriguing people might use them to foment discord._”

Again he said, “It shall not be San Martin who will give a day’s delight to the enemy.”

And on leaving Peru, he said in his farewell to the People, “My countrymen, as in most affairs, will be divided in opinion--their children will give a true verdict.”

* * * * *

And their children have justified his faith.

To-day, his body rests in the Cathedral of Buenos Aires.

And to-day the school-children of Argentina are taught to love and reverence the Father of their Country who never thought of himself--Jose de San Martin.

MARCH 15

ANDREW JACKSON OLD HICKORY

_Our Federal Union: It must and shall be preserved!_

ANDREW JACKSON’S _Toast on Jefferson’s Birthday_

_I want to say that Andrew Jackson was a Tennessean; but Andrew
Jackson was an American, and there is not a State in this Nation
that cannot claim him, that has not the right to claim him as a
national hero...._

_I should not say that Old Hickory was faultless. I do not know
very many strong men that have not got some of the defects of their
qualities. But Andrew Jackson was as upright a Patriot, as honest a
man, as fearless a gentleman, as ever any Nation had in public or
private life._

_President_ THEODORE ROOSEVELT

ANDREW JACKSON was born in the Carolinas, March 15, 1767

Won the Battle of Talladega against the Creeks, 1813

Won the Battle of New Orleans against the British, January 8, 1815

Was made Governor of Florida, 1821

Was elected President, 1828; again, 1832

He died, June 8, 1845

He is sometimes called “Old Hickory”

MISCHIEVOUS ANDY

“Set the case! You are Shauney Kerr’s mare, and me Billy Buck. And I should mount you, and you should kick, fall, fling, and break your neck, should I be to blame for that?”

Imagine this gibberish, roared out by a sandy-haired boy, as he came leaping from the door of a log-schoolhouse, ready to defy all the other boys to a race, a wrestle, or a jumping match, while he playfully laid sprawling as many of his friends as he could trip unawares.

There you have Andy Jackson!

Andy, tall, lank, red-headed, blue-eyed, freckled, barefoot, and dressed in coarse copperas-coloured clothes, was the son of a poor Scotch Irish widow. He was born and reared in the Carolinas. He lived with his mother in the Waxhaws Settlement. His home was a log-cabin in a clearing.

His mother earned her living and that of her two youngest boys. She had great ambitions for Andy. She sent him to school in the little log-schoolhouse. And, when she had earned enough money, she paid his tuition at a country academy.

No boy ever lived who liked fun better than Andy. He ran foot-races, leaped the bar, and high-jumped. To the younger boys, who never questioned his mastery, he was a generous protector. There was nothing he would not do to defend them.

But boys of his own age and older, found him self-willed, somewhat overbearing, easily offended, very irascible, and on the whole difficult to get along with.

He learned to read, write, and cast accounts--little more.

_James Parton_ (_Retold_)

READING THE DECLARATION

Andy was nine years old when the Declaration of Independence was signed at Philadelphia.

In August, some one brought a Philadelphia newspaper to the Waxhaws. It contained a portion of the Declaration. A crowd of Waxhaw Patriots gathered in front of the country store owned by Andy’s Uncle Crawford. They were eager to hear the Declaration read aloud. Andy was chosen to read it.

He did so proudly in a shrill, penetrating voice. He read the whole thing through without once stopping to spell out the words. And that was more than many of the grown men of the Waxhaws could do in those pioneer days, when frontier log-schoolhouses were few and far between.

OUT AGAINST TARLETON

Andrew Jackson was little more than thirteen, when the British Tarleton with his dragoons, thundered along the red roads of the Waxhaws, and dyed them a deeper red with the blood of the surprised Patriot Militia. For Tarleton fell upon the Waxhaws settlement, and killed one hundred and thirteen of the Militia, and wounded a hundred and fifty more.

The wounded men were abandoned to the care of the settlers, and quartered in the cabins, and in the old log Waxhaw meeting-house, which was turned into a hospital.

