Many soldiers were there, too, their uniforms spick and span, and unspotted by the soil of the Andes. Mine was dirty, bloodstained, and not altogether free from rents. I rode carefully, but my eyes were heavy and my limbs ached with fatigue.
Darting suddenly from the throng, a man seized my bridle-rein and cried aloud, "A soldier from Ayacucho! Here is one of our brave deliverers!"
"A soldier from Ayacucho! Here is one of our brave deliverers!"
Instantly I was surrounded by the crowd, which pressed me so closely that my horse could barely move. Viva after viva rent the air; laughing girls and women half smothered me with flowers; men marched beside me or fell into line behind, forming a kind of triumphal procession. One would have thought I was the saviour of the country—a second Bolivar!
Thus, laughing, cheering, and singing, they escorted me to the Government House, where, leaving my astonished horse with the guards, I hurried inside. An official, in all the glory of a gorgeous uniform, demanded my business, and remarked haughtily that the president was engaged.
"Tell him," said I, "that a lieutenant of the Hussars of Junin is here with dispatches from General Sucre."
After waiting a few minutes, I was conducted through the spacious hall to a room guarded by a file of soldiers. My attendant knocked timidly at the door, which was immediately opened, and I entered the apartment.
Bolivar sat at a table dictating letters to his secretary and talking to several officers of high rank. His complexion seemed sallower than ever, his dark hair had more of gray in it, but his eyes had lost none of their penetrating keenness.