Where Duty Called; or, In Honor Bound

by George Waldo Browne

Ronie and Harrie had already discovered an equestrian statue, mounted upon a heavy pedestal, while the rider held with one hand a straightened rein on his refractory steed, and with the other he pointed his sword high into the air, as if he would pierce some imaginary enemy stationed in space. It was a bizarre affair, the weather-stained image of a horse rearing into the air after the fashion of some huge rocking-horse. From the bold figure of man and steed their gaze dropped to the base, where they saw in raised letters the name of Simon Bolivar, the Liberator of Venezuela. Instinctively, our Americans uncovered their heads out of respect to the memory of the man who was not only a great warrior, but a notable statesman, and a poet of considerable merit. His proclamations to the armies are examples of masterly eloquence, and as much to be admired as his military genius, which won for him the applause of the five republics that he liberated. The statue of Bolivar is in bronze, and is considered one of the most notable examples of modern art.

When his young companions had tired of looking at the equestrian figure of the warrior, Jack said:

"Now come with me, lads, and I will show you a sight worth two of this to you and me."

Without reply, Ronie and Harrie followed their friend until they came upon a delightfully retired retreat, which, without the bizarre attractions of the Plaza Bolivar, had a freshness and quiet beauty the other lacked. Anticipating now what they were to meet, to our young Americans there was indeed an air of sanctity and hallowed peace that the more ornate spot did not possess. With reverential steps they moved silently but swiftly along the clean, graveled path bordered with deep, green grass and overhung with interlacing branches of the trees which formed a roof over their heads, until they reached the center of the plot, where the torrid sun of the tropics beat down upon the head of the statue they had come to see.

This was the Plaza Washington, and the man honored here was the American patriot, the Father of His Country, who had been given this honored recognition in the capital of the United States of Venezuela. Uncovering their heads, the three stood for several minutes in a silence that seemed too sacred to be broken, while they looked upon the calm, benign features of Washington, honored thus by a race they had not expected would pay such homage. At that very moment, unobserved by them, a couple of natives a little way off, at the uncovering of their heads, removed their wide-brimmed headgear, and looked on with respectful attention. Farther removed, a group of women, dark-eyed, dark-featured, but not unpleasant of countenance, also paused in their morning work to watch the newcomers with respectful admiration rather than curiosity. Evidently these people understood and shared with these strangers from a far-away land this spirit of national pride and patriotism, for true patriots always revere the memory of heroes.

"Isn't it strange Washington should be given a statue here?" asked Harrie.

"Not so very strange," replied Jack, "when you come to think that the histories of the two countries are so nearly alike, up to the day of these two heroes, they might be written by the same historian with slight modifications. Bolivar was the Washington of Venezuela. Then, too, you will remember that Miranda, the pioneer of patriots in this country, served his apprenticeship under Washington, fighting for our country. When he had finished there he returned to his native land to take up her battles. What he learned with our army helped him here.

"Bolivar had no small task on his hand when he undertook to free five republics, and who conquered a territory nearly half as great as Europe.

"It is a common practice for the inhabitants here to strew their garlands of flowers about this place, and once I remember, upon a holiday, coming here, to find the statue of Washington, pedestal and base, literally decked with floral wreaths. Never, it seemed to me, not even in our own land, did the noble countenance of Washington look grander than here, surrounded by a race that did not speak his language, but whose hearts beat as patriotically, as if they understood every word."

"It was a happy thought that they should have sculptured him as a man of peace rather than of war," said Ronie. "It is more happy in its effect, as I look upon him, than the warlike figure of Bolivar."