Chile today and tomorrow

by L. E. Elliott Joyce

“At first it was my intention to have destroyed the fortifications and to have taken the artillery and stores on board,” wrote the Admiral to Zenteno, the Chilean Minister of War and Marine a few days later, “but I could not resolve to leave without defence the safest and most beautiful harbour I have seen in the Pacific, and whose fortifications must doubtless have cost more than a million dollars.” He left a small force, and sailed farther south to try to take the last Spanish stronghold in Chiloé, where the gallant Colonel Quintanilla maintained a plucky and hopeless stand—and was destined to maintain it for nearly five more years. Cochrane landed in the bay of San Carlos on February 17, took the outer forts, but lost the way in woods and boggy roads during a black night, and thus gave the Spaniards time to assemble a force too strong for the Chilean attackers. They withdrew, and a body of 100 men was sent to take Osorno; this town was taken without resistance on February 26, and thenceforth Spanish military work on the mainland was limited to guerilla disturbances in the forestal interior. Many Spaniards took refuge among the Indians, and the tragi-comedy was enacted, for several years, of both the new Chilean parties and the Spaniards flattering and bullying the Araucanians into taking sides. To political divergences the native must have been profoundly indifferent; despite the fact that his frontier still stood at the Bio-Bio River and his southerly lands were intact, his spirit had been warped by the steady pressure of three centuries, and perhaps most seriously changed by the civilised habits he had learnt from the white man. He had taken to cultivation, to the use of European foods and a few implements; as a result, he had needs hindering his ancient freedom and he could be cajoled by their satisfaction. “I have distributed to each cacique on taking leave,” wrote Beauchef to Cochrane after the taking of Osorno, “a little indigo, tobacco, ribbon and other trifles.” And also with ribbon, tobacco and “trifles” the Spanish survivors, or the recalcitrant Benavides (wavering first on one side and then the other and finally to outlawry in the woods), and the patriots of Chile, bought the Indian, giving him short shrift when territory or villages changed hands. Eventually, in 1822, a Chilean punitive force was sent to the south, the Indian country inland from Valdivia was reduced, and the Spaniards troubling that region gave up. The diary of Dr. Thomas Leighton, an English surgeon acting as medical officer of the expedition, as quoted by Miers, is extremely illuminating.

With Valdivia in their hands, the Chileans were able to contemplate a bold stroke. It was decided to clear Spain once and for all from the Pacific by bringing Peru into the camp of independence: the return of Cochrane from the south was the signal for completion of plans for a combined naval and military attack upon the last great stronghold of Spain. The “Ejercito Libertador” (liberating army) was prepared with immense enthusiasm, embarking from Valparaiso in August, 1820, preceded by proclamations from O’Higgins, who declared the wish of Chile to contribute to the freedom and happiness of the Peruvians, who would “frame your own government and be your own legislators.” “No influence,” he stated, “civil or military, direct or indirect, shall be exercised by these your brothers over your social institutions. You shall send away the armed force that comes to protect you whenever you wish; and no pretext of your danger or your security shall serve to maintain it against your consent. No military division shall occupy a free town except at the invitation of the legal authorities; and the Peninsular groups and ideas prevailing before the time of Independence shall not be punished by us or with our consent.” O’Higgins was undoubtedly sincere; Cochrane was free from any trace of selfish or ulterior motives; but San Martín’s objects were less simple. His position was peculiar; sent originally into Chile at the instance of Pueyrredon, he had practically disavowed his party in the Argentine, where no political laurels seemed likely to offer, and taken service with Chile. But here he had to share popular affection with the beloved O’Higgins and the applauded Cochrane; in Peru he might have the field to himself, and to this end he forthwith worked.

The Chilean fleet spent 50 days in Pisco, while the Chilean Colonel Arenales marched upon and took a number of other small Peruvian towns on or tributary to the coast, with Ica, Nasca and Arica among them; from the latter port he marched inland and seized Tacna. Meanwhile San Martín was negotiating with the Peruvian Viceroy, Pezuela, but the “truce of Miraflores” split upon two rocks—the Viceroy refused demands that he should acknowledge the independence of the South American colonies: San Martín could not sign acknowledgment of even nominal submission to the Spanish Crown. The Liberating Army eventually set sail again on September 28, and passed on to Callao, where on November 5 Cochrane, with 240 volunteers, performed the exploit, never forgotten in the annals of the Pacific, of cutting out the Spanish frigate Esmeralda. This fine ship had 40 guns and 350 men, lay inside a strong boom and a line of old vessels, was surrounded by 27 gunboats and protected by 300 guns of the forts on shore. But Cochrane boarded and took her, and with a couple of other Spanish gunboats sent her outside to an anchorage beyond the reach of the Peruvian cannon. Renamed the Valdivia, she afterwards served as a unit of the Chilean fleet.