Andrew’s mother was one of the kind women who nursed the soldiers in the meeting-house. Andrew and his brother Robert assisted her in waiting upon them. Andrew, more in rage than pity, though pitiful by nature, burned to avenge their wounds and his brother’s death. For his eldest brother, Hugh, had mounted his horse the year before, and ridden southward to join the Patriot forces. He had fought gallantly, and had died bravely.

Tarleton’s massacre at the Waxhaws, had kindled the flames of war in all that region of the Carolinas. The time was now come when Andrew and Robert were to play men’s parts. Carrying their own weapons, they mounted their grass ponies--ponies of the South Carolina swamps, rough, Shetlandish, wild--and rode away to join the patriots.

Andrew and Robert served in a number of actions, and were finally taken captive.

They were at length rescued by their mother. This heroic woman arrived at their prison, and by her efforts and entreaties, succeeded in bringing about an exchange of prisoners.

Andrew and Robert were brought out of prison and handed over to her. She gazed at them in astonishment and horror,--so worn and wasted the boys were with hunger, wounds, and disease. They were both ill with the smallpox. Robert could not stand, nor even sit on horseback without support.

Two horses were procured. One, Mrs. Jackson rode herself. Robert was placed on the other, and held in his seat by some of the prisoners to whom Mrs. Jackson had just given liberty.

Behind the sad procession poor Andrew dragged his weak and weary limbs, bare-headed, bare-footed, without a jacket, his only two garments torn and dirty.

The forty miles of lonely wilderness to the Waxhaws were nearly traversed, and the fevered boys were expecting in two hours more, to enjoy the comfort of home, when a chilly, drenching rain set in. The smallpox had reached that stage when a violent chill proves wellnigh fatal. The boys reached home and went to bed.

In two days Robert Jackson was dead, while Andrew was a raving maniac. But the mother’s nursing and his own strong constitution brought Andrew out of his peril, and set him on the way to slow recovery.

_James Parton_ (_Retold_)

AN ORPHAN OF THE REVOLUTION

Andrew Jackson was no sooner out of danger, than his courageous mother resolved to go to Charleston, a distance of nearly two hundred miles, and do what she could for the comfort of the prisoners confined on the reeking, disease-infested prison-ships.

Among the many captives on the ships, suffering hunger, sickness, and neglect, were Mrs. Jackson’s own nephews and some of her Waxhaw neighbours. She hoped to obtain their release, as she had that of Andy and Robert.

She arrived at Charleston, and gained admission to the ships. She distributed food and medicines, and brought much comfort and joy to the haggard prisoners.

She had been there but a little time when she was seized by ship-fever. After a short illness she died. She was buried on the open plain, and her grave was lost sight of. Her clothes, a sorry bundle, were sent to her boy at the Waxhaws.

And so Andrew Jackson, before reaching his fifteenth birthday had lost his father, mother, and two brothers. He was an orphan, a sick and sorrowful orphan, a homeless orphan, an orphan of the Revolution.

Many years later on his birthday, on the very same day when he disbanded the Army with which he had won the Battle of New Orleans, he said of his mother:--

“How I wish _she_ could have lived to see this day! There never was a woman like her. She was gentle as a dove and brave as a lioness....

“Her last words have been the law of my life. When the tidings of her death reached me, I at first could not believe it. When I finally realized the truth, I felt utterly alone.... Yes, I was alone. With that feeling, I started to make my own way....

“The memory of my Mother and her teachings, were after all the only capital I had to start in life with, and on that capital I have made my way.”

_James Parton and Other Sources._

THE HOOTING IN THE WILDERNESS

It was night in the Tennessee Wilderness. A train of settlers from the Carolinas, with four-wheeled ox-carts and pack-horses, and attended by an armed guard, was winding its way along the trail through the forest toward the frontier-town of Nashville. They had marched thirty-six hours, a night and two days, without stopping to rest. They were keeping a vigilant outlook for savages.

