"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 quantity of stores passed 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!"