San Martín, now at Ancon with his forces, delayed the projected attack upon Lima, sent out sheaves of grandiloquent proclamations, and watched with anxiety affairs farther north, where the now triumphant Bolívar was occupying Quito and might push forward to Guayaquil—a rich province also coveted by San Martín and to which he now sent envoys with suggestions that Bolívar should be kept out. For the next seven months San Martín’s forces remained idle, although a part of the force under the British Colonel Miller and the able General Arenales continued to range the coast; Cochrane maintained a close blockade of Callao, and at last, unable to get supplies and alarmed by the insecurity of their position in Lima, the Spanish authorities evacuated the city and went to Cuzco. This was on July 6, 1821, and for about a week order was kept in Lima by Captain Basil Hall of H. M. S. Conway with a handful of marines. San Martín then sailed to Callao and took possession of Lima, where Independence was proclaimed on July 28.

On August 4, San Martín declared himself Protector of Peru, proclaiming his absolute authority and naming three associates as the cabinet ministers. Requested by Cochrane to pay the wages and bounty promised to the fleet on the fall of Lima, San Martín answered that he could not, as Protector of Peru, pay Chile’s debts, said that he could only find the money if the squadron were sold to Peru for his use, and presently had the effrontery to invite Cochrane to leave the service of Chile and become Admiral of Peru.

Cochrane’s indignant replies are historical; he sailed away after repeated attempts to obtain the sailors’ wages, and, learning that San Martín had shipped a considerable treasure to Ancon (upon the advance on Callao of the still undefeated Spaniards), went there and took possession of the gold and silver. One can imagine the grim smile of the experienced old sailor as he made this haul.

San Martín assented with reluctance eventually to its use as part payment of the sums due, but there was no possibility of further friendly intercourse. Cochrane sailed north, on October 6, with the Chilean fleet in a wretched state, ill equipped and almost unseaworthy. He went up the Guayas to Guayaquil, received with rejoicing by the now emancipated town, refitted, and put to sea again in the first week of December. Fonseca Bay was visited on December 28, Tehuantepec on January 6, Acapulco three weeks later, in the hunt for two Spanish ships, the Prueba and the Venganza; the latter was chased and followed into Guayaquil, the former into Callao, where Cochrane himself reappeared in April. Here San Martín sent his ministers to wait upon the sailor, making new propositions, including the post of admiral of the joint squadrons of Chile and Peru. Cochrane answered bluntly that he would have no dealings with a government founded upon a breach of faith toward the Peruvians, supported by tyranny and the violation of all laws; that no flag but that of Chile would be hoisted upon his ships; and he refused to set foot ashore. He brought the fleet back to Valparaiso on June 2, 1822, after two and a half years of ceaseless effort in the service of Chile. The Pacific no longer showed a Spanish flag upon ship or fortress: his work was done. When Cochrane left Chile in January, 1823, the independence of the country was definitely assured.

Spanish rule in the Americas had endured for three hundred years, but at the end of that period it cannot be said that the profit of her conquest and colonisation was on the side of Spain. The amazing courage of the conquistadores forms a record without parallel, not upon the part of such great figures as Cortes and Pizarro only, but scores of less known pioneers. “In a period of seventy years,” Cieza de Leon has written, “they have overcome and opened up another world than that of which we had knowledge, without bringing with them waggons of provision, nor great store of baggage, nor tents in which to rest, nor anything but a sword and a shield and a small bag in which they carried their food.”

Between 1519 and 1811 the Spaniards smashed three established and at least one embryo civilization in the Americas; but on the other side of the ledger they gave the contact with West European speech, thought, crafts and aims that brought immense American regions into line with the rest of the modern world. It is true that vast stores of precious metals were taken away: but in return were given two things more valuable, ideas and blood.

Spain herself materially suffered in the long run. Her best youth was drained overseas, or lost in the wars in Europe to which her gold tempted her. In 1800 the commerce, agriculture, wealth and industry of Spain were “almost nothing, compared to what they were when she conquered America,” says Torrijos. The population had been cut in half. Spain has been correctly charged with narrowness of policy in regard to her colonies; it is frequently forgotten that all rules of commerce and colonization were narrow during the same period—examples are still to be found of nations surrounding themselves with a sky-high tariff wall; and if Spain forbade the American colonies to cultivate Spanish products, in turn Spaniards were not permitted to grow the crops peculiarly American. As a matter of fact this rule was much more rigidly insisted upon within the small compass of Spain, since in the Americas it was to the interest and convenience of officials to shut their eyes to breaches of the rule. Spain’s decree forbidding cultivation of the vine in Chile, for example, was practically a dead letter, a show being only occasionally made of attempts to carry out the law.