At length, they reached what they thought was a safe camping-ground. The tired travellers hastened to encamp. Their little tents were pitched. Their fires were lighted. The exhausted women and children crept into the tents, and fell asleep.

The men, except those who were to stand sentinel during the first half of the night, wrapped their blankets around them and lay down under the lee of sheltering logs with their feet to the fire.

Silence fell on the camp.

All slept except the sentinels and one young man. He sat with his back to a tree, smoking a corn-cob pipe. He was not handsome; but the direct glance of his keen blue eye and his resolute expression, made him seem so in spite of a long thin face, high forehead somewhat narrow, and sandy-red hair falling low on his brow.

This young man was Andrew Jackson,--mischievous Andy of the Waxhaws,--now grown to be a clever, licensed, young lawyer. He was going with the emigrant train to Nashville in order to hang out his sign and practise on the frontier.

He sat there in the Wilderness, in the darkness, peacefully smoking. He listened to the night sounds from the forest. He was falling into a doze, when he noted the various hoots of owls in the forest around him.

“A remarkable country this, for owls,” he thought, as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Just then an owl, whose hooting had sounded at a distance, suddenly uttered a peculiar cry close to the camp.

In a moment, young Jackson was the widest awake man in Tennessee.

He grasped his rifle, and crept cautiously to where his friend Searcy was sleeping, and woke him quietly.

“Searcy,” said he, “raise your head and make no noise.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Searcy.

“The owls--listen--there--there again! Isn’t that a little _too_ natural?”

“Do you think so?” asked Searcy.

“I know it,” replied young Jackson. “There are Indians all around us. I have heard them in every direction. They mean to attack before daybreak.”

In a few minutes, the men of the camp were aroused. The experienced woodsmen among them listened to the hooting, and agreed with young Jackson, that there were Indians in the forest. Jackson advised that the camp should be instantly and quietly broken up, and the march resumed.

This was done, and the company heard nothing more of the savages.

But a party of hunters who reached the same camping-ground an hour after the company had left it, lay down by the fires and slept. Before day dawned, the Indians were upon them, and killed all except one of the party.

But the long train of emigrants, men, women and children, were safely continuing their wearisome journey through the Wilderness. At last, they reached Nashville to the joy of the settlers there.

And a great piece of news young Andrew Jackson brought with him to Nashville--the Constitution of the United States had just been ratified and adopted by a majority of the States of the Union.

_James Parton_ (_Retold_)

FORT MIMS

The War of 1812 was made terrible by an uprising of the Indians. The Creeks, incited and armed by British officers, attacked Fort Mims in Alabama, and, with unspeakable atrocities, massacred over five hundred helpless men, women, and children.

The howling savages at their bloody work made so hideous a scene, that even their Chief, a half-breed Indian named Weatherford, was filled with horror. He tried to protect the women and children. But his savage followers broke all restraint, and nothing could stop their cruel butchery. The Creeks ended by setting fire to the ruins of the fort.

This Indian massacre at Fort Mims was one of the bloodiest in history.

The news reached Tennessee, arousing the country. Andrew Jackson rose from a sick-bed, called together an army of volunteers, and led them against the Creeks.

DAVY CROCKETT

_“Go ahead!” Davy Crockett’s motto_

When Andrew Jackson called for volunteers to punish the Creeks, Davy Crockett, the famous Tennessee bear-hunter, came hurrying to enlist. He was a backwoodsman, born and reared in a log cabin in the Wilderness.

Armed with his long rifle and hunting-knife, dressed in a hunting-shirt and fox-skin cap with the tail hanging down behind, he was a picturesque figure.

He was merry as well as fearless, and kept the soldiers in a constant roar of laughter with his jokes and funny stories. He was kind-hearted, and gave away his money to any soldier who needed it.

“Go ahead!” was his motto whenever facing difficulty or dangers.

