The dawn of the twentieth century found Peru recovering from the financial depression which had followed the war, but still far from the position which she had held before 1879. It also found her knocking at the door of the great republic of the north, and asking that a protecting arm be extended below the equator, and that certain promises made years before be fulfilled.
In the whirl that marked the last days of the nineteen-hundredth term, the land of the Incas had been lost temporarily from view. Peru’s ancient enemy, Spain, had occupied the central position, and at the hands of the vigorous northern country had received even a more bitter defeat than that given her on the west coast of South America when the countries there had wrested their independence. The Philippine Islands had changed in their allegiance, so had Porto Rico, Guam, Tutuila, and Hawaii, and Cuba had become independent.
All these events had overshadowed that which had happened and was happening on the Western Hemisphere to the south. But when the clouds of conflict cleared away, there came into view a shade on the southern horizon that told of trouble there. Peru was seen gesturing and asking to be heard. Permission granted, this is what she said:—
“Twenty years ago we were at war with Chile, not through any fault of ours, but to save our southern provinces from being taken away from us. Several times during the early stages of that conflict we had opportunity to make honorable peace, and each time we were deterred because of the word that you sent us, to the effect that exorbitant terms made by the enemy should not be listened to, and that you, with your great force, would prevent any seizure of our territory. We listened and took heart. We continued the struggle and waited. Internal affairs withdrew your attention from us, and we were left to do the best that we could. The best proved the worst. Our richest lands were seized, and other land, almost as valuable, was taken for a number of years, upon a promise made that it would be returned. That promise has not been kept. We have paid Chile more indemnity than was paid by France after the Franco-German War, and still our southern neighbor insists upon the pound of flesh and demands complete cession of the provinces of Arica and Tacna in addition to Tarapacá. Therefore, we appeal to you, to the United States of America, the mother of all republics, and ask that you insist that justice be done.”
It was a beautiful afternoon in early spring of the year that was the most prosperous in United States history. A man of about thirty-six or seven years of age was hurrying along Pennsylvania Avenue, not looking carefully to his steps, nor minding how carriages might be approaching at street crossings, so occupied was he with his thoughts. He was warned by several coachmen and hailed by one or more bicyclists, while the driver of an automobile rang his gong loudly before he dodged from in front of the rubber-tired wheels. Finally he ran squarely into another man, and then came to a sudden stop, for he must needs beg pardon. But as he lifted his hat he caught sight of the person’s face and exclaimed:—
“Carl Saunders!”
“Harvey Dartmoor!”
They grasped hands warmly. “Why, we have not met since we left the steamer at New York in 1880.”
“That’s so. More than twenty years ago. In many things it seems like yesterday and in others a century. What are you doing in Washington, Carl?”