Peru -- History -- War of Independence, 1820-1829 -- Fiction
"It's a pity from our point of view," remarked Plaza, as we toiled
along, "but they are playing the proper game. We're like fruit
ripening on a tree. When thoroughly fit we shall just drop and be
gathered without difficulty."
"Who's croaking now?" asked Cordova,
"I'm simply stating facts," replied Plaza. "Look at the road."
"Thanks; I've seen more than enough of it already."
"We're half starved."
"That's less than a fact," laughed Alzura. "You can put me down as
three-quarters. If decent food were set before me, I shouldn't know
how to eat it."
"We're losing hundreds of men," continued Plaza quietly, "and we've one
miserable field-gun."
"Take a dose of your own medicine," said I, laughing. "Trust to Sucre
and Miller; they'll pull us through."
The captain's gloomy fit soon passed off, and he was as cheerful as
ever; but there was no doubt of our being in a very awkward position.
As far as fighting went, we could hold our own till doomsday; but we
were bound to eat, and food did not grow on the mountains.
Bolivar was working with all his fiery energy to hurry up
reinforcements from Colombia and Chili, but until they arrived he could
not send them on. Then, too, the viceroy had gained over several
Indian tribes, and they had already cut one detachment to pieces. As
far as I could judge, the Royalists had the whip-hand, and unless they
made a mistake we should very shortly be at their mercy.
On the sixth of December we halted at a little village, and a thrill of
joy went through the troops when it was rumoured that our leaders
intended to attack the enemy at all risks. Wearied men, who had thrown
themselves exhausted on the ground, struggled to their feet; starving
men forgot their pangs; the very invalids crawled into the ranks, some
of them so weak that they could barely trail a musket.
"Stand by your horses!" said the colonel, as the enemy were only three
miles off, and we might be required at any moment.
An hour passed and we still waited; the morning wore away; afternoon
merged into evening, and we were ordered to encamp. Something, we knew
not what, had gone wrong.
"I don't know if there was a chance to-day," observed Plaza, "but won't
there be one to-morrow?"
"Why?"
"Because the Royalists will block the road along which we must retreat.
Then we must either throw ourselves against a terribly strong position,
or stay here and starve."
Events soon proved that he had not spoken at random. Early next
morning the enemy moved to an almost impregnable post. Twice our
number of strong men, flushed with victory and well equipped with guns,
might well have hesitated to attack. As for us, it was sheer madness.
Things had come to the worst now. Further retreat was barred; our
provisions, even if we subsisted on the shortest of short rations,
would not last five days, while to move against the foe was simply to
commit suicide.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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