Under the Chilian Flag: A Tale of War between Chili and Peru

by Harry Collingwood

As they galloped, Jim suddenly caught the sound of chopping in the distance ahead, and he urged his men to greater speed, the column sweeping along over the rough ground like a whirlwind. And they were only just in time! Round a bend in the road Douglas caught sight of a score of flickering lights, and saw another ravine looming dim and black in the semi-darkness. Were they in time? Was the bridge still intact? wondered the Englishman.

“Halt! Halt!” he yelled; “halt, for your lives!”

With a clatter and scraping of hoofs, a chorus of hoarse shouts, and a terrific whirl of dust, the troopers pulled up, and Jim saw on the opposite edge of the cleft a party of Bolivian guerillas hacking furiously away with axes at the bridge.

“Forward with the guns!” was now the word, and a few seconds later the two field-pieces were dragged to the front and fire opened on the outlaws, to which they replied with a furious fusillade of rifle-bullets, several of the Chilian cavalry falling under that murderous fire. But Jim now ordered the guns to be loaded with canister shot instead of solid, and the guerillas were unable to face that storm of missiles. The men with the axes dropped their tools and took to their heels into the forest—those of them who were unwounded, that is to say—while the greater part fell dead and dying into the ravine. Then gradually the riflemen themselves retreated, keeping up a galling fire the whole time; and, from their evident reluctance to retire, Douglas guessed that they must have a strong reinforcement somewhere close at hand.

There was therefore no time to be lost if they were to get across unmolested, and Jim was himself the first to go over to the other side and examine the bridge, to see whether it was still in a condition to bear the passage of the horses and guns. Luckily, the guerillas had only just begun operations upon the structure, and it was hardly weakened at all; he therefore gave the signal to his men on the opposite side, and in half an hour the whole force was safely across. But it was quite evident that they were in a very perilous situation and completely surrounded by Bolivians. Jim therefore called a council of war, composed of his officers, the result of which was a unanimous decision to press forward at all hazards and strike a paralysing blow at the guerillas before they were fully prepared for it, if possible. Jim’s force could not be very far away now from the Bolivian stronghold; indeed, they might come upon it at any moment, for the gigantic peak of Sorata was well in sight, and Jim took his bearings from that.

Forward they pressed, therefore, going as fast as their horses could carry them over the rough, rock-encumbered ground, and taking care to keep scouts thrown out all round the main body. But, strangely enough, they saw no further signs of the outlaws, and Jim was beginning to wonder where the force that was trying to destroy the bridge could have hidden itself, when, away in the distance ahead, he heard a piercing shriek of intense agony. There was then a pause of a few seconds, but immediately afterwards scream after scream went wailing up into the air! Jim clenched his teeth and drove the spurs into his horse, crying, as he did so: “Follow me, half a dozen of you; there is some more foul work going on ahead of us!”

Six men immediately spurred their horses out of the press and followed Jim at full speed, the little squad of men experiencing no difficulty in finding the direction in which to go, for the piercing shrieks were now becoming incessant. After five minutes or so of hard riding, Jim came within sight of a ruddy glare of light shining ahead among the trees, and he at once guessed what was going forward. Almost directly afterwards the seven horsemen burst into an open glade, at the far end of which was gathered a group of men, who immediately fled into the thick brushwood at the approach of the cavalry; not, however, before Jim had caught sight of their uniforms, which were those worn by the Bolivian guerillas. At the end of the clearing a large fire had been built in the form of a circle, in the centre of which stood a stout wooden stake driven into the earth, and to this stake was lashed an Indian who, poor creature, was being slowly roasted to death.

Jim and his men threw themselves from their horses, and, drawing their swords, promptly began to clear away the burning wood with their blades; and the moment that the circle was broken, Jim dashed through the opening, cut the ropes which bound the wretched Indian to the stake, and carried him out into the open, where the poor creature was laid down on the ground and given a canteen of water, which he drained eagerly, immediately begging for more. This was given him, and Douglas proceeded to examine his injuries just as the Chilian main body rode up. To his satisfaction, Jim found that the man was suffering from nothing more serious than a severe scorching, and he guessed that it must have been the anticipation of torture which had made the Indian send up those heartrending screams. As soon as the poor wretch had recovered from the shock which he had sustained, Jim questioned him as to how he came to be in such a situation, and was told that the man, whose name, by the way, was José, had been a guide in the guerilla service. The Bolivians believed that it was impossible for anybody to find the way to their stronghold unassisted, and therefore, as soon as the Chilian cavalry appeared, they had suspected treachery on the part of somebody, their suspicion focussing itself in this case upon the unfortunate José. They had therefore put him to the torture, partly as punishment, and partly to make him disclose the strength of the attacking force, which the guerillas averred he must certainly know, since there was no doubt that he had been in communication with it. It was useless, said the Indian, for him to assert his innocence and his inability to supply the information required; he was simply not believed, or perhaps it was that the Bolivians were glad of an excuse for exercising their cruel instincts. The latter, thought Jim, was the more likely cause. José, having finished the recital of his adventure, now flung himself at Douglas’s feet, praying that el señor capitan would not abandon him in this place, where he would certainly be again captured, but that “His Excellency” would take him into his service. If he would but do that, José averred he would be a faithful and true servant to his rescuer for the remainder of his life: he would ask no reward for his services; he would only ask to be allowed to be near Jim—to be his own private bodyguard, and, in short, to do everything that he possibly could to show his gratitude for his timely deliverance.

Jim listened in silence to this outburst, and then somewhat inconsequently inquired: “Do you know whereabout this guerilla fort is situated, José?”

“Yes, señor, I do,” replied the man; “it is not more than a mile away from here, and I can lead you to the place by way of a road which the Bolivians would never suspect you of knowing.”