"We will not permit it, general!"

"You must, because it is your duty. Having made South America independent of Spain, it would be sheer wickedness to turn and rend each other. Let Bolivar have the glory. I shall have a quiet conscience. But it seems to me that we are giving substance to shadows. Bolivar will join hands with me. We shall establish a strong government in Peru; then having done our duty, each will retire."

My father shook his head, saying, "You are mistaken; General Bolivar's ambition is to make all South America into one country, with himself at the head. Nothing less than that will content him."

"Then he will fail," answered San Martin. "Let us hope he will not drag the country to ruin with him."

About this time, March 1822, news reached us that our forces at Ica had met with a terrible defeat. By a swift and daring march, the Spanish general, Canterac, had thrown his army against them with startling suddenness. They tried to retreat, but, being attacked in the night, were cut to pieces, and an enormous quant.i.ty of stores pa.s.sed into the hands of the Royalists. The news cast a gloom over the city, and many weak-kneed Patriots lost their heads entirely. Unless we could obtain help from General Bolivar, they cried, our cause was undone. My father did not believe this; he distrusted Bolivar, and made no scruple of saying so.

"Still we must find out just what he means to do," remarked San Martin one evening.

"His intentions are evident," replied my father, rather bitterly. "He means to make himself master of the country, and to push you aside."

"I think you misjudge him; but in any case I place the happiness of Peru before personal ambition.--By the way," he added, turning to me, "have you ever seen this remarkable man?"

"No, general."

"Would you like to do so? Ah, I see you would. Well, you shall. I am going to meet him at Guayaquil; you shall go with me, unless your father objects."

"I have no objection, general. It will do him good, by opening his eyes!"

"Very well; let him be ready to-morrow morning. I will let Colonel Miller know of the arrangement."

"Jack," exclaimed my father when San Martin had gone, "this is a great honour for you. I don't expect the protector will take any one else, except Guido, who goes with him everywhere. I almost envy you, my boy, for San Martin and Bolivar are certainly the two most wonderful men in South America."

"Will there be any danger?" asked my mother.

"I think not; the visit is a friendly one."

The next day, having put on my gaudiest uniform, blue with red facings, white edging, and abundance of gold lace, I went over to Callao, meeting the general and his "aid" just as they were embarking on the schooner _Macedonia_. As usual, the general looked grave and rather stern. He was very silent too, and as the schooner slipped from her moorings he disappeared within his cabin. Guido, who shared a cabin with me, was far less reserved than his chief.

"This is a fool's errand," said he brusquely. "The protector is just playing into Bolivar's hands."

"He knows what he is doing, I think."

"That makes me the more angry. But for him the Spaniards would still be in possession of Peru; and now, rather than make a bother, he'll let the other fellow take the prize."

"What would you have him do?"

"Do?" cried he excitedly; "why, stand his ground. I would say, 'I have done all the hard work, I have made Peru free, and I am going to be master of the country. Let Bolivar or any one else come here at his peril!'"

"Then there would be a three-cornered fight, and the Spaniards would have the best of it!"

"That wouldn't be San Martin's fault. Do you think Bolivar cares how the country suffers as long as he comes out on top? Not he!"

"If that is so, San Martin is certainly playing the better part."

"The better part? a fig for the better part! He can beat Bolivar and the Spanish put together if he chooses. He is far and away the finest general in South America."

"And one of the best men, if he acts as you say he will."

But Guido was much too angry to take that view. When I added that without Bolivar's help we could hardly reduce the Spaniards to submission, he laughed scornfully and turned away.

On the evening of July 25, 1822, the _Macedonia_ dropped anchor in the harbour of Guayaquil, and immediately afterwards two of Bolivar's officers came on board with a friendly greeting from their chief.

"Caramba!" muttered Guido beneath his breath, "it makes me mad! It's like the old custom of garlanding a victim before offering him up as a sacrifice!"

That night we slept on the schooner, disembarking the next day. The route was lined by Bolivar's soldiers, who saluted stiffly, and by thousands of people cheering wildly for their renowned visitor.

"There it is, you see," whispered Guido; "the people want San Martin.

If they had their way, Guayaquil would be a part of Peru, with him as president."

"But they haven't," said I, "and Bolivar has; which makes all the difference."

"Look!" exclaimed he contemptuously, as the carriage stopped; "isn't it like a circus show?"

In front of a house stood a group of officers dressed in the most magnificent and gorgeous uniforms. As San Martin stepped from the carriage, one of them, moving a pace forward, embraced him.

"That's Bolivar!" whispered Guido, and I gazed at the great captain with intense interest.

Perhaps I was prejudiced against him, but he did not come up to my expectations. He was short, thin, and narrow-chested, his skin was sallow, his high but narrow forehead was deeply lined. His hair was black and curly; he had thick lips and beautiful white teeth, which he was fond of showing. His eyes were large and black but deeply sunken; now bright and sparkling, again dull and gla.s.sy. His features, to me at least, were harsh and unpleasing; but he was evidently a man of great energy, to whom action was as the breath of life.

Arm in arm the two leaders entered the house, Guido and I following with Bolivar's staff. The saloon presented a striking scene, being filled with officers in brilliant uniforms and by beautifully-dressed ladies. A young girl, stepping forward, greeted San Martin, and placed a laurel wreath of gold upon his head.

"What rubbish!" muttered Guido testily. "Does she think he is as great a mummer as Bolivar?"

"Hush!" I whispered, not wishing his outspoken comments to be heard.

"See, he is taking it off."

We could not hear what he said, but he spoke pleasantly, and beckoning to Guido, placed the wreath in his hand.

"Take great care of this," said he; "I value it highly for the sake of the giver."

"Bolivar would have worn a dozen, one on top of the other," growled Guido.

Presently the two chiefs proceeded to an inner room, where they remained alone for nearly two hours, while we chatted with the Bolivian officers, several of whom were Englishmen.

At length the door opened, the leaders came out, and San Martin accompanied Bolivar to the street, where they parted with a show of cordial friendship. Directly afterwards the a.s.sembly dispersed, and we were left in peace. The next day they had a much longer interview, and at its close I read in San Martin's face that he had resolved to sacrifice himself for the good of Peru.

"Guido," said he quietly, "let the baggage be taken aboard. They are giving a grand dinner in my honour this evening; as soon as I can get away, we sail for Callao."

The banquet, which was held in the house set apart for Bolivar, was on the most magnificent scale. The room was bright with showy uniforms; every one appeared to be covered with stars and crosses and decorations. I almost regretted that my silver key was not dangling outside my tunic.

San Martin sat in the chair of honour at the right of our host. Of all the good things set before him he ate and drank little, his thoughts being evidently far removed from the banqueting-room.

This was the first time I had been at a public dinner, and but for anxiety on our leader's account, I should have enjoyed it immensely.

Presently, when the servants had removed the dishes, Bolivar filled his gla.s.s with wine, and stood up. Instantly the buzz of conversation ceased; the officers gazed intently at their chief, who was about to propose a toast. I listened too, wondering if my ears were playing me false. As to Guido, I thought that, in his scornful contempt, he would have kicked the table over.