“Halt!” yelled a red-uniformed guard, stationed on the mole in Callao.
“Halt!” A boatman who was pushing off from Los Baños dropped his oars and came back on shore.
“Halt! Halt! Halt!” was heard at intermediary points, for around all the sweep of land bordering the bay stood sentinels, and their orders were to permit no man’s interference with the progress seaward of that lighter laden with garden truck.
From these guardsmen was learned the nature of the craft that was so jealously watched, and the news spread with lightning rapidity over the city of Callao, to Bella Vista and haciendas adjoining, to Miraflores, to Chorillas, and all over Lima; and from there it was wafted up the mountains to Chosica and even to Matucana.
Peru was to be revenged! That was the keynote of the message, and then followed in more or less exaggerated form an account of what had been done and what was the expected sequel. Revenge! After having been humiliated in the south by many defeats, after suffering from blockade—which is a thumb-screw torture inflicted by one nation upon another—and after being insulted by the flaunting in their face of the lone star flags hoisted on the Huascar and the Pilcomayo; after all these had occurred and all this time had elapsed, Peru was at last to be revenged!
The Chilean fleet would be blown out of the water before noon! This was the word which was sent from mouth to mouth.
Early risers, who were on the streets soon after dawn,—venders of water and venders of such scant green stuff as could be obtained,—hurried to the shore and dotted the beach here and there, gazing seaward expectantly. All that day jackasses wandered unattended around the streets of Callao, braying mournfully, and bearing on their backs casks that had been filled from the river Rimac, or baskets that contained plantains and coarse vegetables.
In a few minutes these hucksters and providers of the day’s drinking supply were joined by other men, persons who lived near the beach and had run from breakfast tables when the news had reached them; some were only half dressed, for they had jumped from their beds at the summons. Then from out all the streets of the seacoast city poured a throng, and men were joined by women and children. A solid human line marked the entire water-front, and behind it formed others. Balconies of buildings that faced the sea were rented that morning, and then space in windows was sold. Callao’s shore line was the tier of a gigantic amphitheatre; the bay was the arena.
A severe earthquake shock is followed by an exodus from the seacoast to Lima, which is on high ground and beyond reach of a tidal wave. At such times all manner of equipages are pressed into service; railroad trains are overcrowded, and those who cannot ride in car or carriage, on horses or mules, run or walk along the road. But no flight from the coast to Lima ever equalled the outpouring from the City of the Kings toward Callao on this morning of July 3, 1880; and within two hours after the lighter had been pushed from the Chucuito beach the depopulation of the capital commenced, and a wave of humanity swept down the highway and spread out over the pampas country.
After taking leave of General Matajente, the boys had directed their steps toward the Dartmoor residence on the Mar Bravo side of the peninsula, and realizing each minute more and more vividly the stupendousness of the impending tragedy, they increased their speed accordingly, until, when the house was reached, they were running as fast as they could; and bounding up the stairs, two and three at a time, they burst into the dining room, reaching there nearly out of breath.