Some years after the Creek War, he took part in the struggle for Liberty in Texas.

With Travis and Bowie, he defended the Alamo.

“Go ahead! Liberty and Independence for ever!” wrote Davy Crockett in his diary just before the Alamo fell.

CHIEF WEATHERFORD

Andrew Jackson carried forward his Indian campaign with crushing effect. Blow after blow fell upon the doomed Creeks, and at the Battle of the Horseshoe, he annihilated their power for ever.

The Creeks were conquered; but their Chief, Weatherford, was still at large. Andrew Jackson gave orders for his pursuit and capture. He wished to punish him for his part in the massacre at Fort Mims.

The Creek force under Weatherford had melted away. The warriors who were left after the battle, had taken flight to a place of safety, leaving him alone in the forest with a multitude of Indian women and children, widows and orphans, perishing for want of food.

It was then that Weatherford gave a shining example of humanity and heroism. He might have fled to safety with the rest of his war-party. He chose to remain and to attempt, at the sacrifice of his own life, to save from starvation the women and children who were with him.

He mounted his gray steed, and directed his course to General Jackson’s camp. When only a few miles from there, a fine deer crossed his path and stopped within shooting distance. Weatherford shot the deer and placed it on his horse behind the saddle.

Reloading his rifle with two balls, for the purpose of shooting Big Warrior, a leading Chief friendly to the Americans, if he gave him any trouble, Weatherford rode on. He soon reached the outposts of the camp. He politely inquired of a group of soldiers where General Jackson was. An old man pointed out the General’s tent, and the fearless Chief rode up to it.

Before the entrance of the tent sat Big Warrior himself. Seeing Weatherford, he cried out in an insulting tone:--

“Ah! Bill Weatherford, have we got you at last?”

With a glance of fire at Big Warrior, Weatherford replied with an oath:--

“Traitor! if you give me any insolence, I will blow a ball through your cowardly heart!”

General Jackson now came running out of the tent.

“How dare you,” exclaimed the General furiously, “ride up to my tent after having murdered the women and children at Fort Mims?”

“General Jackson,” replied Weatherford with dignity, “I am not afraid of you. I fear no man, for I am a Creek warrior.

“I have nothing to request in behalf of myself. You can kill me if you desire. But I come to beg you to send for the women and children of the war-party, who are now starving in the woods. Their fields and cribs have been destroyed by your people, who have driven them to the woods without an ear of corn. I hope that you will send out parties who will conduct them safely here, in order that they may be fed.

“I exerted myself in vain to prevent the massacre of the women and children at Fort Mims. I am now done fighting. The Red Sticks are nearly all killed. If I could fight you any longer, I would most heartily do so.

“Send for the women and children. They never did you any harm. But kill me, if the white people want it done.”

While he was speaking, a crowd of officers and soldiers gathered around the tent. Associating the name of Weatherford with the oft-told horrors of the massacre, and not understanding what was going forward, the soldiers cast upon the Chief glances of hatred and aversion. Many of them cried out:--

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

“Silence!” exclaimed Jackson.

And the clamour was hushed.

“Any man,” added the General, with great energy, “who would kill as brave a man as this, would rob the dead!”

He then requested Weatherford to alight, and enter his tent. Which the Chief did, bringing in with him the deer he had killed by the way, and presenting it to the General.

Jackson accepted the gift, and invited Weatherford to drink a glass of brandy. But Weatherford refused to drink, saying:--

“General, I am one of the few Indians who do not drink liquor. But I would thank you for a little tobacco.”

Jackson gave him some tobacco, and they then discussed terms of peace. Weatherford explained that he wished peace, in order that his Nation might be relieved of their sufferings and the women and children saved.

“If you wish to continue the war,” said General Jackson, “you are at liberty to depart unharmed; but if you desire peace you may remain, and you shall be protected.”

And as Weatherford desired peace, General Jackson sent for the women and children and had them fed and cared for.